by W. J. Lundy
Joe grabbed the gate and shook it. “Damn, old man, will you just open up? No, it wasn’t me; we got people moving up behind me… no telling when they might be here.”
The old man looked at Joe wide-eyed as he fumbled with a ring of keys. “People ya say? What sort of people? You sure? All the ways up on the mountain cut… ain’t no reason for nobody to come up huntin’ this-a-way,” the old man mumbled. “Unless—was’in ya followed, Joe?” the old man asked.
“It doesn’t matter; just get the gate open. I need to talk to Dan.”
Chapter 14
The roar of the fire made its way down the narrow main street. Brad moved close to the window and looked out, the distant sky glowing orange. Black smoke seemed to fold over on itself as it boiled and rolled on the wind, growing thicker by the moment. Brooks leaned over the windowsill and fired suppressed shots into the street below, knocking down approaching Primals. Distant explosions and firefights echoed like a Fourth of July celebration from the direction of Savannah.
Brooks had met up with Brad and the team in the brick storefront less than an hour earlier. Covered in soot and smoke, Brooks managed to break away from his scouting mission without being followed. He pulled his rifle from the window and dropped the magazine. “That’s the last of ’em. But they’re gonna keep coming,” Brooks said. He moved up beside Brad and followed his gaze to the distant smoke then said, “Wind is the only thing keeping the fire off us—for now, anyway. If the wind direction shifts, we’re going to be in some trouble.”
Brad nodded and pulled back from the window. He found a dusty chair and dragged it away from the wall before dropping into it. “How far did you follow them?” he asked.
“Not far; too many Primals once I got over the hilltop, hundreds—maybe thousands—of them moving down toward the base. I’m sure they’re at the fences by now… probably explains the arty shots we’re hearing. I cut through the heavier woods ’til I lost them then turned back and headed for Main Street. There’s a shitload of movement out there. Good thing you all are so noisy and leave an easy trail; I would have walked right past this place on a normal day.”
Brad shook his head at the offhanded comment and asked, “Did you see who was shooting at us?”
“No, but whoever it is, it’s a bold move starting this fire then leading those Primals to the outpost.”
“Leading?” Brad asked.
Brooks pushed rounds down into the magazine to top it off then smacked the magazine’s spine against the palm of his hand before locking it back into his M4. “You don’t think this was by chance, do ya? The fire, these Primals, the ambush… I’m guessing they lit the fire back behind the neighboring cities then drove up ahead and guided their movement right to the outpost.”
Brad looked down at his boots. “But why?” he questioned.
“I don’t know. Nobody can take down Savannah without destroying it, and if crazies overrun the place, who would want it? This has got to be a diversion for something.”
“A diversion for what? What would they—Ella,” Brad said.
Brooks pursed his lips; he turned back to the window and raised his rifle, using the scope to look at the distant intersections. “We need to get back most ricky-tick. I have a feeling things are going to go sideways in a hurry.”
The machine gunner, Axe, walked into the room, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor. “Sergeant, it seems clear downstairs; can we get out of here?” he said in a booming drawl.
Brad turned back toward the husky soldier. “How are the others?”
“We good, Sergeant, but not too anxious to spend the night in Primal Central. Roberts was saying he knew of a big old dump truck up the street,” Axe said. “You think maybe we could drive it back?”
Brad turned to Brooks who shrugged his shoulders. “Beats walking, I suppose… and if we can’t go through the Primals, why not go over ’em.”
Brad climbed to his feet and reached for his assault pack. “Okay, let’s get moving then.”
“Alright, Sergeant,” said Axe then turned and thumped back down the stairs to the lower level, his boots seeming to stomp on every step. Brooks turned to face Brad with a grin on his face. “See? Noisy as hell.”
“I know, I know. So we have a plan then?” Brad asked.
“Uh huh,” said Brooks, moving to the doorway. He turned and looked down the stairs, waiting for Brad to catch up. “But let’s see what this truck looks like first.”
Brad followed Brooks down the stairs and into the storefront at the bottom. The building was long and narrow. With knocked-over clothing racks and garments lying everywhere, it was obvious that it was formerly some sort of consignment store. Roberts was at the store’s front display window with a lanky soldier next to him; Lanky was wearing a worn coonskin cap on his head.
“Soldier, what the hell you got on your grape?” Brad asked.
“Just a hat, Sergeant. I lost my patrol cap when we were running back there,” Lanky said.
“And that’s all you could come up with? No, no, don’t even answer that.” Brad stepped closer to the tall soldier and saw Boone on the man’s nametape. “You any relation to Daniel?” Brad said.
“Nah, well… heck, I don’t know… maybe,” Boone said.
Brooks moved them to the side and looked out into the street. “I don’t care who you’re related to. Where is this dump truck?”
Roberts put on his pack. “It’s an old tri-axel sitting by a big garbage pile, just up the street at the end of this block on the right. It’s one of our landmarks when we patrol this area.”
Brooks put his hand on the handle to the front door. “Okay, Roberts, you’re on me. Brad, take up the rear with Noisy Boy and Stretch. We move fast and quiet; try to keep fingers off the weapons unless we have to. Any questions?”
Axe raised a hand. “I’m guessing Boone is Stretch, but who is Noisy Boy?”
Brooks made a motion of his palm slapping his forehead. He looked at Roberts and received a nod in reply. “I got it,” Roberts said.
Brooks held the door open, allowing Roberts to slip out and disappear to the right. Brooks handed the door off to Boone and followed Roberts into the street. Brad reached back, tapped Axe on the shoulder, and motioned him forward. Axe stepped to the door and stumbled ahead, slapping and knocking over a stool.
“Guess we know who Noisy Boy is now,” Boone chuckled.
Axe shook his head at the comment and moved out. Brad ordered them ahead, taking the door from Boone and following close behind. Roberts and Brooks were already at the end of the block. The smoke was growing thicker and obscuring their vision. The roadway was surprisingly clear; abandoned vehicles that had been blocking the streets were pushed to the sides, and wreckage and barriers were removed. Brad turned his attention far ahead and watched as Brooks crouched and looked around the corner. Roberts moved on, crossing the street before turning to wave the others up. Brad walked swiftly, turning every few seconds to check their back trail.
Brooks was still at the corner when Brad reached his position, whereas the others had already crossed the street. Brooks acknowledged Brad then they ran across together to join the rest of the group.
“How much farther?” Brad asked.
Roberts looked back over his shoulder then pointed to an empty lot. “It’s right here, around this corner; can’t ya smell it?”
The sweet stench of rotting garbage blended heavily with the regular rot of the small town. Brad held Axe back to cover the rear while the rest of the men stacked up on the corner building. Brad moved to the front with Brooks and peeked around to look where Roberts pointed. Beyond the building was a blacktop parking lot entirely covered and piled with garbage. A partially filled dump truck sat backed up to the enormous mound of garbage. Another remnant of the fall, the truck was most likely brought here in an attempt to move the village’s waste—obviously, a failed operation—and the now abandoned truck sat as an empty reminder of the town’s failure.
As Roberts de
scribed, it was a tall, flat-sided dump truck with three large tires under the bucket and a high set cab. The truck looked new, the paint still glossy, the cab doors closed, and windows intact. A white sticker on the door noted the name of a now extinct gravel hauling company.
“Looks to be in good shape; think we can get it rolling?” Brad asked Brooks.
Brooks looked around. “Think the keys are in it?”
Boone pressed ahead and looked at the truck. “I don’t need keys, Sergeant; we got trucks and tractors like that on the farm at home. I can get it going.”
Brad turned to Boone and smacked him on the coonskin cap. “Well, get after it then. Take Roberts with you to watch your back.”
Boone grinned, showing a wide gap in his front teeth, then stepped around the corner and ran to the truck with Roberts close behind. The two soldiers stopped hard when a long burst of machine gun fire ripped from Axe’s position. Brad spun around, ready to admonish the SAW gunner when he saw a horde closing from out of the smoke.
“Holy shit!” Brad shouted, raising his own rifle and letting loose a volley of rounds. “Where the hell did they come from?”
Brooks reached down, pulled Axe to his feet by the back of his vest, and yelled “Too many! Get to the truck!”
Axe kept his finger down, walking backwards with Brooks towing him along. Strafing the street, he kept the mob suppressed, knocking down the lead runners while slowing the rest. Brooks made the corner and let go of Axe’s vest then dropped in beside him and joined the fight, allowing Axe precious moments to reload. Once clear of the street, Brad stepped out to the right and took up a kneeling firing position, putting rounds down range. He glanced back during a reload and saw that Roberts and Boone were entering the truck’s cab; they slammed the door shut behind them and opened the side window. Roberts leaned his rifle out and prepared to open fire.
“Got you covered! Go, go, go!” Roberts shouted.
Brad slapped Brooks on the shoulder to let him know he was peeling off, and then sprinted for the truck. At the rear gate, he jumped and caught the back steel grating of the dump truck’s swinging gate. He climbed, and digging with his feet, pulled himself to the top. Spilling over the edge, he scrambled back to his feet and looked over the side. The mass was building and widening at the street’s face; Brad could see them swarming from the soldiers’ blind spots.
Brad raised his rifle and aimed at the corner position, laying down deadly fire over the heads of Axe and Brooks. Brooks looked back to see Brad on line then moved back again, taking Axe with him. He turned and shoved Axe ahead, then sprinted. Brad kept the Primals back as his friends ran for the truck. Roberts fired from the cab, creating an effective crossfire. Through his peripheral vision, Brad saw Axe jump for the gate; he caught the edge but could not pull himself up. Brooks grabbed his boot and heaved him up. Axe pulled and scrambled before flipping over the ledge and crashing in the garbage at Brad’s feet.
As the horde closed in, Brad threw a grenade at the corner, the blast knocking a hole in the closing mob. He turned and saw Brooks’ gloved hands reach for the gate. Brad let his rifle hang from the sling, leapt to the gate, and caught Brooks’ hands. Using his legs, he pulled his friend into the truck moments before the mob rebounded and crashed into it. Brad dropped and collapsed back with exhaustion, listening to the roar of the crowd surrounding the truck.
Brad lay back in bags of rotting garbage. “Is everyone okay?” Brad gasped over the screams of the Primals. Axe rolled over and pushed himself to his knees; he franticly wrestled with a large black bag and tossed it out of the truck. “Can they get in here?” he asked.
Brooks eased himself up and looked over the gate. He glanced back at the others. “If they could, they already would be.”
The truck vibrated and coughed before black smoke belched from the large stacks behind the cab. The truck’s gears ground and squelched then shuddered as the truck lurched back. Brad climbed over the bags of garbage to the front. The large dump truck’s bucket blocked his view into the cab. He moved to the front corner of the bucket, climbed to the top, and yelled over the edge, “Just drive and get us the hell out of here.”
Roberts must have heard his shout; the truck crept back, bumping around as it crushed bodies under the big wheels. Again, gears ground as the oversized vehicle changed direction, and then lurched forward. Roberts guided the truck onto Main Street and headed in the direction of Savannah. Once in the center of the road, the truck’s speed increased, creating separation on the pack following.
The speed helped move the stink of the garbage away from the men. Brad looked around the pile and saw Axe at the tail end of the truck, his T-Shirt pulled up over his face and his head hanging out the back.
“You might want to pull your head back into the bucket. We still don’t know if there are any more shooters out there,” Brooks warned.
Axe put his hand to his mouth and eased back before clumsily falling over and rolling into bags of garbage. He flailed violently, grabbed the bags in his arms, and threw them out of the bucket. Brooks and Brad both burst into unsympathetic laughter watching the big man struggle.
Brad reached out and pulled Axe’s flailing body back to a seated position. “Calm down there, hero; save it for the Primals.”
Axe brushed a blackened banana peel off his sleeve then put his head back. “I’m sorry—I just have a weak stomach, is all.”
Brooks reached into his breast pocket and removed a small, Chap Stick-looking tube. He stretched out his arm to Axe. Axe shot him a sideways glance. “Ughh… no thanks; my lips are fine, and I’m not into sharing lipstick.”
“It’s menthol… for under your nose, dumbass. Rub it on your upper lip; it’ll help with the stench.”
Axe took the tube apprehensively and wiped it over his lip as suggested. He took in a deep breath through his nose then coughed, clenching his eyes shut. Brooks snatched the tube back from Axe. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? How’s a goofy bastard such as yourself survive the apocalypse?”
Axe shook it off. “That ain’t nice, bro,” he said. “I got lucky, I guess… luckier than most.”
“You been with this bunch long?” Brad asked.
Axe leaned up against the tailgate, being more careful to keep his head concealed behind the steel. “What… you mean Roberts and Boone? Nah, I only been with this group for a little over a week. I worked in supply, but there’s a bunch of us on the base these days, and civilians been taking up that work lately. I asked to be moved out here.”
Brooks laughed. “Well, that was stupid.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Axe said. “Don’t matter—I wasn’t any good at that logistics shit, anyhow.”
The truck suddenly stopped with a jolt, the engine still running.
“Why’d we stop?” Axe asked.
Brad grabbed the top of the bucket and rose to his feet; they were at the ambush site. The LAV at the front of the column was still burning, its back hatch open with an exposed body lying at the entrance. Behind it sat the destroyed HEMMET with its cab windows shattered by gunfire and its tires boiling in orange flame. The M2 Bradley parked to the rear had also suffered the same fate. The wire still wrapped around the perimeter showed Brad where the Primals had broken through; men in uniform lay dead inside its perimeter. With nowhere to go, the gunfire would have kept them pushed back and unable to fight the Primals, the anti-tank rockets destroying their only protection.
“You think they’re all dead?” Axe whispered, moving up from behind.
Brooks spoke up. “Some got out; I saw them move away on foot. Whoever did this probably wanted them to lead the Primals back to Savannah. Nobody here had a chance; this was a deliberate and well-planned ambush. Those vehicles were killed with multiple AT4s. There were a couple machine guns there… and there,” Brooks pointed at the tree lines, “to keep heads down while the Primals moved in.”
Axe looked at Brooks. “How do you know all of that?”
“Outside of hear
ing it, I saw the disposed AT tubes and piles of brass. The guys who did this were well equipped.” Brooks pointed a finger back in the direction of the small town, at a large group of Primals following them. “We might want to stay ahead of that.”
Brad reached over the bed and slapped at its side. “Keep going,” he shouted.
Chapter 15
Already soaked in sweat, Shane watched the sky grow dark with the fading of the sun. He hated the night but knew its shadows would protect them, conceal their movement, and make it easier to hide. With the dark, the flashes of light became more prevalent. The tracer fire, muzzle flashes, and exploding mortars painted a picture as it cast shadows through the sparse woods they’d entered while the concussions of explosions echoed and bounced off the heavy cloud cover. They were surrounded; fighting raged on all sides. Smoke, mixed with fog, slowed their movements to a crawl; the Primals or men in black could be meters away and they wouldn`t know it.
The team patrolled ahead through the ever-thickening smoke toward the sounds of the heaviest fighting, hoping to reach friendly lines or an Army patrol. Ella began coughing uncontrollably; Chelsea pulled her to the side and sat her near a low, broken stone wall. Sean saw them and raised a fist then lowered his palm, pushing them to a resting stop. The group bunched up, taking shelter behind the wall. Sean opened a water bottle and took a short drink before passing it back to the others. Chelsea sat next to Ella, rubbing her back, the young girl wheezing from the thick smoke and holding her sleeve over her face. Shane could see she was hurting; even though it wasn’t her way to complain, he could see the pain in the little girl’s tear–filled eyes.
Joey Villegas came to their side and removed his uniform top then ripped the bottom off his brown T-shirt. He used his share of the water to dampen the bit of cloth before tying it over Ella’s face. “There you go, niñita; now you look like a real outlaw. This will help you breathe strong,” he whispered.
