The Last Orchard (Book 2): The Last Orchard

by Hunt, James

  Boots crunched soil, and Charlie hung low, waiting until the enemy was directly on top of him before he aimed the rifle upward, firing the first shot into the nearest enemy’s head, then lined up another while the second was still in shock from the sudden ambush.

  Charlie fired, but his second shot missed the heart and connected with the terrorist’s left arm, angering the enemy instead of killing him. He charged Charlie, fists swinging and blood spouting from the wound on his shoulder.

  The pair collided then grappled in the dirt, both men forgoing their rifles and wrapping their hands around each other’s neck. A pressure built up in Charlie’s head, the flow of oxygen to his brain waning. He thrust his knees upward, ramming them into the terrorist’s chest, and squeezed harder.

  And while the terrorist had managed to roll on top of Charlie, Charlie knew he had the upper hand, seeing as how he put a bullet into the man’s shoulder. Eventually, the terrorist’s grip weakened, and from that Charlie was able to draw upon the rest of his strength, squeezing the life out of the man and tossing him to the side.

  Charlie gasped for breath, choking and hacking, but forced himself to his hands and knees, even though he was still disoriented. He grabbed his rifle again and raised it quickly, unsure of how many others might still be lurking.

  The quick patter of footsteps brought Charlie’s attention toward the left. He reached for the trigger before he saw the faces. It was the twins.

  “Charlie!” Shelly reached him first, Jason limping behind her, and she grabbed hold of his shoulder, her eyes so wide Charlie thought that they might fall out of her skull. “They’re headed toward Mayfield.”

  “What?” Charlie scrunched up his face, shaking his head. Mayfield was the farthest thing from his mind. He looked toward the north and the forest that held Liz and Adelyn, but Shelly pulled his face back toward hers.

  “They’re fine,” Shelly said.

  “Nick already checked on them,” Jason replied. “He headed there first after the planes showed up. He tried to get Lee to come with him, but—”

  Charlie frowned, then filled in the blanks from Jason’s expression. He looked to Shelly. “How many are left?”

  “I’m not sure,” Shelly answered. “But it doesn’t look good.”

  Charlie nodded, knowing that trying to pick through the field of the dead and injured would take time that he knew they couldn’t spare. He turned to Jason. “Can you carry anything other than yourself on that leg?”

  Jason smirked. “So long as they’re not too fat.”

  Charlie looked to the south and found Doc’s ER unscathed, though his house had been blown to bits. “You and Shelly start carrying anyone who’s still alive and can be physically transported from the road to Doc’s operating table.” He glanced up to the sky, which was so blue and cloudless that it seemed incapable of raining down the hellfire that Charlie and the others had just survived. “I don’t know if they’re coming back.”

  “There are still a few enemy stragglers left behind, picking people off down the road,” Shelly said.

  “Then the priority is to secure the area,” Charlie said, separating himself from the rest of the group and heading toward Doc’s house in search of a vehicle. “And when you find Liz—”

  “I know,” Shelly said.

  “Thank you.” Charlie turned on his heel, sprinting toward Doc’s house, praying that a vehicle was still intact.

  On the run, he tried to avoid looking at any portion of the ground, the field of death spread farther and wider than Charlie ever could have imagined. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. But fair cared nothing of how Charlie felt about the events unfolding around him, and it cared nothing of the consequences that befell the world around it.

  Charlie spied three Humvees destroyed, taken out by a single blast, but when he rounded the damaged vehicles, he spied a fourth that had remained unharmed.

  The engine roared, and the tires kicked up dirt as Charlie steered the hulking piece of armor around the dead bodies and craters that plagued his path toward Mayfield. The going was slow, and he saw no movement on the road, which only worsened the sour pit in his stomach.

  Charlie weaved around the dead, making sure to hit nothing but asphalt and dirt on his way toward Mayfield. A few sparks of hope lit up inside of him at the sight of his people retreating toward the safety of the trees, but when he noticed that a few of them had blue patches, Charlie started to wonder.

  He had no idea where the stranger was. He didn’t even know if the man was still alive. And if the leader of their clan was gone, Charlie was unsure of how they would handle a succession. The thought made his foot hit the brakes, but he pushed past it.

  All that mattered at this point was getting to Mayfield. Dixon needed to know about the planes, hell, he needed to know about the men that were marching their way. He pressed forward, unsure of what he’d do if he ran into the enemy along the way, but he knew that without the survival of the power plant in Mayfield, everything they’d done would have been for nothing.

  Once clear of the carnage that the planes had unleashed upon the world, Charlie floored the Humvee down the road, the hillsides and greenery passing by him in a blur. He hugged the winding roads, only easing the brakes when it felt like the top-heavy vehicle was about to spill off the side of the road and tumble down the mountainside.

  Charlie flexed his grip over the steering wheel, his fingers biting the wheel so hard that his skin peeled off like Velcro with every adjustment he made. His eyes were focused, his mind sharpened and his vision tunneled.

  His heart raced in time and rhythm with the beating pistons of the Humvee, and when Charlie rounded the last bend that revealed Mayfield’s sign, Charlie’s eyes widened to the catastrophic and dismal display of destruction of the city ahead.

  “No.” The plea escaped a pair of desperate lips, and Charlie slammed the accelerator, rocketing toward Mayfield on the straightaway.

  The guard post at the town’s entrance had been destroyed, and the skeletal structures that the fire had left a year ago were demolished, fresh flames smoldering in the piles of rubble that dotted either side of the road.

  And the street itself was torn up, forcing Charlie to stop and get out of the vehicle. He grabbed his rifle, slamming the door shut and running toward the power plant, the structure blocked by the still-standing hospital.

  The bombs that had been dropped did a lot of damage, but like the orchard, there were pockets of areas that remained unscathed. Monuments left untouched, still standing tall above the rest of the rubble littering the earth.

  Bullets kicked up dust to Charlie’s left, and he veered right for cover behind a pile of bricks that had belonged to one of the buildings. Breathing heavily and his heart pounding, Charlie gripped his rifle with both hands, clutching it against his chest, and then slowly maneuvered his way toward the edge of the pile of rubble.

  Unsure if it was enemy or friendly fire, Charlie tried to get a better look before he started to open fire. He knew that everyone was going to be on edge from the attack, and he didn’t want to provoke an already-wounded bear.

  “It’s Charlie! From the orchard!” he shouted, his voice cracking from the effort after so much exertion. He waited for a response, hoping that if they were on his side, they’d reply with something in English, though he never considered the possibility of moles in the area working for the terrorists. He’d run into that problem only once before, and he hoped that wouldn’t be the case now.

  “Come out with your hands up!”

  Charlie exhaled in relief at the native tongue and accent and slowly did as he was told, weapon raised high and without malice as he squinted down the street. After a few seconds, a pair of men emerged from behind a rubble pile, both keeping their guns up as they jogged toward Charlie.

  “Where’s Dixon?” Charlie asked, keeping his hands in the air and spouting the question before either of them even got close. “Is he alive? Is the power plant—”

  �
�Don’t move.” The lead soldier who arrived and stood in front of Charlie first stared at him through the sight of his assault rifle. He waited until his partner joined him before he lowered the weapon. “Drop it.”

  “You have to know who I am,” Charlie said, keeping the rifle on his person. “Where’s Dixon?”

  “Wait.” The second soldier lowered his rifle, squinting at Charlie in disbelief. “Holy shit, it really is you. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Charlie stepped forward. “They hit the orchard.” Charlie looked between both of them. “Is Dixon still alive?”

  “Yes,” the second soldier answered. “He’s at the hospital.”

  “And the power plant?” Charlie asked.

  “It got scorched a little bit, but it’s fine.”

  Charlie exhaled. If the power plant was still intact, then they still had a chance at coming out of this with something good. “Listen. I think the bulk of their forces are on their way here. How many men do you have left?”

  The first soldier chuckled. “You really are brain dead.” He gestured around. “Take a look, Farm Boy. How many men you think we’ve got?”

  “We still have our artillery,” the second soldier replied, much calmer than his partner. “We took down two of their planes when they flew over. It’s the only reason the power plant is still standing.”

  “Take me to Dixon,” Charlie said.

  Finally, though reluctantly, the soldiers led Charlie to the hospital at the end of the town. Along the way, Charlie saw the wreckage of one of the planes that they’d taken down, which crashed into a building, its final act of defiance before destruction.

  But Charlie also noted that the second half of the town was in far better shape. The bombings had little to no effect on most of the structures leading up to the hospital, and Charlie stopped and stared at the power plant in the distance, unscathed, just like the soldiers had said.

  And it was also where Charlie saw the bulk of Dixon’s forces still crawling over the crater-infested fields that surrounded the power plant. He also saw the massive guns that had been wheeled out, along with the rocket launchers that Dixon had kept for himself.

  Charlie followed the soldiers inside. He did his best not to get in people’s way as the soldiers led him toward Dixon, but a room off to the left caught his eye.

  It was filled with rows of tables, each of them with five stations manned by soldiers who held what looked like radios. Charlie stopped to stare, and one of the men inside the room noticed and quickly shut the door.

  “Hey.” The soldier tugged at Charlie’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Charlie fell back into line and finished the short walk that remained to him back toward Dixon’s new makeshift office. He found the commander hovering over a table with a large map spread out across it, his advisers flanking him on either side.

  “The north is clear, we’ve already confirmed that with our scouts,” Dixon replied. “The only concern we have from there is an air attack, so I want two of the guns moved to the structure’s north side.”

  “There’s heavy debris and the forest tree lines are quite high on that side, sir,” the nearest adviser replied.

  “Then start chopping them down, and tell them to double time it. We won’t lose this fight because we didn’t exert the effort.” Dixon pounded his fist on the table to accentuate the point, and it wasn’t until the advisers exited the room that he finally noticed Charlie near the door. “You’re alive.”

  Charlie stepped toward Dixon. “They’re on their way.”

  Dixon scoffed, returning his concentration to the map. “They’re already here. I just need to make sure that we keep them away from the power plant long enough for backup to arrive.”

  “Backup?” Charlie asked.

  Dixon looked up. “You don’t think our air force doesn’t have a few working planes? The moment those bastards bring back those tin cans, we’ll blast them out of the sky, and then repay the favor to their ground forces.”

  “How long until the backup arrives?” Charlie asked.

  “Undetermined,” Dixon answered.

  “Dixon, the orchard’s been torn apart,” Charlie said, leaning against the table with the map, his hands covering some of the region. “My people are open to attack.”

  When Dixon didn’t respond, Charlie stepped around the table.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you, Charlie.” Dixon sighed, then shrugged when he turned to Charlie. “But what do you want me to do about it? I need every last soldier here to defend the plant. We can’t lose it now.”

  Charlie turned to the map. “How many hostiles have you counted?”

  “Scouts have said it’s near one thousand.”

  Charlie’s jaw dropped, and he arched his eyebrows at the number. “How is that possible? I didn’t even know there were that many left.”

  “Intelligence has confirmed it’s the last of their men and resources on the western front,” Dixon answered. “We win this fight, and we’ve won the war. The east has only a quarter of those fighting bastards left, and the rest are being snuffed out as we speak.” He offered another heavy thud of his fist against the table. “It’s the final hours, Charlie.” He turned to him. “There’s nothing for you to do here. Go back to your people. Keep them safe. Let me do my job.”

  Dixon tried to step around Charlie, thinking the conversation was over, but Charlie blocked the commander’s path. “Your job was to send us backup. Your job was to make sure that The Orchard stayed out of harm’s way.” He frowned, staring at Dixon. “Did you know about the planes?” He tilted his head to the side, his mind and body becoming off kilter as he stared the commander down.

  “Charlie, now really isn’t the time—”

  “Did you know?” Charlie stepped forward, getting in the commander’s face, the pair of men one shove away from exploding into a fistfight.

  Dixon clenched his jaw and balled his fists at his side. “I make a thousand decisions every day. And nearly every single one of them have life and death consequences.” He frowned. “And while there are thousands of those choices to make every day, the only thing that I have to guide me are the orders that the facility under my command return to full functioning capacity. Because this place is more than just the sum of its parts, Charlie. It’s the future. Future for my family. Future for your family and a million others.” He cocked his head to the side. “So if you’re asking me if I had to make the decision of keeping those cards close to my chest to prevent any panic or insubordination, then yes. I did.”

  Charlie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, or if he said anything in the stretch of silence after Dixon had finished speaking, but before he even realized what was happening, he had his hands around Dixon’s throat, driving the man backwards and pinning him up against the wall.

  Dixon fought back, punching Charlie’s sides, which weakened Charlie’s grip and provided enough wiggle room for the commander to squeeze out of Charlie’s hold and separate himself from Charlie just as a pair of soldiers flooded into the room to restrain Charlie and pin him up against the wall.

  “Get him out of here!” Dixon shouted, his face and neck blood red as he readjusted his uniform, smoothing out the creases that Charlie had caused.

  And while Charlie allowed himself to be removed from the area, he shoved the guards off of him once he was out of the room, the pair of men letting him walk out on his own accord, his anger still steaming out of his ears.

  He was shoved outside and escorted all the way back to his Humvee, and the soldiers kept their rifles trained on him until he was completely out of the town.

  A mixture of shock and rage flowed through him, and the more distance he put between himself and Mayfield, the more he wanted to turn around and knock Dixon’s block off. But he kept driving toward home. Or at least what was left of it.

  18

  The bulk of the dead was still on the pavement, and Charlie slowed to finally look at the bodies scattered a
bout. Every corpse on the ground was another stab to his heart. Every lifeless pair of eyes stared back at him with the glaring expression of failure.

  Charlie stopped at Doc’s, dropping the Humvee off and finding a trail of patients waiting for him to keep them alive. Shelly and Jason were helping a few more over, and Charlie moved in to assist, sliding the fighter’s arm over his shoulders and helping him limp toward the queue of the dying.

  Shelly and Charlie gently set him on the ground, propping him up against the shattered remains of Doc’s house. Finished, the pair stepped back as Jason brought over another one.

  Charlie counted thirty-two fighters wounded. And after seeing so many dead, he never would have thought he would have wished for more.

  “What happened with Mayfield?” Shelly asked, wiping the sweat from her brow, smearing some blood across her skin.

  Charlie stared at the crimson stain for a moment, and then looked past Shelly to the road of destruction and death that had plagued them.

  “He knew,” Charlie said, shaking his head, a desperate laughter flowing through him. “He fucking knew about the planes.”

  “What?” Shelly asked, unable to hide the shock and anger in her voice. “That fucking cunt!”

  “So what now?” Jason asked.

  Charlie shrugged. He was in the dark and in unfamiliar territory. The only thing he could do now was wait to see if Dixon and his men could hold off the assault that was heading toward them and pray the terrorists didn’t decide to come back to the orchard for another sweep. He glanced back out to the forest, his eyes scanning the horizon. “How is everyone else?”

  “Scared, confused,” Shelly answered. “God, and I still can’t believe that asshole didn’t say anything about the planes. We could have planned for—”

  “I know,” Charlie said, cutting her off. The anger had subsided, the rage carving out his bones, leaving him hollow. “We keep the rest of our people alive. It’s the only thing left for us to do.”

  “Charlie!” The stranger called from down the road, helping carry one of his fighters, which he set down next to the rest of the wounded waiting for treatment.