The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

  I sighed. “Preacher, I understand. I know I was asking a lot of people. I don’t think I’m enlightened. I just had a gut feeling of how bad these people were.”

  “We lied to ourselves,” he summarized. “We told ourselves people couldn’t be that evil. Seeing what they did to that girl…”

  “It was more than just her,” I told him. “There were many more.”

  Guilt rippled across his face. I didn’t want to put more on him, but I did want the overall truth to settle in.

  “Fish kinda said the same thing to me, so don’t feel bad,” I said reassuringly.

  “Pretty much everyone feels the same way now,” Preacher responded, finally returning my gaze. He paused a moment, contemplating.

  I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Did you see the look on Fish’s face while that video was playing?” Preacher asked.

  “I really didn’t notice, but most of his looks are pretty much the same. Angry and irritable,” I chuckled.

  “I watched him,” Preacher said in a hollow voice. “I saw how he reacted as he watched that girl get raped. There…there was something off.” He paused, unsure if he should go on.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, no longer laughing.

  “There is something dark inside that man, Christian. I know you two are close. Just…just be careful.”

  I had a feeling what dark side he was talking about. I had seen it before. I saw it when he pointed his gun at my head months before in a small utility van. I saw it when he confronted Judy and when he shoved a dagger through the bottom of Cecil’s chin. Controlled rage is what it was.

  But Preacher didn’t know Fish like I did. He wasn’t there in the dental office when Fish cracked and couldn’t kill me after I had been bitten by a zombie. I believed that whatever darkness was inside my friend was starting to wane. That he was seeing a side of humanity again, one he had lost. I thought I knew Fish’s demons, and I thought he had killed them.

  I didn’t realize some demons, especially the ones I didn’t know about, couldn’t be killed.

  When Jenna rejoined us in Big Red with another full plate, half of which she fed to Boomer, Preacher said his goodbyes and left.

  Later, when night fell, I joined Campbell, Fish, and Dobson in the shop’s office. DJ, Preacher, and Enrique were finishing up their work on mounting the M240 machinegun, using tools and equipment they found in the mechanic workshop.

  “Jesus,” Fish said as I closed the door behind me. “I don’t see any Zulus.”

  “Me either,” Campbell agreed as he squinted at the laptop screen. “But the route north looks like it’s been manipulated post Awakening. The cars are positioned like jagged barriers.”

  I walked around the desk where they were standing and peeked over Fish’s shoulder. It took a moment for my brain to process and orientate the green shades.

  “What are those in the road?” Dobson asked, pointing to the east side of the bridge.

  Campbell peered in closer.

  “Looks like road barriers. Barricades for construction,” the Captain answered.

  Campbell traced an embankment spanning off the barriers on either side.

  “Those are fairly recent,” he stated. “Maybe a month old. And check that out.”

  Campbell pointed to a building just before the bridge.

  “What is it?” Dobson asked.

  I looked at the picture on the screen. He was pointing at a thick line along an eight-foot span of the roof.

  “Sandbags?” Fish inquired.

  “Or something like them,” Campbell acknowledged. “I bet as we look around more, we’ll find more defensive positions. If I had to bet, I’d say this was the Military.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I finally spoke up.

  Fish shot me a look and turned back to the screen. “Maybe, kid. Depends. The world has changed.”

  Campbell began to point out more possible defensive positions. Some were on the opposite side of the bridge. The Captain called them ‘fall back’ locations.

  Dobson nodded. “They may have some remnants of military with their group, or may even be led by someone who was combat arms. Fall back positions mean they are based across the bridge. Head further west.”

  The drone’s camera began to angle west across the river. Immediately, bright spots of light were clustered just to the southwest. The Suwannee River looped around to the west, creating a peninsula the size of ten football fields, almost completely surrounded by the water way and thick with trees. The lights were right in the middle of the headland.

  The illumination was coming from a large, open area in the middle of the woods. Again, the night vision played tricks as it did when we observed the Bogdon Textile Mill. The radiance of light was minor in reality, requiring the drone to get closer to see any detail.

  As the UAV neared, it was evident that the clearing was actually a large storage complex. Six long buildings ran uniform to each other east to west.

  Campbell began to point out identifiable objects.

  “At least four buses, twenty other vehicles…that looks like a septic truck. No generators, but I see some small windmills, and these thick lines here are power cables or maybe water lines leading to the river. They’ve replaced the entire perimeter with corrugated metal walls. Numerous towers, people on the roofs of the buildings. They have dogs,” Campbell said, directing our attention to a pack of small objects moving around.

  “Alerted to the drone?” I asked.

  Campbell nodded and then began to point out guards walking the grounds.

  “Look here,” he said, pointing near the entrance of the compound. “That’s a Stryker, I think. Four HUMVEEs, and an MRAP, if I’m correct. Definitely is, or was, military.”

  I knew what a Stryker was, having ridden in one when I was deployed in Afghanistan. They were tough SOBs, with eight wheels and designed to carry troops into combat. MRAPs were all purpose chassis with three axles and could be used as anything from engineering vehicles to Armored Personnel Carriers. From the looks of that one, it was an APC.

  Dobson cleared his throat. “How many people do you think?”

  Campbell took in a deep breath. “I’d say one to two hundred. Hard to tell, but there is a lot going on down there. Most of their towers are pointing west. I understand they have the bridge locked down, but why not defend the whole compound equally?”

  “Maybe something scary is to the west,” Fish muttered. Dobson shot him a look, then turned back to the laptop.

  The Captain maneuvered Ghost around the area, following the dark lines through the brush to the river. Odd shaped blobs were positioned along the bank.

  “That’s a pumping station and those are water turbines. They have a decent setup, but…” Campbell trailed off.

  Fish raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

  “It’s just not sustainable. Not for that many people. At Camp Holly, we had the river, but more open areas for cultivation. I don’t see any farm land, and hydro or aquaponic systems are either hidden in those buildings, which I doubt, or do not exist at all. Their food must come from scavenging, and in this rural area, there can’t be much.”

  “Scavenging or stealing,” Dobson muttered. “Bring it back.”

  Fish grunted in agreement as Campbell guided the drone back to our camp.

  “So, what are our options?” Dobson asked the room.

  “We can keep going north,” Fish suggested.

  “Problem with that,” Campbell said, pulling out the map with one hand while guiding Ghost back with the other, “the only way north from here is take 26 to Route 341. That turnoff is near where Route 98 crosses the bridge. They will see us. I’d also like to point out that we saw plenty of roadblocks on 26 and may have missed some traps.”

  “Yeah, but if we drive real fast, avoid traps, and barrel through their roadblocks on 26, can they catch us?” Dobson asked.

  “Depends on how much they want to catch us. If they have a
good enough QRF and any vehicles faster than a dump truck, they’ll catch us without too much of a problem. But that’s not just it,” Campbell said dryly.

  Dobson eyed the map, following the road labeled ‘341’ north and sighed.

  “It’s forty miles to the next bridge,” Dobson groaned, “and another fifty or so after that. Then we hit Interstate 10.”

  “Exactly,” Campbell nodded. “We could be passing this area up for a worse one, for all we know.”

  “What do you think, Fish?” Dobson asked.

  Fish leaned in next to Campbell. “Replay from the beginning.”

  Campbell landed the drone near the CDC bus and then clicked the replay button.

  Fish mumbled to himself as the video passed over the bridge area, his eyes darting to various spots on the screen.

  “Pause it,” he said moments before it turned to toward the storage unit compound.

  “Alright,” Fish grumbled and pointed to where the road barricades were placed. “This is obviously an ambush spot, or at least a position of power and influence. Anyone coming down to the bridge is subject to a quick and bloody death if they wish it. They’ve aligned roadblocks in other locations, making it damn near impossible to take another route to the bridge or north of the town.”

  “Are you saying we loop around? Find another way?” Dobson asked quizzically.

  “Nope, I’m saying let’s walk into their teeth,” Fish smirked.

  “You’re kidding,” I scoffed. Dobson and Campbell exchanged weary expressions.

  “Not in the least,” Fish chuckled, and then turned serious. “Everything here is straight out of seven dash eight. This is basic shit. When we dropped into Afghanistan, before the first official boots hit the ground, we trained the locals how to fight alongside our forces. Setting up defensive positions for villages was part of that training. Seven dash eight has basic designs that were easy to teach people with little to no experience. Everything here follows those rules. They have someone there that went to Swick, or got their hands on our procedures.”

  “Swick?” I mumbled in confusion.

  “SF school,” Dobson informed me.

  “You’re saying there are Green Berets down there?” I asked.

  “Kid, if you use that term again, I might have to punch you in your throat,” Fish scolded.

  Fish had Campbell rewind and play the video a few times. Then Fish began to laugh. I hated it when he did that. He sounded like a dying Hyena.

  “I’m saying whoever designed this perimeter did it strictly by the book. For most people, this would be a problem. Luckily for us I know what I’m doing. Hehe, I can even see their sniper positions. I want to meet this pogue.” Fish recovered from his outburst and cleared his throat. “Yes, Major, I say we drive into the lion’s den.”

  “Tell me you have a plan,” Dobson said irritably.

  Fish smiled wickedly.

  “Of course I have a plan,” he replied with a feigned expression of being offended, and the proceeded to relay his plan.

  Nobody liked the plan, especially me and Major Dobson, though, our reasons were different.

  I hated it because it meant leaving Jenna and Karina behind. Jenna swore her arm was, at minimum, good enough to shoot with and Karina was happy as hell to have the important role of security for the two young women.

  Dobson, on the other hand, didn’t like the fact that I would be in the convoy that was going to roll straight into the ambush area.

  Fish’s reasoning was sound, of course. If things went bad, Big Red could run the barricades on the bridge. The storage center compound was far enough south of the main road that the fire truck and the CDC bus would have a decent head start in the event of a pursuit. Plus, Big Red now had extra muscle in the form of the M240 machinegun to answer any weapons fire from the opposition.

  On the bright side, Campbell pointed out the lack of zombies in the area. That meant that whoever these people were, they had cleared the town fairly well. There was little worry of the dead being a wild card in his tactics.

  “This could get ugly,” Dobson told Fish after we finalized his insane plan.

  “Chances are, sir, they are going to be friendly. But if shit goes bad, you and the rest will make a speedy getaway,” Fish said as he stood up and stretched.

  “Not the rest,” I countered. “Jenna and Karina—”

  “Will be fine,” Fish cut me off. “They can easily skirt north in the F350 if something goes wrong. They’ll have enough fuel and food to last a week. We have a rally point sixty miles away. If we get separated, we will meet up in three days.”

  “But it also means leaving you behind. Left without transportation, mind you,” Dobson reminded him.

  “I’m touched you’re so concerned,” Fish sneered. “I’ll be fine, Major. You just worry about keeping the boy wonder here safe.”

  “What about their heavy armament? Stryker, MRAP, and God knows what type of firepower they have. We may be outmatched,” Dobson continued.

  “Stop stressing, sir,” Fish waved him off. “That MRAP and Stryker are at the compound for a reason. Something to the west has them spooked.”

  “But…we’re heading west,” I noted.

  “One problem at a time, kid,” Fish said.

  I spent some time with Jenna after Fish had briefed her and Karina on their roles. I was worried I would never see her again. She tried to comfort me, telling me Fish knew what he was doing, but I saw her own concern behind her eyes.

  I hopped into Big Red, noticing that Fish was still up, examining the video over and over again.

  I know I should have had faith in the man. He had usually been on point when it came to these types of situations. It was an uneasy sleep for everyone in our party that night.

  Fish, Karina, and Jenna had left our camp an hour before sunrise. They had radios, but we were going dark for the time being. No need for useless communications if our possible enemy could listen in on our conversations. The only type of comms we would have with them would be a series of clicks that would let us know when they were in position, when the mission was a go, or if we had to abandon it all together.

  Our job was the easiest of all. We simply had to drive into the ambush.

  DJ was poised on the turret this time, however. Enrique drove Big Red with Pittman riding shotgun. Preacher, Boomer and I hunkered down in the back seat.

  Campbell drove the CDC bus with Doctor Tripp, Daniel, and Dobson.

  The first signal came in from Fish. It was a simple, single click on the radio.

  We pulled out of the auto garage and headed north toward Fanning Springs. About a mile up, the road curved toward the bridge, which was still almost another mile to the west. We pulled into a church parking lot, awaiting the next signal.

  Two clicks echoed in my earpiece. That meant that whoever was guarding the bridge was alerted to our presence. We had planned for that. We hoped that either they would come out to meet us, or sit on the bridge and wait. Our cover was simple. If they came to us, we would tell them we were stopping to get our bearings. It sounded silly, I know. At this point, we didn’t know what their intentions were.

  Fifteen minutes passed as Fish did what he set out to do. The people guarding the bridge never came our way, preferring to hunker down in their defensive positions.

  We still had no clue how many there were. There was a code for that, but it wasn’t time yet.

  “There’s a positive side to this,” Pittman said dryly.

  “What’s that?” I asked, still ducking out of view.

  “Well, we haven’t heard any communication from them. Either they don’t have comms, are on different frequencies and can’t hear us, or are on different frequencies while scanning all the others. So, we have a two in three chance they can’t hear us when we go live.”

  “I’ll be extra happy if it is option one,” I said nervously.

  “Me, too,” Pittman muttered.

  My earpiece rattled as Fish tapped his transm
itter three times. That was the go. What followed were eight clicks, telling us how many men Fish could see guarding the bridge.

  “Only eight?” Pittman said, astonished.

  “You’d figure a group that large would have fifteen or twenty people guarding that bridge,” Preacher said.

  “Not really,” I countered. “Day and night, that’s a lot of manpower to keep on guard for one location.”

  Enrique started the engine and Big Red lurched forward.

  “And Fish can’t count how many are on their way to the bridge, either. Who knows? This plan is shit,” Pittman growled.

  “Have faith,” I said. It was an empty reassurance.

  Big Red lumbered forward into the lion’s den.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Destitute

  August 13th Morning

  The anxiety level in Big Red’s cab rose as we approached the bridge. I peeked between the seats, unable to stay down, per Dobson’s command. If we were about to get into a firefight, I needed to know what was happening.

  Everything appeared much larger than when we were viewing the area on Ghost’s night vision.

  The route was a wide, four lane road as it entered the small town. Buildings seemed further apart. Grass stood three feet high in some places. Debris, abandoned cars, and even the occasional body were on the pavement. The corpses had little to no skulls left, most likely bashed in or cut off. There was a lot more hiding places than I originally thought and I began to second guess Fish’s plan.

  The barricades were quickly coming into view and Enrique slowed Big Red down to a crawl.

  Fish, Jenna and Karina were somewhere out there, waiting or gathering intelligence. For all I knew, they were captured or even dead.

  A man rose from behind an embankment off to the side. Then another and another followed until we had seven men lined in an arc in front of us. Each was armed with one type of rifle or another, most of which were M4s or AR15s. Some wore ammo vests, while others had pouches attached to their belts.