“He went this way. You can see where his soles scraped some of the pine needles away.”
“I told you.”
“Shut it. Not another word from here on out,” Lucas cautioned, and then set off along the path, barely more than a rut in the hillside. The terrain rose steadily, and Lucas stopped every few minutes to verify that Grant hadn’t veered off. After half an hour of hard climbing, Lucas leaned toward Alex and whispered, “What’s up here?”
“Beats me. Nothing, as far as I know, except forest.”
They crept steadily along until they reached the edge of a ravine, where some of the brush gave way to a clearing on the side of the hill. The stars were beginning to glimmer overhead, and Lucas could see the dark outline of a concrete bunker. Alex motioned to it and whispered to him, “There’s a horse tied over by the side – see?”
Lucas offered Alex a grim smile. “Yep. And you can make out a little light at the bottom of the door. He’s in there.”
“How do you want to do this?”
“Same as before. You go first.”
“I’d feel way better with my gun back.”
“No chance of that happening. Before we do this, what can you tell me about Grant? Is he good with weapons? Does he work out? Martial arts?”
Alex shrugged. “I have no idea. He keeps to himself. But I think you can assume he’s dangerous.”
“Not very helpful.” Lucas paused, thinking, and then nodded once. “Get moving.”
“We…maybe we can lure him out.”
“And maybe he can destroy whatever he’s got in there, or if there’s a tunnel or something, he can escape. Nice try. Now move.”
“I…” Alex said, and then his shoulders slumped in resignation and he edged forward, his expression that of a death-row prisoner walking to the chair.
Lucas followed close behind, not really caring whether Alex took a bullet or not. If Grant shot him, he’d have earned it fair and square. Any compassion he might have felt evaporated when he remembered Joel’s fingerless hands and what he must have endured before being left for dead. To resort to that level of cruelty placed Grant in a special category, and Alex had been happy to serve as his accomplice until he’d gotten caught. Neither of them deserved the slightest pity, which was precisely the amount he would show them.
The horse whinnied softly when they drew near, and snorted as it shook its head to pull at its reins. Lucas shushed the animal and pushed Alex toward the steel door, his carbine’s safety off.
Alex reached the metal slab and looked over his shoulder at Lucas, obviously terrified. Lucas waited with his gun pointed at Alex’s back. Alex drew in a tight breath, twisted the knob, and called out as he swung the door open.
“Grant? It’s me, Alex. Don’t shoo–”
A hail of bullets cut Alex almost in half and he flew backward, the impact of the slugs a series of wet thwacks only feet from where Lucas was throwing himself to the side as he opened fire. The door remained half open and he loosed salvo after salvo into the room in hopes of hitting something, firing blind, no chance to look through the scope as he landed hard on the ground. His shots were returned from inside, the earth around him pocked by slugs, and he rolled out of the line of fire while emptying his magazine in an attempt to buy a few precious seconds.
Lucas swapped his spent magazine for a full one and blasted fifteen rounds on full auto through the door, the whine of ricochets telling him that the bunker might well wind up being Grant’s crypt – at least he hoped so. He released the trigger and waited, sighting through the scope at the doorway, the interior glowing bright yellow in the lens. He blinked away perspiration, his breathing labored and his heart trip-hammering in his chest like it was trying to rip free.
Seconds passed, and there was no more shooting. Lucas remained where he was, hopeful that he was masked by the night sufficiently to blend with the surrounding scrub. After a minute went by, he pushed himself cautiously to his feet and approached the building, his boots crunching on loose gravel as he neared.
He stood to the side of the door, wary of more defensive fire. When none greeted him, he crouched and ducked around the door, coming in low, leading with his rifle barrel.
Grant lay on the floor, his weapon by his hand, blood seeping from several wounds in his chest and abdomen. His eyes were wide in the camping lantern’s dim light, and he was clearly dying. The radio was a shambles, the front shattered by stray rounds. His pants were soaked from his bladder letting go, and he barely registered Lucas, who slowly straightened and moved toward him, M4 trained on his head.
When Lucas was standing over him, Grant’s eyelids fluttered and he tried to focus on Lucas. He coughed, and a crimson trickle oozed from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek to his ear. Lucas watched his life leach from him and leaned closer.
“Was it worth it?” he asked.
Grant coughed again, more blood gushing from his nose and mouth, and he managed a croak. “You’re…dead…soon,” he rasped, and then was racked by more coughing, his wounds pulsing blood with each spasm.
Lucas toed Grant’s weapon away and gave an equanimous shrug. “Maybe. But you’ll be in hell first.”
Grant gasped and his limbs straightened. He shuddered twice and fell still, staring into infinity with the look of surprise Lucas was all too familiar with. He’d seen hundreds die, but it never failed that they seemed shocked at the end, like death was some cruel trick they weren’t ready for. He wondered briefly whether that was how he would go, and then shrugged off the macabre thought and gazed around the room.
Other than the radio, there was precious little in the vault. He gathered up a canvas shoulder bag from beside the metal desk and peered inside, and frowned at the sight of a pair of pruning shears covered with a rust-colored crust.
Joel’s blood.
A canteen. A worn almanac. A Glock 9mm. A pair of gloves.
Nothing that told him anything more than he’d known before the gunfight.
Lucas moved to the radio and eyed it in disgust. Any idea of using it to communicate with Elliot disappeared when he saw the damage – it was irreparable. That Grant had a secret transmitter locked away in the middle of nowhere was all he needed to know. He had to assume that Joel had revealed the new enclave location in Pagosa Springs, which meant that everyone there was in imminent danger.
He shook off the ringing in his ears, the tinnitus from the gun battle the prior night and the shooting tonight loud as a siren. There was nothing to be done there. He would have to come up with a plan to warn Elliot, but without a radio anywhere nearby, he didn’t have any options, so he’d worry about that once he was back in town and had shared his discovery with the council.
Lucas stepped from the bunker and waited for his eyes to readjust to the darkness and, when he could distinguish shapes, made his way toward the horse. He was nearly to the animal when a dark form materialized from the wall and clubbed him in the side of the head with a length of wood. Lucas’s knees gave, and then he was tumbling down the grade, pinpoints of light clouding his vision as he rolled to a stop. He looked up to see the figure untie Grant’s horse, and the last thing he registered as his attacker launched into the saddle and raced off was the face of Chen glancing in his direction before putting the spurs to the horse and vanishing into the darkness.
Chapter 41
Lucas stirred and instinctively felt on the ground around him for his M4 as he opened his eyes. His skull throbbed from the glancing blow and he’d lost his hat, and he realized as he propped himself up on one elbow that he had dried blood along one side of his face. He consulted his watch to see how long he’d been out and saw that it had been almost an hour – not good, although he supposed it could have been worse. He probed the head wound with his fingers and made a face when he felt the beginnings of a scab on a pronounced knot. Other than that and a few bruises on his knees from the fall, he appeared intact, as far as he could tell; and after several deep breaths, he peered around for his rifle.
>
He spotted the weapon five yards up the slope and began the crawl back toward the bunker, snagging the M4 on the way. He checked it quickly and then swept the area with the NV scope until he saw his hat near the crest of the ravine. He pulled himself toward it, rocks skittering down the grade behind him as he struggled for purchase with his boots, and when he reached it, set it gingerly on his head and forced himself the rest of the way up.
The grogginess he felt when he reached the rim wasn’t good, but there was little he could do about it. He wasn’t losing any more blood, and if he had a concussion, he’d have to power through it and make his way back to the town under his own steam. The prospect wasn’t an attractive one, but as he sat with his back against the wall of the bunker, Alex’s corpse only a few yards away, he reconciled himself to doing what he must and pushed to his feet.
The ground beneath him pitched like the deck of a ship in rough seas, and he leaned against the wall until the dizziness receded to something manageable. When it had, he set off along the trail, retracing his steps at a snail’s pace, wary of being attacked again on the way back to town. Whatever Chen’s role in the kidnapping and torture had been, he’d established his guilt by his actions, and there was a better than even chance that he would return to finish the job once he realized that Lucas might have survived and would seek retribution.
Lucas picked his way carefully along the track, the surface slick from condensation, stopping every ten minutes to rest when his vision blurred and he couldn’t trust his footing. At the third stop he dared to close his eyes for a brief moment and dozed off, the only sound that of his breathing as his body desperately tried to repair itself.
~ ~ ~
Chen arrived at the second gate and waved at the guards, whom he knew from prior trips and with whom Grant had cleared his comings and goings using the power of the mayor’s office. They eased the heavy iron barricade to the side and he rode through, not stopping to exchange pleasantries or answer questions about why he might be riding Grant’s horse.
The streets of the town were quiet except for the clatter of hooves on pavement, and he was at the marina in less than twenty minutes, his expression grim. He tied the horse to a lamppost and scurried down the gangplank to the docks. When he reached the first boat, he knocked on the window and called out in Cantonese. He did the same at the next boat, and the next, until he’d roused everyone and had the attention of the men gathered around him.
“Make ready to sail. We’ll be gone by dawn and can hide in the base until it’s time.”
“How long?” one of the men asked.
“Grant said another few days. They’re on their way.”
“Then why leave now?”
Chen explained about the fight at the bunker and about Lucas. “We’re too exposed. I was forced to tip my hand.” He paused. “Enough of this. You know what to do. Prepare to sail so we can leave immediately when I return. Open the sea cocks on any boats they could use to follow us. That will buy us enough time to make a clean getaway.”
“But won’t we need them…after?”
“We can worry about raising them from the bottom once we have control of the area. Now no more discussion. Lee, Bao, get the charges and come with me.”
The trio met at the marina entry and skulked along the streets until they arrived at the building the council had selected as the town arms and ammunition depot. A single guard dozed in front of the entryway on a folding metal chair, his rifle across his lap. There had never been any issues at the depot, and the duty was considered by many to be among the most boring in Astoria, an annoying precaution by control freaks who were afraid of their own shadows.
Chen made a hand signal and Lee handed him the heavy backpack he was carrying before melting into the gloom. Fog had begun rolling in from the bay as the night temperature dropped, dawn still several hours off, limiting visibility to a dozen yards. Chen and Bao watched as Lee appeared from the darkness a few feet from the guard and was on him before the man was able to bring his weapon into play. The long fileting knife in Lee’s hand flashed in the moonlight as it severed the guard’s throat in a single swipe, the razor-edged blade cutting to the bone.
The guard slid from the chair without a sound. Lee wiped the knife on the man’s shirt, shouldered his rifle’s sling, and trotted back to his companions. They moved as one to the armory and, after dragging the guard’s body inside, worked with quiet efficiency, placing timed charges near the ammunition stores. When they were done, Chen inspected each of the timers and nodded in satisfaction.
“We have an hour before the roof blows. Let’s get out of here.”
The men stuck to smaller streets on the way back to the marina in case some early-bird fisherman had insomnia or wanted to get a jump on sunrise. When they reached the gangplank, Chen took a final look at the town behind him and spit into the water.
“Put the sails up and cast off. I want to be well clear when the charges detonate,” he said. The others nodded – there was adequate breeze for their purposes, although it tended to strengthen come morning. By the time the town realized that their Asian guests had abandoned them, it would be too late; the Chinese would have disappeared in the predawn like phantoms.
They untied the dock lines and manhandled two sailboats away from the dock, pushing the hulls with all their might before leaping aboard. The sails puffed in the meager breeze, but with sufficient force that the captains were able to steer for the mouth of the harbor, moving at walking pace, the receding tide helping their cause. Chen stood at the helm of the larger of the two boats and watched the shoreline slowly fade into the fog, and then checked his watch, satisfied with their progress and hopeful that the destruction of the ammunition depot would provide sufficient distraction to cover their escape.
Chapter 42
Lucas jolted to his feet at the deafening roar of a massive explosion from Astoria. He checked his watch and saw that he’d lost almost two hours this time, although he felt much improved for the rest. He looked off in the direction of the town and saw a fireball ascending into the predawn sky like an orange fist, followed by a series of smaller blasts and what sounded like firecrackers detonating.
He threw caution to the wind and rushed down the rest of the trail, and when he reached the tent city, he picked up the pace to a jog, ignoring the spikes of pain that lanced through his head with every footfall. When he reached the main gate, the guards were agitated, and Lucas could see a glow from near the bay, haloing the town.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“Just heard over the radio. Ammo depot blew.”
“Any idea how?”
“No.”
Lucas pushed through the gap in the gate and continued at a rapid clip toward the inferno by the water, an occasional pop sounding as unspent bullets exploded. As he drew near, he saw the fire brigade with their cart and manual pump racing to the depot, and by their expressions he surmised that they would be lucky to limit the damage and keep the fire from spreading beyond the block. When he reached the site, he wasted no time and continued past it to the marina, where he stopped at the gate, his mouth set in a hard line.
Most of the boats were gone, only the tops of their masts sticking from the water. His worst fears realized, Lucas turned and surveyed the area, stopping when he saw a woman watching him from a house across the highway. He traversed the marina parking lot, crossed the road, and paused at her front stoop.
“You see what happened here?” he asked.
She squinted at him in the faint light. “Who wants to know? I don’t recognize you.”
“Name’s Lucas. I’m helping the council investigate things.”
The woman nodded as though that explained everything. “I heard some creaking and knocking about, which woke me. When I looked out the window, the Chinese were running around the docks like ants, going from boat to boat. I had no idea what they were doing until later, when the boats started sinking.”
“Where did they go after the
y were done?”
“They took their two sailboats and sailed off.”
“How long ago?”
“Maybe…half hour before all the ruckus.”
“Which way did they go? Out to the ocean?”
“I don’t think so. They tacked south after they cleared the breakwater, and then I lost sight of them.” She paused. “You think they’re behind the explosions?”
“Could be. Not sure what to think.”
“I never trusted them. They’re nothing but a bunch of connivers, if you ask me. I’m not surprised no good came of letting them stay here. That’s a hell of a way to repay our hospitality.”
Lucas had no rejoinder. He gazed off across the fog that shrouded the bay and then turned back to the woman. “What is there south of us that they might sail to?”
“Beats me. There’s just the two rivers, and nothing much up either one of them.”
“How far?”
“Oh, maybe a couple of miles.” She paused. “There’s a bridge across one you can make out from the edge of town, if that helps.”
“Not the big bridge across the bay to Washington?” he said, his voice doubtful.
“No. There used to be two across Young’s Bay, but they demolished part of the longer one, the Megler Bridge across the bay, to keep anyone from using it to sneak into Astoria, so now the only one that’s left is the smaller one – the Warrenton-Astoria Highway over on the south side of town that eventually turns into a bridge that crosses the Lewis and Clark River. It passes by the airport on the other side. You can’t miss it.”
Lucas nodded, remembering the bridge in the near distance from his earlier trip in that direction. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
“Hope you get to the bottom of it. These are dark times.”
“Indeed they are,” Lucas agreed.
“You got a bunch of dried blood on the side of your face.”
The Day After Never - Insurrection (Book 5) Page 21
