by Ahern, Jerry
He looked over his shoulder.
"Ma'am—"
"We've gotta get out of here," and she picked up his M-, giving hers to Michael. "Don't try, using this—something wrong—maybe the clip." Her husband had always told her to call them magazines, she suddenly remembered.
"Bill!"
"But ma'am—gotta bury—"
"Carry her—we'll bury her later—come on—come on— now!"
She pushed Michael and Annie ahead of her, toward the trees where Mary waited.
Bill Mulliner was walking—not fast—he held the girl in his arms, blood drenching the front of his clothes.
Sarah Rourke shifted the M-'s muzzle from side to side, running—her lungs ached, her shins ached. There were Russians everywhere—she would run for a long time still, she knew.
Chapter 59
Cole had remained quiet—stayed to himself. Rourke watched him as they walked, having taken the defile rather than the higher ground. He watched him because he distrusted him. But at least the fight had silenced him.
Natalia moved well, but without the usual spring to her step. Rubenstein still carried her pack, Rourke having taken her rifle. The woman now walked only with the double flap holsters containing the custom Smith L-Frames Sam Chambers had given her—these her only burden.
He watched her now—she seemed cold, the borrowed parka held close around her, the hood up, covering the dark, almost black hair which normally fell past her shoulders. He missed seeing it.
O'Neal walked beside him. "Doctor Rourke—how much longer?"
"We should be able to see Filmore once we get over the rise—then maybe a couple of hours more."
"I don't think the major is gonna make it that long."
Rourke nodded, then added, "Neither do I—once we get out of the defile, we can rest for a while—maybe take a few hours to sleep. She needs it—all of us do."
He glanced at his watch—it would be dark in less than an hour—a good time to rest. He judged them still having ten minutes more walking time in the defile—that would leave plenty of time to set up camp and post sentries.
But as yet, there had been no sign of the wildmen—only the sixth sense that they were out there. This had kept him driving them all throughout the day.
"Think those crazy people know we're here?"
"Yeah," Rourke said through his teeth.
"Think they're gonna attack?"
"Yeah—maybe not for a while yet—if they waited this long—" He stopped—in the fading reddish sun he caught the glint of steel in the rocks. He kept walking.
"O'Neal—without having your people change their pace—without anything—tell them to be ready for it—we've got company."
O'Neal started to look up. "Don't—up in those rocks to our left—gonna spring it on us when we reach the end of the defile—maybe just before."
Rourke quickened his pace, but only slightly, leaving O'Neal gradually more and more to his rear, catching up with Natalia and Rubenstein.
"Here," he rasped through his teeth, Natalia turning to look at him, her eyes wide, staring, "Carry your rifle—gonna need it."
Paul glanced toward him, never changing his pace. "Up in the rocks? I saw something catch the sun."
"Rifle maybe—I figure they're up there."
"Wonderful," Rubenstein groaned.
"John—if you have to—I'll slow you—"
"Shut up," he smiled, walking past her then as she took her M-.
Cole and one of his troopers led the ragged column. Rourke—slowly—caught up with him.
"Cole—up in the rocks—got company. Don't act differently—just keep walking."
"Aww, shit—if we hadn't brought the woman we woulda been outa here by now—"
"Shut up and listen. These guys weren't following us— probably got Filmore Air Force base ringed—that's a good sign—must mean somebody's alive in there. We just cut in on the wildmen—they weren't following us."
"I feel like I'm playin' cowboys and Indians—"
"Yeah, well—good similarity, I guess. When the shooting starts, you and your private there—take up positions on each side of the defile and start pumping up into the rocks—I'll take the others through, then Rubenstein and I will set up covering fire from the other side of the defile for you and your man to get through—then we try for Filmore as fast as we can."
"What're ya gonna do about the woman—"
"Carry her if I have to—she's my responsibility. You just do what you've gotta do and it'll work out."
Rourke slowed his pace, risking a glance up into the rocks—he saw movement, but indefinite movement—he wasn't certain.
The reflection could have been from a natural cause—a hiker could have left a bottle up in the rocks ten years earlier, rain washing it clean enough to catch the sun.
But he didn't think so—instinct again.
He looked ahead as he slowed enough for Natalia and Paul to catch up with him.
The defile narrowed into a wide "V" shape as they reached the height of the rise—if he were setting an ambush, it would be there. There was no way to get out of the defile except through the V-notch.
"John—"
He glanced to his left, Natalia beside him. "What is it?"
"I feel them—up there, waiting."
"Yeah—me, too," Rubenstein said, at his right.
"When it comes—Paul—you get Natalia through—"
"I can take care of myself—"
' 'Paul—you do what I say—then set up on the other side of the defile. As soon as I get through with O'Neal and his men. Natalia—you stick with O'Neal—Paul and I'll be covering—''
A gunshot, a heavy caliber—a hunting weapon rather than an assault rifle—echoed across the defile. A scream-O'Neal was shouting, "They got one of my men!"
Rourke flicked the safety off the CAR-, pulling out the buttstock, bringing the rifle to his shoulder, the scope
covers already gone. "Run for it," he shouted, firing up into the rocks.
"Come on, Natalia!" Rubenstein shouted. Rourke didn't look. He spotted something move in the rocks, laying the Colt three power scope on it, tripping the trigger.
A man's shape threw itself up beyond the scope's reticle, then flipped over the edge of the rocks. Rourke shifted the scope, searching for another target, gunfire from around him hammering up into the rocks, the powdering of granite evident everywhere as he searched for a target. He found one—a man with a scoped bolt action rifle—perhaps the sniper who'd killed one of O'Neal's men. Rourke opened fire, a two round semiautomatic burst, the body twitching once, then once again, the rifle falling into airspace, the body tumbling after it.
Rourke brought his rifle down, starting to run, Paul and Natalia already ahead of him, running, but slowly, nearing the defile's V-notch, Cole and his private already in the notch, firing up into the rocks, O'Neal's men running toward the notch as well.
"Keep 'em moving, lieutenant!"
O'Neal shouted something Rourke couldn't hear, automatic weapons fire coming down on them from the rocks. Rourke was nearing the V-notch now, rock faces on both sides of him, bullets impacting there, ricocheting, whining, rock chips pelting at him, the dust from the rocks thick as automatic weapons fire hammered into the rock walls.
Rourke dropped behind a fallen rock—a boulder-sized chunk of granite, jagged at the top, the CAR-coming up to his shoulder. He snapped off three shots toward the rocks, not having clear targets in view, gunfire hammering into the boulder.
He pushed up, acquiring a target in the scope, firing, shifting the scope as the body started to fall from the rocks.
He fired again, missing, gunfire coming back at him. He ducked down, a long burst hammering into the boulder
above his head and the rock wall. He pushed up, finding his target with the scope, working the CAR-'s trigger in and out and in and out—two shots, then
another two shots, then another, the figure in the rocks spinning, falling back, out of sight.
Rourke got to his feet, O'Nea! and the others past him now, Cole and his private hunkered down in the V-notch, firing up into the rocks. Rourke ran past them, throwing himself through, rolling, the rocks on both sides seeming to explode with ricochets and dust.
"John—over here!"
Rourke saw him—Rubenstein. Rourke pushed to his feet, half ran, half threw himself toward the protection of three massive boulders, dragging himself behind them.
Rubenstein had Natalia's M-, firing up into the rocks.
Rourke snatched a fresh magazine for the CAR-from his musette bag, dumping the partially spent one, ramming it into his belt. He whacked the base of the magazine, seating it, then threw the rifle to his shoulder, firing up into the rocks at the wildmen. One man in his scope—one man dead. He shifted the scope. A woman, or a tall, long-haired man who seemed very thin. Rourke fired, the body falling from sight.
"Cole—you and your man!" Rourke shouted over the gunfire.
The fire from Rubenstein's M-increased, Rourke feeling the hot brass pelting at him, feeling it against his neck, feeling one of the empties sliding down his shirt front.
He kept firing. Another wildman under his scope—he shot the man twice, the body tumbling from the rocks, a scream echoing across the defile.
"Here we come," Cole shouted, Rourke glancing away from his scope, seeing Cole and the Army private running. Rourke looked back to the scope, finding another target, firing, firing again, the target going down.
"They're through—come on, John," Rubenstein shouted.
"Get going," Rourke rasped, glancing to his left as Paul was up and running, firing a burst half over his shoulder into the rocks.
Rourke dropped the partially shot out magazine, stuffing it into his belt, inserting a fresh thirty up the well. He started to run, turning every few steps, pumping shots up into the rocks. Beyond the V-notch there had been a rocky trail, narrow. He ran along it now, firing out the magazine in the CAR-, the trail taking a sharp bend to his right and down, gunfire hammering into the rock wall to his right as he took the bend.
He stopped, the ricocheting sounds of bullets hitting granite stopping—he was out of range.
He looked ahead of him.
A valley.
Natalia sat on her haunches, Paul stooped over beside her, her face pale, her head between her knees. O'Neal's left arm was streaming blood, but he stood erect. One of O'Neal's men lay on the ground, the front of his peacoat stained and wet with blood.
In the valley beyond the trail and stretching below them—Rourke walked forward, toward the edge of the trail—he could see the outline of a fenced military enclosure—Filmore Air Force Base. There were small craters in the far side of the valley—to the north. Nothing grew in the valley—brown trees, brown grass—he couldn't hear a bird chirp.
"Radiation seems okay—what the hell happened?" Rubenstein asked, suddenly beside him.
Rourke looked at the younger man. "Neutron bombs—the craters are from the impact areas."
"John—" Natalia, pale, closing her eyes as she spoke, turned her face up toward the sky, her voice odd sounding. "Why did they stop shooting—why aren't they—"
"Following?" He interrupted. "Everything that was here is dead—maybe some personnel at the base—but they're afraid of radiation." He looked away from her—it
would have been green before the Night of The War. Now it was brown and dead.
There were wounds to treat—the man on the ground seemed the most serious.
"Natalia—when you can, take care of O'Neal's bleeding."
Rourke started toward the missile technician on the ground—like O'Neal, his missiles fired, he was out of a job. Rourke bent to check his pulse—he was out of life as well.
If the warheads still existed, to get them out past the wildmen would be nearly impossibler Rourke realized.
And there was still Cole.
He thumbed closed the eyelids of the dead man, stood up and removed his sunglasses.
"We can rest here for a little while—move out into the valley in a few hours—Paul and I'll take the geiger counters and run point for radiation."
He found another injured man, mechanically starting to treat him—it was minor.
He wondered who cared for his wife and two children—were they alive? He closed his eyes and told himself they were, and that he would find them, then opened his eyes and inspected the injured man's wound. "Paul—get my medical kit—got a bullet to take out here."
FB2 document info
Document ID: 67db5325-4a14-486c-8174-3e1c3c6765f2
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 7.5.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.48 software
Document authors :
Ahern, Jerry
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