by Lundy, W. J.
Sean moved to where the pavement met the snow-covered asphalt parking lot. Several cars were parked in front of the steel building. He waved for Brad to walk forward to join him. Brad finished searching the primal body and walked across the road to Sean. There was a familiar zip through the air, followed by a loud ping. Brad paused and ducked low, knowing the sound of a high velocity projectile cutting across his path.
Another zip, and another ping. “Oh shit, targets front!” Sean shouted as he brought up his rifle, firing quick suppressed shots as he stepped back. Sean’s 7.62 rounds cut through the advancing primals and pinged against the steel building behind them. From around the far corner of the structure a number of the crazies had shown themselves. Brooks and Sean managed to drop the first few as soon as they came into view, but more had quickly rounded and headed towards the team. “Fuckers must have been held up in the woods,” Sean yelled as more of them rounded the corner and began filling the lot.
Now screaming and moaning, they poured from the woods on the right side of the road, moving slowly but picking up speed as they caught sight of the men. Brad raised his rifle, taking quick shots. For every one he knocked down, two more would take its place. He planted his feet and fired rapidly, dropping those closest to him. “I’m dry,” Brad yelled, scrambling to reload. He could hear the rapid zip, zip, zip of rounds flying over his head, Brooks doing his best to cover them.
“Fall back to the hill!” Sean screamed as he drew his pistol.
Brad took a last look. There were too many, they would be running today, he thought just as the air over his head filled with tracers. Brad dove to the ground, the rapid firing of a heavy machine gun cutting through the primals. Brad looked back over his shoulder and saw that Jorgensen had climbed into the G-Wagon. He had mounted the gun and put it into action, quickly cutting down the creepers. Jorgensen fired until the weapon was dry. Brad lifted his head to survey the damage and saw that the entire herd was now on the ground, dead or dying.
Brad climbed to his feet and jogged towards the G-Wagon. Jorgensen was standing through the roof of the truck. He had replaced a box of linked ammo and was quickly loading another belt of 7.62 rounds into the C6 machine gun. When Jorgensen finished he angled the weapon up in its mount and left the vehicle. “We need to get out of here, more will be coming,” Jorgensen yelled as he climbed down from the roof of the vehicle.
Sean approached the G-Wagon from the front and laid his rifle on the hood as he dug through his pack and began reloading magazines. “Nice shooting George, where’d you learn to operate a C6?”
“I’m Danish, mate, we all learn to fight as boys,” Jorgensen said.
Brad smiled as he flashed Jorgensen a mock salute. “You never told us you served, George.”
“You never bothered to ask, friend,” Jorgensen answered.
Sean pointed to the hilltop then waved a finger in the air, signaling for Brooks to join them. Then he opened the front door of the G-Wagon and got in the driver’s seat. After a short protest the turbo diesel engine came to life. Sean stayed in the seat until he was sure it was idling soundly, then exited, closing the door behind him. “Well at least something is going our way,” he said as he moved back towards Brad and Jorgensen. He saw Brooks enter the road from the heavy vegetation.
“Change of plans, guys,” Sean said.
“I’m listening,” Brooks said as he joined them by the vehicle.
“George, take the truck and rifles back to the factory. I need you to get volunteers, arm them with these weapons,” Sean said, pointing to the back seat that now held several C7 rifles. “Meet up with the rest of my team at the farm, they will have ammo for you.”
“Then what?” Jorgensen asked suspiciously.
Sean moved back to the hood of the truck, signaling for the others to follow him. He pulled a folded map from his thigh pocket and carefully unfolded it. “My guys will lead you out here on foot. Stay out of sight, patrol to the raiders’ camp sticking to the left side of the road and keep to the highest ground,” Sean said, tracing a route on the map.
Jorgensen shook his head. “I told you before, friend, the men at the factory are not soldiers.”
“George, the people that did this shit are not soldiers either,” Sean said, pointing to the row of executed bodies lying in a ditch that ran alongside the road. Piles of discarded luggage and belongings were thrown on top of them. “I’m sure if we enter that building we will find more evidence of the things they have done here. It’s time to stop hiding behind brick walls and take back what’s yours.”
“They won’t listen,” Jorgensen said.
“We’re running out of time here, George. Get me what you can. Either way, tell my men to join us where I showed you on the map. I need them there by tomorrow night, before the sun goes down.”
“And what will you do until then?” Jorgensen asked.
“We are going to make life miserable for those bastards on the coast. Now go and get me those men,” Sean ordered.
30.
They took off at a full jog, wanting to clear the area of the intersection as quickly as possible. Even though Jorgensen had ended the assault with the use of the mounted machine gun, the noise was sure to gather attention. Sean was concerned that more of the raiders may venture up the road looking for survivors of their party, but at a minimum, it would attract more creepers.
Sean led them back up the hill to the stone wall. From there they backtracked to the hilltop overlook. Sean placed the map on the ground and used his compass to quickly orient himself. Brad chugged the contents of a bottle of water and stuffed the empty in his cargo pocket. Sean folded the map and put it back in his thigh packet. He ordered Brad to hold the middle while Brooks took the rear.
They moved fast, avoiding trails now, instead opting for unbroken ground and heavy vegetation. Brad tried to keep track of his pace count as they traveled, trying to estimate the distance. He found it impossible with the way they were constantly having to backtrack and loop around impassable bits of terrain. The elevation increased as they patrolled closer to the coast. Soon they had lost sight of the road below. The ground was steep; the higher they moved the more snow they found.
Most of the snow here was untouched, with only a few animal tracks here and there. After several hours of marching, Sean moved them into a bunching of tall pine trees. The smoke had gotten thicker here. Whatever was burning at the raiders’ camp had not been extinguished. Sean pulled away several large branches from a fat pine, making a hollow space beneath it. The men crowded in and dropped their packs. Sean immediately went for the map, trying to estimate their position relative to the coast.
“I plot the camp to be a mile east of here,” Sean whispered. “The road twists around and should run right into it.”
Sean had the map laid out on the ground in front of them. He pointed to where he thought their current position was. Sliding his finger, he showed how the terrain would peak, then drop sharply to the road below and eventually the coastline. The camp, if Jorgensen was correct, would be in the vicinity of a small coastal village. The map identified a small marina built up in a natural harbor. Surrounded by cliffs, and sheltered by the water, it would be a suitable position to hold off the primals.
“They would have ...” Sean grinned, “should have heard the gunfire earlier. That should give suspicions that someone is out here. Hopefully they think some of their buddies survived last night.”
“Hopefully?” Brad asked.
“Anything that keeps them looking for us,” Brooks added.
Sean folded the map and placed it back in his pocket. “Exactly. From here on out we go slow and quiet. I want to get eyes on that encampment before mid-day.” He moved his pack towards the trunk of the tree and dug out a can of kidney beans and a small can opener. “Get some chow, we’ll be moving in thirty.”
Brad pushed his pack in front of him and sat back on crossed legs. He found one of the last of his MRE packets and stared at, debating if he should
eat it now, or save it. “Dig in buddy, never know when you’ll have another chance,” Brooks whispered to him.
Brad looked at Brooks knowingly and pulled the tab at the top of the foil package. He had lost his MRE spoon so he squeezed the cold mix directly into his mouth. “Food is fuel,” he said to Brooks, trying not to laugh. He ate as quickly as he could, then finished off the mix with a bottle of water. Then he took his time refilling the bottle with snow, slowly packing it into the plastic container before placing the bottle back into his pack.
“How we looking on ammo, guys?” Sean whispered.
Brooks pulled a flap on the front of his vest, showing two empty mags for his MP5. “I’ve been short of 9mm since we got here. Still have a couple hundred or so for the M14, got a brick of .22 and three mags of .45.”
Brad checked the pouches on his vest, then reached into a cargo pocket on his pack. He had two fifty-round boxes of 9mm rounds and six full magazines. He took the boxes from his pack and set them on the ground in front of him. “I’m just short of a combat load for the M4, probably got another hundred or so in a bandoleer in my pack. Six M9 mags, two more on my belt, one in the gun and another in the sigma. Brooks, take these boxes, I’m heavy on 9.”
“I’ll take one of those boxes if you don’t mind,” Sean said. “I’m under on MP5 myself. I was able to scrounge up some feed for my long gun at the farm. I’m light on handgun. Brooks, you mind consolidating and splitting .45 and .22 with me?”
Brad packed away his gear as he waited for Sean and Brooks to split their ammo and load magazines. He buried his empty MRE pouch under the pine needles, then hefted his pack to his shoulders. “I’m going to take a leak, guys,” he whispered before stepping out of the cover of the tree. He walked only a few paces and relieved himself on some brush. Brad looked around him. They were in the middle of a high country pine forest. There were patches of snow everywhere but the ground was not entirely covered.
He looked up at the blue sky. They had been lucky, since the storm that brought them here the weather had been favorable. Brad lifted his rifle to use the optics to check their back trail. The ground was rough and uneven; heavy boulders and rock formations were scattered in all directions. Brad turned as Brooks and Sean exited the base of the tree. Sean lifted his pack and swung it over his shoulders. “Brad, you hang back with me, Brooks will have point now,” Sean whispered.
Brooks finished putting freshly filled mags in the front of his tactical vest, then lifted his own pack. He looked back at them and nodded, turned forward and began slowly stalking the ground in front of them. Sean let Brooks get a good twenty paces before he tapped Brad on the shoulder. Brad stepped off, mimicking the SEAL’s movements, walking slowly and trying to maintain his distance from Brooks. Sean followed closer behind him. As they moved he slowly stepped off to his right, keeping his weapon pointed in the direction where the road should be.
They kept an extremely slow pace. Brooks stopped often, taking a knee or sometimes dropping into the prone before crawling next to a tree trunk. Every time Brooks stopped, Brad would slowly lower himself to a knee. If they were halted more than thirty seconds, Brad would drop to his belly and try and take up a hasty fighting position while he waited for Brooks to signal the all clear. As they got closer to the coast, the smoke got thicker and they could occasionally hear the clanging of metal on metal.
Brad felt the tension rise in his body the closer he got to the encampment. He squeezed the pistol grip of his M4, his thumb constantly checking the selector switch, making sure his rifle was on safe. Brooks’s hand shot into the air as he dropped down and out of sight. Brad paused and lowered himself behind a large downed tree. He glanced off to his right and saw that Sean had also taken efforts to conceal himself. Brad looked forward with his rifle pointed off and to the left, occasionally looking behind him to make sure they weren’t being followed.
He watched Brooks rise up and signal for them to move forward before dropping back to a kneeling position. Brad let Sean cross in front of him, then he got to his own feet and followed him forward. Sean stepped slowly till he was alongside Brooks, then dropped in next to him. Brad took up a kneeling position just behind them, facing to the rear with his profile hidden by a tree. Brooks pointed to a break in the trees ahead. In the distance Brad could see the ocean through openings in the thick black smoke.
Sean whispered for them to drop their packs and low crawl forward. It was unlikely that they would be seen high in their current position, but they had traveled too far to get sloppy. They hid their gear under the branches of a thick bush. Sean led the way with the others close behind. It didn’t take long for them to reach a high vantage point. They were now on a high peak with the terrain around them swiftly dropping towards the coast.
They were still over a hundred yards from the cliffs that were indicated on the maps. Brad crawled in close behind Sean and Brooks, then crept up alongside them. The sun was bright and there was a clear blue sky. The black smoke was still rising in plumes that were barely moving on the calm winds. From his position Brad could now clearly see the ocean and the opening of the harbor. The land formed a natural bay with high ground on all sides.
Even though Brad couldn’t see it from his current position, it was obvious the road must spill into this bay. Sean signaled for them to move forward so they could get a better view of the village below. Carefully they began sliding forward on their bellies, leaving the cover of the thick trees. As they moved closer the village and harbor slowly came into view. It wasn’t much of a harbor as the map depicted it, it should be described as more of a bay, or even a cove. The cliffs wrapped the terrain securely leaving a small strip of land along a narrow coastline.
There was one street traveling along the shoreline with several buildings lining it. The ocean side of the street was bare and gradually went down to the waterline. The shore was littered with remnants of old fishing vessels and smaller sailboats. Farther out to sea sat a flotilla of larger vessels, half a dozen freighters and a couple of smaller boats. At least one was marked in red and white, possibly Coast Guard. Off to the right down the beach they could see the makings of an ancient pier. A breakwater really, it traveled out into the sea and formed a right angle running parallel to the village street.
“You can see why the Canadian Coasties would have directed the merchant ships here. This sheltered cove, one channel in by sea and one road out by land. Coast Guard and local authorities would have had an easy time of keeping an eye on them,” Brooks whispered.
“Did the boys a favor, gave them prime terrain for survival, nice beachhead position at the end of a valley run. High ground on all sides, probably saved their worthless lives,” Sean grunted. “Until now anyway, because that wall ain’t keeping us out.”
The people had built a rudimentary barricade from the shells of boats, cars, and earth. There was a bright yellow bulldozer sitting behind a large earthen berm. Along the outside face of the berm burnt a bright orange and black fire. “There’s the source of the black smoke,” Sean whispered.
“That was smart of them, if they get rushed, ignite the tires … look at the burnt bodies, must have had a hell of a primal BBQ last night,” Brooks responded. “Way this valley backs up, and the bottle neck here at the end … I can just see them. The primals, bunching up on those burning tires, the crazies in the back pushing the ones up front into the flames.” Brooks sat staring at the fire for a moment before closing his eyes and shaking his head.
Brad stretched to see the burning barrier. It was at fifteen feet high and fifty feet wide and ran hundreds of yards, entirely choking the road that ran through the valley. “Where the hell would they get so many tires?”
“Looking at what’s down there, I’m guessing one of those boats must be full of ‘em, the pile there looks to be made up of brand new rubber,” Sean said as he ran his spotting scope across the village. “Here, have a look,” he said, handing the scope to Brad.
Brad took the glass from Sean and let
his eye adjust to the magnification. Aiming towards the barricade, he could see the bright burning flames. Parts of primal bodies were scattered all along the barricade. As Brad looked closer he could see a small work party lifting bodies and throwing them into the fire. The men doing the work were being closely observed by a pair of men with rifles. Whoever they were, they were efficient against the primals. There were piles of them on the road being fed into the flames.
Brad looked beyond the barricade and saw a group of women rolling more tires towards an already high stack. Just as Sean had said, the tires looked new, some still with white stickers on their sides. Brad followed the trail of people back towards the end of a pier where they were unloading tires and other equipment from a smaller boat under the supervision of armed men. More uniformed raiders walked about casually with rifles in their hands, while others sat huddled together on the ground. Brad watched as a guard with a rifle approached a man sitting on a container. The guard quickly punched him in the back of the head, causing the man to collapse to the ground. The man with the rifle then turned to another guard and leaned back, roaring with laughter.
“What the hell is going on down there?” Brad asked, handing back the scope.
Brooks lowered his binoculars, having seen enough. “Looks like some sort of prison camp, or slaves. That red and white ship out there looks to be Coast Guard. I bet I could get it running.”
