By the time Jessie got to the entrance again, Weston had emerged and was helping the weaker of the old people up the steps.
"We don't need all three," he said. "Some folks just won't come, and I don't have time to persuade them."
"Why won't they come?"
"Fear. It paralyzes. And some of them don't have anything to live for."
"We can't just leave them! This is supposed to be a rescue mission."
Weston nodded. "I know, but that gunfire is coming closer and if we don't get out of here now, none of us will survive."
The first truck was full, and Joe was directing the remaining survivors into the back of his vehicle when Jessie spun around at the sounds of shouting from behind them. Someone emerged into the main compound and crouched behind a barrel, returning fire as a second, larger figure scampered bent at the waist and joined the first.
"It's Gert!" Joe called. "Come on, we got to get to him."
"You finish loading them, then follow me." Jessie jumped into the cab and started the truck. "Hold on tight!" she called into the back as Weston climbed up alongside her. She gave him the handgun and stabbed down on the gas.
A third figure was now sharing the cramped space behind the barrel, but they would be outflanked at any moment. Jessie thrashed the engine and headed straight for the main group of attackers. Suddenly, they noticed her and swung their weapons around. Just then, Gert and the others stood up and opened fire, forcing the attackers to duck down.
"Slow down!" Weston shouted.
But Jessie knew that everything depended on scattering or running over the fighters, so she left it to the last moment, pushing her foot down on the brake, sending the back of the truck sliding around and smashing into the space where the fighters had crouched.
Gert and Kris sprinted across the gap. He had slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and was using his handgun. The third figure limped toward the back of the truck as they passed in front of it.
Weston jumped down and followed them. Three shots punctured the night and, moments later, Weston was in the front again, Gert climbing up after him.
"Please tell me we've got them all," the Dutchman said, panting.
"We've got everyone who wanted to come," Jessie said.
"What? Some wanted to die?"
Weston turned to him. "I think, maybe, yes. That's exactly it."
Hauling on the wheel, Jessie reversed until she lined up with the exit. Joe's truck was already on the road outside, Jade's abandoned in the middle of the compound, though the young girl had made it to Joe's truck. Fortunately, they only needed two trucks and, as Jessie drove out of the gates amid renewed gunfire, her thoughts remained with those who'd chosen to stay and, even now, waited in the dark to meet their maker.
#
Devon was just in time to watch the house of the Bowies explode, a jet of flame erupting from the chimney. The roof bulged, then buckled before collapsing as the familiar place resembled a firepit more than a home. He'd been within a whisker of capture at least twice since the first bomb went off at the community center, but each time he was able to lose himself in the chaos, then slip away.
He'd heard the second bomb—the one he'd planted under the Land Rover—and it had saved him from certain capture as his pursuers abandoned their chase to run toward the latest explosion. Now, as he watched the Bowies' house, he imagined his enemies panicking as they wondered where the next bomb had been planted.
Time to go.
He took one last look at the house of his friends, and then scrambled down the little slope overlooking the town, using the reflected light to navigate by. Any minute now, the final bomb would go off in the little shed, and he wanted to be in the car and driving away by that time.
At least the fact he'd returned to the community center had settled one thing: there was no point in waiting for Ricky. Devon hadn't had time to process what his comrade had done, but Ricky had certainly died in the explosion, sacrificing himself to give Gert and the others a better chance of getting away.
He didn't dare use his flashlight, and the moon had passed behind a light cloud, so he focused on keeping on as straight a heading as he could, listening for the change in sound as his feet strayed from the dirt track. He'd just reached the barn when the final bomb exploded, lighting up the rusting metal and making it easier for him to work out where the car was.
Once the initial boom died away, he heard voices calling in the distance, and the sound of a car revving. He cursed his own stupidity. Sure, it was a solid idea to place the bombs so they drew the fighters away from the town and in the opposite direction from where Gert's team was freeing the prisoners. But, if they'd had half a brain between them, they wouldn't have left the car so close to the last detonation and in a direct line from the others. If the enemy was trying to work out where the next bomb would go off—there wasn't one, but they weren't to know that—then this very barn was exactly where they'd look.
Devon pulled the detritus away from the SUV and climbed into the car. Maybe Ricky had never intended to escape and didn't care that Devon wouldn't either. Yeah, that'd be it.
He turned the ignition key, and the car started up. Then, just as he'd completed his reverse to turn it around, flashlights danced on the metal sides of the barn, one catching his mirror. He put his foot down and, leaving the lights off, drove blindly into the darkness as gunfire cracked in the darkness behind him.
The car bounced violently as it hit the holes and bumps in the track he couldn't see. Then the inside lit up as a pair of headlights appeared behind him, closing in quickly. He flicked on his lights and steered the car into the center of the track as the first round fizzed through the night air. Like peas on a tin roof, bullets penetrated the trunk. The window smashed, and Devon knew he couldn't get away.
Without warning, he tugged on the steering wheel, swinging the car through a sudden ninety degrees, cutting across the path of the pursuing vehicle. It was a Land Rover, and as the driver slammed his foot on the brake pedal, Devon drew out his Glock and calmly fired five rounds, smashing the windshield. Then he threw the weapon on the seat beside him, wrenched on the wheel and pumped the gas until, wheels spinning, the car was facing the right way and he could accelerate away.
The Land Rover didn't move.
Chapter 5: Exodus
Paul Hickman stood with his back to the window and watched as Elliot DeMille worked his magic. There was barely space to breathe as people squashed themselves into the ranch house’s living room, all eyes focused on DeMille as Hick and Mara waited, ignored, on the periphery.
Elliot had insisted they come here first. West Wendover was the nearest of the communities he'd seeded with his own people and, it seemed, they'd eagerly awaited his coming. Although the Sons hadn't established a base here, they sent regular patrols to scavenge—though the town had long been picked clean—and then to find people to bring into the city for the reclamation gangs.
"My friends," the old man said, raising his hands above the heads of the crowd. "The time has come at last to strike back at the blasphemers. I have sent word to our brothers and sisters across the land and they will gather with us. Then we shall sweep these so-called Sons of Solomon away and thus shall a new age dawn."
He was an impressive orator; Hick would give him that. He'd regained his strength quickly after their escape into the suburbs of SLC, but Hick had only truly begun to believe that DeMille might hold the key to resisting the Sons when the old man had arrived at the first of his "seeds", as he called them. He'd planted this colony a few miles to the west of the city and it amounted to no more than twenty who were capable of fighting. But they were enough to return to SLC, access the weapons cache and then destroy the small remaining garrison in the city center. Salt Lake City once again belonged to its people, though DeMille had left only a small contingent there to guard against opportunists.
"We will gather at Springs, and from there our holy army will march to sweep away the heathens and bring forth a
new era for humanity. An era of peace in the service of our Lord."
Hick swapped a glance with Mara, who shrugged. Allying himself with someone like DeMille didn't sit well with Hick, and he wondered whether they might be trading one oppressor for another. Then he shook his head. No. He could not see Elliot DeMille ordering the execution of people simply because they were old or, indeed, forcing them to work in the fields like slaves. But Hick resolved to keep a close eye on the old man and his followers. There might well come a time when their usefulness ended, and he would have to take action. The enemy of my enemy is my friend is only true for as long as your enemy exists.
"Have you ever ridden a horse?"
Hick looked up at Mara, who'd gotten onto her chestnut gelding with practiced ease. "Once or twice." Decades ago, he didn't add. But, four feet or two, he had to make the sixty-mile journey to Springs and he knew he was lucky to be offered the option of going on horseback. The car they'd taken to SLC had run out of fuel a couple of miles east of Wendover, and it had been difficult enough shepherding Jay over that distance, so Hick was glad to see the boy on the back of a piebald next to Mara.
Brain had drawn the short straw. He would walk with the bulk of DeMille's followers, though the old man himself was making the journey in a four-wheel cart that must have been a museum piece.
Hick pulled a stool across and climbed on it before looping his foot into the stirrup and heaving his other leg over the animal's back. He lowered himself with a groan. This was going to be a long sixty miles.
And he was unhappy about far more than discomfort. DeMille had scattered his "seeds" all the way to the West Coast, and if those people were going to have to walk, then it might be months before they'd gathered their forces. These other colonies might have transport, but he couldn't imagine they'd have enough for a large army. So, if they wanted overwhelming force, they would have to wait.
He'd mentioned this to DeMille, but the old man had simply smiled and declared that "the Lord will provide."
"We're off," Mara said, gesturing over at Jay, who'd nudged his piebald into a walk. Beyond him, DeMille's cart was throwing up dust as it moved along the dirt track toward the highway. Hick squeezed his knees and flicked the reins, but it took a sharp word from Mara before his horse responded.
"C'mon, Mule," Hick said as the creature reluctantly fell into line behind Mara. He turned to see Brain waving them goodbye, wearing a look of sad disappointment that wouldn't have disgraced a bulldog puppy. "So long. We'll see you at Springs."
Beyond Brain, the Mormon army was forming up, ready for the journey. DeMille was leaving a small contingent of older fighters to guard those too young, too old or too sick to go, but there were fifty or so lined up beside the road. Each carried a backpack with supplies for the march. Unlike at Hope, the community here had made no effort to grow their own food, aside from keeping a few pigs and the odd cow. They had hidden in the rubble, keeping out of sight until the summons came, living off scavenged cans and dried food. Judging by how thin many of them were, they'd been on starvation rations and Hick found himself wondering how they would perform in a fight against the well-fed, well-trained Sons of Solomon.
"Mr. Hickman, what do you think of my army?" DeMille had slowed down, so Mule was plodding along beside him.
"Not much, to be honest," Hick responded. "You've seen the Sons; how can you imagine your followers will stand up to them?"
DeMille beamed. "God is on our side! Have faith!"
"I'm pretty sure Mendoza would say the same thing."
"And he would be wrong. That is the difference. Do not worry, Paul. We will be many and together we will sweep them away."
Hick made a noncommittal noise and nudged Mule toward Mara, who was at the head of the column as it neared the highway. He had a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling. Why should he have faith in Marianna and her father? He knew nothing about her except she was good at scheming and there was only room for one schemer in his life. Him.
He settled into the rhythm of Mule's steady progress. They'd set out in the late afternoon so they could travel mainly under cover of darkness and he looked west as the sun hung above the distant mountains, wondering how much help was coming from that direction. It had better be a horde.
#
Sam understood why they were here, but that didn't mean she liked it. And, to make matters worse, Said insisted on coming along.
"I did not think I'd ever come back here," he said, as they lay in long grass watching as a line of workers made their way back in from the fields.
"Have you seen your father?"
Said shook his head. "No. It is too much to hope he is not here."
The vineyard hadn't changed much since they'd escaped four weeks before, though the hot weather had left some of the outer fields looking parched. But Azari's base had what they most needed: vehicles. Between them, Zak and Dickie had over a hundred fit to fight and the best part of six hundred miles between here and the mustering point. Even without hitches, that would take a month to walk, and so they needed the half-dozen Land Rovers and the truck sitting in the yard outside the ranch Azari had commandeered. And, crucially, the fuel Jay had discovered when she and he had been caught here. But Azari would not give them up easily.
Dickie had left planning the raid to Zak, possibly because it had been through him he'd learned of Azari's base, but Sam considered Dickie the kind of man who'd happily lurk in the shadows behind someone else, using them as a shield and only coming out when it was time to take credit.
Zak crawled up beside Sam. "Are you sure you want to be involved in this? I'd understand if you didn't."
"Yeah, I do. And besides, I'm the only one apart from Said who's been inside."
"True enough. But keep yourself out of trouble and leave us to do the work."
"The men, you mean?"
Zak chuckled. "The trained soldiers. I've picked vets for this mission. But Said, you gotta understand, your pa ain't likely to come quiet, and I can't guarantee he won't get hurt."
"I understand, Mr. Kilgallon. I wish to deal with my father myself, but I know that might not be possible."
Patting Said on the back, Zak crawled backward, disappearing into the bushes that lined the slight rise they'd gathered on.
"You ready?" Sam asked.
"I'm ready. And, Sam, if something happens to me …"
"I won't let it!"
Said smiled sadly. "But if it does, I want you to know that I … I love you. Perhaps not quite as you'd wish …"
"I'll take it," Sam said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips. "I love you, too."
He pulled the handgun from his belt and cradled it under his chin as they watched for Zak's people to make their move.
"There!" Sam hissed as dark shapes darted through the lengthening shadows and flattened against the house. Inside, the field workers would be eating, exhausted after a long day in the fields, and, in the next room, the guards would be enjoying their rather larger meals. "Come on!"
Sam slipped down the slope, heading straight for the door into the women's quarters.
"Stop!"
She swung around, tripping over her feet and falling to the gravel as a volley of automatic fire cracked through the space she'd occupied moments before. The guard, who'd emerged from around the corner of the building, was adjusting his aim when, with another bang, Said took him out.
"I am sorry, Joshua," he said, as he kneeled beside the fallen man, pulling back his black mask.
Sam pulled on his arm. "Come on! We've got to get inside."
They'd lost the element of surprise, and Sam could hear the cries of women as Zak's team burst into the accommodation block.
She'd just run through the door as people scrambled for cover, when a familiar voice called out. "Sam? Is that you?"
"Mary? Get everyone out."
"What's going on?"
"I haven't got time. Just get them out to the field."
She pushed past, follo
wing Zak's fighters. The corridors reverberated with the crack, crack, boom! of gunfire.
Sam followed Said until they found the passage blocked by a clutch of fighters who stood with their backs to the wall, taking it in turns to fire down the corridor.
"It's blocked!" the fighter in front of Sam said. "We can't get past them."
"Follow me," Said hissed, before running back along the way they'd come.
Sam called to Zak's fighters and ran after him.
Said took a left through the women's quarters and into the medical area. Then out into the courtyard, not slowing until he'd reached the farmhouse door. Sam puffed into place beside him. "Damn! No one followed us."
"All is well, Sam. Zak's people are keeping my father's fighters occupied, so we can deal with him."
She looked into his eyes and, for the first time, saw hatred there, marring his otherwise unblemished soul. She nodded and followed him inside.
The sun had set, but the twilit sky gave just enough light that she could follow Said as he darted through the familiar corridors.
She burst into the living room where he stood, frozen and looking down at something.
"Well, for once you have surprised me, Said. Perhaps I was hasty to abandon you. And I see you have the whore with you. Again, a misjudgment on my part."
Azari sat on the couch holding a shotgun aimed directly at Said's chest.
"Go, Father. I will permit you to escape."
Azari's eyes opened wide, and he laughed. "You return with a sense of humor also! Is this an entirely new son I see before me? But you seem not to have noticed that I have a weapon pointed at you. Make a move, and I will blow your head off, and then I will kill the whore. Once I have used her."
His hungry eyes flicked to Sam, then back to his son, who stood, shaking with rage, but unable to say a word.
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 4
