Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6)

by Kevin Partner

  "Look, what the hell's going on?" Marianna said as she sat down on a dusty chair. "Not that I'm not grateful, but …"

  Cassie's face spread in a wide grin as she untied her curly hair and let it fall free over her shoulders. "We're the resistance. Me, Pa and our little crew."

  "Seriously?" Devon said. "Have you seen what Mendoza has done to people who get in his way? And plenty that don't."

  Cassie nodded, her smile disappearing. "Sure. We've been hiding some old folks ever since he started rounding them up."

  "Includin' me," Elwood Miller said as he stood at the end of the window peeking out. "Pretty soon, they'd 'ave come lookin' for me and Mary. So, we started off by hidin' ourselves, and then we helped people we knew. But it's all on account of Cassie here that we became organized."

  "We already lost enough, what with Jimmy being shot back when the bandits took over."

  Devon nodded. He hadn't been in Hope when a ragtag militia had taken temporary control, but they sounded like a cakewalk compared to Mendoza and the Sons of Solomon.

  "We thought you were the enemy, to begin with," Cassie said.

  "Yeah, you and almost everyone else," Devon said.

  Cassie looked at Marianna. "And I still can't work out what you're doing rescuing her."

  "It's a long story," Devon said. So he told it.

  They waited until night fell, and, to Devon's surprise, no one seemed to have noticed what had happened at the sheriff's office. It couldn't last, so as soon as they had the cover of darkness, they slipped down the stairs and across Main to disappear behind the cafe and out into the scrubland beyond.

  Cassie and her father had been passively resisting the occupation ever since it had begun. They were one reason the irrigation projects were running behind schedule, but they'd realized that even that was risking the lives of innocents, so they'd contented themselves with saving those they could and stockpiling supplies they skimmed from the top of the crops and dairy they harvested.

  Then, when it became obvious that Mendoza was leaving, they stepped up their plans. One of their spies had spotted Devon being brought into the jail and they'd decided to break him out.

  "How many are left, do you think?" Devon asked as they tramped along a dirt track that ran parallel to the highway.

  Cassie scratched her chin. "It's hard to be exact, but I guess hundreds. They're dug in and well-armed. Mendoza's left some of the heavy equipment here, and it's hidden."

  "What sort of equipment?"

  "I don't know what they'd be called exactly, but for sure big machine guns. They've set up positions at the school and the approaches to the city."

  Devon's stomach turned to ice. He imagined DeMille's followers and the returning citizens of Hope walking into a horizontal hail of hot lead, hidden from them until it was too late.

  He exchanged a glance with Marianna, who was walking along beside them and was evidently thinking the same as him. "We need to warn your father," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's launched a rescue mission."

  She nodded. "Yeah, but how do we get a message to him in Springs?"

  "We got a motorbike you can use. The previous owner ain't gonna be claiming it."

  "I'll go," Devon said.

  Marianna shook her head. "No, it has to be me, or my father might not believe you. I'll set off as soon as we get to the farm. I just hope I can arrive there before he leaves to 'rescue' me."

  Hick glanced in the rearview mirror as the truck bounced along the highway. DeMille was, of course, in the lead vehicle—an old furniture truck with Dalton's emblazoned on the side and—behind them was a third vehicle that had enjoyed a former life delivering fruit and vegetables. Beyond that was a flotilla of cars and motorbikes. It was stupid, and only possible at all because they'd stolen all the remaining fuel from the gas station at Springs—much to Otis Weppler's anger and disgust. It would have made much more sense to ferry people back and forth in the trucks, but that would have taken days and Elliot DeMille was not prepared to wait.

  Rusty Kaminski had taken an old Harley and headed directly for Brown where, last they'd heard, Scriver was now in charge. He would tell them what DeMille's people and the more modest force from Hope were planning and invite them to join the muster at Barratt's Mine to the west of the city. It seemed to Hick that this was all happening too fast to have any real hope of success, unless they were to rely on General Potluck.

  Sam and Jay had insisted on coming and they were sitting immediately behind Hick in the cargo area of the delivery truck Brain was driving. The fabled Zak had turned up a little earlier than expected, along with a following of around a hundred, and they had elected to come along in their assortment of vehicles—some of them barely functioning. Said and his band of former Sons were sitting in the back of Hick's truck.

  So, all in all, they had maybe three hundred and fifty in this convoy and twice as many following on foot. Quite the exodus.

  "What's goin' on, boss?"

  Hick lurched forward in his seat as Brain hit the brakes. "What the—?" he said, before looking where Brain was pointing. The lead truck had stopped, and people were climbing down to line up on the highway, guns pointing up the road.

  And then Hick saw it. Something moving toward them. A motorbike. As he watched, it slowed, before veering off the highway entirely, then turning in the scrub at the side of the road and heading away.

  #

  The wheels of Marianna's motorbike threw up a cloud of dust as she powered away from the oncoming convoy. She'd spotted the lead truck, then seen the others following it. Her only option was to drive back down the highway and get far enough ahead to eliminate any chance of being caught by the smaller vehicles that followed the trucks.

  She glanced behind, relieved to find that there was no one following her, and so she didn't see the shard of riven metal that shredded her tire, throwing her over the handlebars and out onto the rocky ground at the side of the highway.

  #

  Hick jumped back up into the cab beside Brain as he started the engine again. He'd been halfway to DeMille's truck before the old man had gotten back inside and the vehicle had started up. The entire convoy had stopped behind them and the sound of all those engines starting up again was deafening.

  "Well, I guess now they're gonna know we're on our way," Hick said. "We should have sent someone after the biker, but DeMille's as jumpy as a jackrabbit. Put your foot down. I don't want him out of my sight."

  Brain pumped the gas, and, after a few minutes, they'd closed the distance again.

  "He's done it again, boss!" Brain said, stabbing down on the brake pedal.

  Sure enough, the truck in front had come to a halt, and had stopped at a forty-five-degree angle to the side of the road.

  Hick swore as he got down, watching DeMille's figure launch itself out of the cab before running toward something on the side of the road. Men with guns followed, overtaking him as he kneeled beside …

  "Marianna!" he cried out.

  Hick arrived just as DeMille turned over the prone figure. He glanced across at the motorbike that lay, front tire destroyed, half on and half off the road surface.

  "She's dead!"

  Someone pushed past and, with a shock, he recognized Sam kneeling on the other side of the body, pressing her fingers against Marianna's throat.

  "No, she's got a pulse. She's unconscious," Sam looked up at one of the passengers in DeMille's truck. "Go find a first aid kit. Quick!"

  "Will she be alright?" Elliot said as he cradled his daughter's head.

  Sam felt around Marianna's skull. She imagined she'd be able to tell if it had cracked. "I don't know. Look, is there anyone in the convoy with medical experience? I haven't got much of a clue."

  "I … I don't know," DeMille stammered, as if comprehending, for the first time, how ill equipped he was to lead a military expedition.

  Said leaned down and touched Sam on the shoulder. "I'll go ask."

  "What was she doing riding a motor
bike in the first place?"

  Sam withdrew her hand. "No breaks I can find, but she's half-scalped herself. She's going to be in a world of pain when she wakes up."

  "Maybe she was lookin' for her daddy," Brain said.

  Hick, who'd begun to think that perhaps, despite all the earlier evidence to the contrary, Brain was some actually some kind of idiot savant, nodded. "Maybe, but I don't reckon she was lookin' for him along the highway. If I was a bettin' man, I'd say she was headin' for Springs. Perhaps she escaped from Hope and was just lookin' to get away. I don't know, though."

  "What d'you mean?" Sam asked as she stood up.

  Hick rubbed his chin. "She's wearing biker's leathers."

  "Just as well. She'd have been torn to shreds otherwise."

  "Yeah, but if you're escaping from somewhere, how likely is it you'd take the time to get into the gear? Surely you'd just get on and go?"

  Brain made a noise he probably thought indicated pensive reflection, but actually sounded like a duck with indigestion. "Maybe she had a message for her daddy."

  "Well, if that's the case," Sam said, "we may be waiting a while to hear it."

  Hick turned to see Said returning. Alongside him trotted a small woman wearing a nervous expression. "This is Mrs. Wagner," Said announced. "She worked in a doctor's office."

  "I was only a nurse; blood tests, vaccinations, that kind of thing."

  Sam took her over to where Marianna lay. Her father was stroking her head gently. "She's got multiple lacerations, but she isn't bleeding heavily. Can you check for any breaks and decide whether we can move her?"

  The nurse nodded and kneeled beside Marianna's unresponsive form. As he watched her, he found himself wondering what she was doing in the convoy in the first place. She was one of Elliot's diaspora, but she was no fighter. How many members of this Mormon army were like her?

  It took another half an hour before Nurse Wagner was satisfied that Marianna could be moved and she supervised as four men from DeMille's truck lifted her gently and carried her into the back.

  Elliot emerged again from the truck a few minutes later and walked over to Hick who, by this time, was as impatient as a bear outside a honey shop. He forced himself to feign concern. "How is she?"

  "She needs rest and proper treatment. I will return her to Springs."

  "What about the attack?"

  DeMille glanced across at the truck. "My daughter comes first."

  "What sort of a leader are you? Jeez, what was the point in us risking our lives—and poor old Duck losin' his—to break you out, only for you to tuck your tail between your legs and run on account of your own selfishness?"

  "My daughter comes first. We'll go back to Springs and, when she's out of danger, we'll mount the attack."

  Hick wanted to wring the old fool's neck, but he kept his temper in check. "Have you got any idea how much fuel we've used to get this far?"

  DeMille blinked and glanced across at the truck again.

  "If we go back to Springs, we won't have enough gas for the trucks, let alone all the other vehicles you thought it was a good idea to bring along."

  "We can walk."

  Hick shook his head. "No! If we go back to Springs now, then it's all over. We'll have missed our chance."

  DeMille began moving away. "My daughter comes first."

  As Hick went to give the old fool both barrels, a shape appeared at his shoulder.

  "You're Sam's father, I take it."

  Hick turned to look up into a bearded face. "I am. You must be Zachariah."

  "Yeah. And my folks are gettin' antsy. Jay's told me about this Marianna woman, so we kept our distance. But what's goin' on? Are we movin' off?"

  "DeMille wants to return to Springs so his daughter can recover."

  "What? We've come halfway across the country on account of his call, and he's turnin' back?"

  Hick nodded. "The entire plan was Marianna's. But if we turn away now, I reckon the whole thing falls apart."

  "Yeah, you're right. This ain't the time for pussyfootin' around or sacrificing everyone for the sake of one person. I'm gonna have me a little chat with this DeMille fella."

  Chapter 13: Plans

  When the convoy finally reached Barratt's Mine, they found it already occupied. Hick, Zak and Brain had taken an SUV into the low hills surrounding the lunar landscape of the mine and spied on the troops from above. Soon, Hick had spotted Gert Bekmann, and then Jessie Summers among the figures below and, since they seemed to be moving about freely, decided to risk it.

  After a few tense moments, Hick had made himself understood and Gert had appeared to calm the guards. They, it became obvious, were expecting an assault, though not by a red Honda with three people in it.

  "Where is DeMille?" Scriver asked once the last truck had pulled into the compound.

  Hick scowled. "He's gone back to Springs with a handful of others. A fella named Richard Stokes is in charge of the Mormons, I lead the Hopers and Zak here represents everyone else. How do things stand here?"

  "I've sent scouts into the town to establish the enemy's disposition. So far, it seems all the remaining troops are Mendoza loyalists, so we can't rely on any of them coming over to us. We're going to have to fight our way in, but …"

  "But what?"

  Scriver led Hick and Zak to one side. "We need to discuss the endgame. Why, exactly, are we doing this?"

  "To free Hope," Hick said.

  Zak shook his head. "No, it's to strike against the occupation."

  Scriver smiled. "And there we have a problem. My goal is to destroy Mendoza."

  "Seems we all want the same thing, at least to start with," Hick said. He was nervous, as he always liked to be the kid holding the biggest firecracker and he knew, in this case, he had nothing but a squib. "Freeing Hope, that's the first step."

  "But what happens then?"

  Hick looked around at the soldiers running back and forth, helping people out of the trucks. "That's a good question. I reckon you're the one holding the whip hand right now. You've got the men and the weapons. So, what do you plan to do if we get control of Hope?"

  "The general will return at some point. It is my intention to rally forces to oppose him when he does."

  "So, Hope is to become your battleground?" Hick felt the heat rise as he jabbed a finger at Scriver.

  Zak stepped between them. "Hey now. Let's not forget we're on the same side. My people—those I can speak for, anyway—will help. And once we've freed the city, we can talk about what happens next. It's time for the fight back to begin. Mind, Dickie might have somethin' to say about it, and we sure are gonna need his folks on our side."

  It was Gert who really gave voice to Hick's misgivings. "Watch Scriver," he said as he and Hick shared a private walk around the perimeter. "He's a politician above all else. I don't think he's a bad man, but he loves power. If he helps to free Hope, he will expect to be in charge."

  Gert continued, as if talking to himself. "But we can't win without him. And I've seen how brutal he's prepared to be when necessary."

  Hick cursed under his breath. "Seems to me we're being given a choice between dictators. Can I rely on you to act in our best interests when the time comes?" He arched an eyebrow in true Bond villain style.

  Gert looked uncertain. "If I'm there."

  "What?"

  "Jessie is going into Hope to look for Devon."

  "What's that got to do with you?"

  Gert shrugged. "I won't let her go in alone."

  "Oh."

  "No, it's not like that! You won't understand."

  Hick smiled. "You're probably right. But that's what makes you a better man than me. I care about Sam and myself, and that's about it."

  "The old Hick, maybe," the Dutchman said. "But I think perhaps you care about more than you admit. Just be careful it doesn't … how would you put it? … take off your sharp edges. We need the old Hick just as much as the new."

  Flushing, Hick waved him away. "When
are you going?"

  "At nightfall. We'll check out the jail first and do some general scouting for Scriver. But I won't come back without Devon."

  Hick shook his hand. "You know, I never really warmed to him, but I sure wish I had friends like he does. The sort who'd come after me, whatever the risk."

  Gert Bekmann put his free hand on Hickman's forearm and gripped tightly. "You do, Paul. You do."

  #

  Devon peeked out from behind the community center, or what remained of it. He could feel Cassie's hair tickling his cheek. She was altogether too close for comfort.

  Ricky had taken out half the building and, surely, a good number of Sons of Solomon fighters, but the other side had been repaired and the administration was now continuing as if nothing had happened.

  "They lined them up against that wall," Cassie whispered, pointing to the side of what had been a municipal building behind the center. It was almost entirely dark now, but a bright moon gave enough light to pick out a ragged line of craters. "He was awful mad. Dragged folks out of their houses and shot them then and there."

  Devon cursed. If he'd given it any thought, he'd have known that Mendoza would exact retribution on the city after he and Ricky had given them the runaround, distracting their attention while Gert evacuated the old folks from the mine workings.

  "How … how many?"

  He could feel Cassie shrug. "Hard to say. Dozens, for sure. Maybe a hundred. Men, women and … I don't know if I believe it, but I hear he didn't even let the children live. I mean, what kind of a monster? And for what? To punish the innocent for some random bombing? We still haven't found out who did it, but I hope they can sleep easy at night."

  Well, I won't be, Devon thought. The honest thing to do would be to own up, here and now. But they had a mission and Devon needed Cassie on his side. Confession could come later. Much later.