The Dutchman sat behind her, allowing the breeze to cool his face—air conditioning was off the menu to conserve fuel. "I say I will kill Mendoza with my bare hands if that's what it takes. It is not madness to go after him. What's crazy is to expect to do it in time to save our friends. And to think we might survive."
"Jeez, you're a real killjoy."
"You should not be with us, Jessie. You have the baby to think about."
Jessie made a growling sound, a mix of anger and exasperation. "Now just you listen to me, because I'm going to say this only once. What sort of future do you think this baby has if Mendoza wins? Call me arrogant if you like, but I reckon this mission is more likely to succeed with me than without."
Devon winced as he realized Gert was going to respond. Here was a man who had even less skill with the opposite sex than Devon himself.
"What makes you say that?" Gert asked. "Devon and I are quite capable."
"Sure. But this mission needs an organ grinder. Now, if you're going to be Mr. Doom and Gloom then I suggest you keep yourself to yourself. I, for one, intend to enjoy the ride for as long as I can."
They had no choice but to head south toward Ezra, but they took the first left they came to, a dirt track leading to an abandoned farm halfway between the two cities. The Honda bounced along, mountains getting slowly taller as they went. The Schmidts were no more than a third-rate range, but Devon wasn't looking forward to finding a way between them that the Civic could cope with.
But it sure was beautiful country. They stopped after an hour for Jessie to take a comfort break, and Gert and Devon stood together, leaning on the car and looking down over the wide basin that Ezra sat in. To their right was a derelict cabin in which Jessie was currently hoping to find a working toilet and, failing that, a non-working one.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Gert asked as he saw Devon looking at the house.
Devon chuckled. "I hope not!"
"Ha!" Gert broke out into a belly laugh. "I see what you mean. It has been long, my friend, has it not?"
"It sure has."
Gert put his hand on Devon's shoulder. "I was thinking this would make a good place to hide out. There's a stream down the hill there. Dried up at this time of the year, but we could probably dig down for water. We could repair that shack."
"Yeah. It's tempting just to stop, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Here she comes. Let's go."
"Yeah."
They camped in the foothills of a peak Jessie said was called Old Baldy on account of the fact that, though its rubble-strewn slopes were spotted with scrubby bushes and pine trees, its summit was devoid of either. Devon sat against a rock, warming a can of soup they'd share and took in the landscape. He wished he'd taken the chance to camp in these hills when he'd had the opportunity before the firestorm. He made a silent promise to bring Jessie out here on a leisure expedition if they survived, then instantly regretted it. Best not to focus on an impossible future.
Gert rubbed at the barrel of the hunting rifle he'd been given by Elwood Miller. He reckoned his best chance was going to be to take a shot from a distance and, theoretically at least, the TC Compass that had been Elwood's Christmas present from his wife the year before would allow him to do that. He flipped out the five-round magazine, checked it for the hundredth time and pushed it back in.
"What sort of range?" Devon asked, giving the soup a final stir before pouring it into three mugs.
"Elwood reckons six hundred yards, but I want to be a lot closer. I don't have any chance to practice and I may only get one shot—this isn't an automatic rifle."
Jessie settled down beside Devon. "I wonder if I'll ever be able to go more than hour without needing the bathroom again. Thanks." She took the mug and sipped at it. "How long's it going to take to get to Wareham?"
Devon sighed. "I don't know. We've been driving for hours and it feels like we've gotten nowhere. We should be back on the highway tomorrow, but even with all the luck in the world it'll take at least a week."
"Good."
"What?"
She smiled. "I'm enjoying this. On a road trip with you. And Gert."
"Oh, I know I am the cuckoo," Gert said as he got to his feet and ambled away.
Jessie snuggled closer to Devon, leaning her head against his shoulder as she finished her soup. "Poor Gert. He's been through a lot. We mustn't rub his nose in it."
"I know," Devon said. He put his arm around her and breathed in the aroma of her hair as the sun set behind the mountain.
Chapter 15: The Bridge
Hick watched Cassie sneak out of the Barratt's Mine compound to rejoin her father and the other members of Hope's resistance. He'd been overjoyed to see her again when she'd wandered in, a breath of fresh air among the miasma of desperation.
He hastened along the broken asphalt path and into the office building that they'd turned into a temporary HQ. From the prisoners Scriver had captured when he took the mines Hick had learned that Mendoza had left at least five hundred fighters to defend the town while he went off to gather his horde together. Now, this meant that, once the last of the stragglers from Springs arrived, the sides would have similar numbers though, of course, the defenders would have the advantage of being able to dig in and set up ambush points.
But it wasn't just about numbers. Cassie had relayed when Sahi had confessed: Mendoza had left good-quality troops here, not the mix of untrained fighters and veterans that had first taken the town. Pitted against them would be a citizen army with experience ranging from twenty years in the services to a few games of Call of Duty.
So, they were outmatched.
Except for Scriver's forces, and Hick still wasn't entirely sure whose side they were on.
He opened the door, interrupting the conversation in what had become their briefing room. Zak was there, representing the independent groups, along with Dickie Stokes, who led the Mormons—Hick had taken an instant dislike to him. Scriver was on the other side of the table next to Sam and Said. Said, it seemed, was now leading his father's former fighters as well as a small group of other defectors from the Sons of Solomon.
"Sorry I'm late," Hick said. "But I've got some news you all need to hear."
Dickie, whose voice Hick had cut off when he came in, looked doubtful. "Well, unless you have found another couple hundred soldiers we didn't know about, I'm not sure what you can possibly know that we don't already."
"Well maybe I have found some more people who'll fight on our side. But I've got some info on the defenders."
He told them what Cassie had said about the quality of the troops Mendoza had left. The faces around the table dropped.
"But there's more you need to know," Hick continued. "They also have heavy weapons set up around the school they're usin' as their main camp. Machine guns and mortars, in the main. Maybe RPGs."
"This is ridiculous," Dickie said. "We would be walking into the arms of death with no hope of success."
"Won't God be on your side?" Sam asked.
Dickie continued looking directly at Hick. "I permitted your daughter to be here, but I will not tolerate insolence."
"No Sam, no me," Hick said.
Dickie reddened and opened his mouth, but Zak raised his hands.
"Look, fellas, we gotta work together and it does nobody no good to speak out of turn."
Deflating a little, Dickie said, "Our Lord fights alongside us, but that does not mean we should be reckless. Walking into the jaws of death, for example, and expecting our Lord to protect us is the height of arrogance."
"Well, I've got one piece of good news," Hick said. The room went quiet. All eyes were on him. Now to roll the dice. "We ain't gonna be fighting alone. Once we get into the center of town, the resistance is going to raise the people. They're ready, armed and willing. Hundreds of people fightin' for their homes, attackin' the enemy from all sides."
Zak's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
"Cassie told me. The tinder i
s ready, all it needs is a match." Hick held Zak's gaze with his best, and long-practiced, poker face, before the big bearded man nodded.
"That's good. Real good. But what about the heavy weapons?"
"Cassie says the resistance will attack the positions nearest the school, but we need to handle the ones farther out. She's given me the locations."
Zak put out a paw and took Hick's hand. "Then we got ourselves a deal. My people are goin' in, if yours are."
"And you, Richard?" Hick said, looking across at Stokes, who had turned pale. "We can't do it without you."
After a brief pause while his eyes scanned the room, Dickie gave the slightest nod. "Yes, we will join you."
"What about you, Marshall? How many will you bring to the party?"
Scriver, who'd listened to all this in complete silence, seemed to be considering his answer. "I cannot leave this place entirely undefended, and I can only take those of my men and women who are prepared to fight against other members of the Brotherhood."
"Cut to the chase," Hick said, his patience paper-thin.
"Around fifty."
"What? You said you had a hundred more than that!"
Scriver shrugged. "As I said, I must leave enough of a garrison to defend this place. We need somewhere safe to retreat to."
"That's an optimistic view."
Scriver ignored him. "And I am not willing to take any I don't trust. The last thing we need in the heat of battle is a mutiny. There's one other thing."
"What's that?" Hick sighed.
"I must command."
Hick shook his head. "No way."
"Then we must operate independently."
"Frankly, if there's only going to be fifty of you, you might as well," Hick said, turning on his heels and striding away.
He grabbed Said and Sam. "I've got something I want you to do."
"So, tell me, Dad," Sam said, putting her arm through Hick's as they wandered in the warm darkness on the hillside behind the mine buildings, "how much of what you just said about the civilian uprising was true?"
Hick gasped in mock dismay. "My own daughter doubts me! Well, okay, maybe I added a little sizzle to the hotdog."
"Cassie never said anything about the people being ready to rise up and help us, did she?"
Said chuckled behind them as Jay held Sam's other hand.
"That ain't entirely accurate," Hick said, finally. "Cassie told me she reckoned folk would join the fight once they saw we was winnin', so I suggested, nice and calm like, that maybe she should send her resistance fellas from door to door and tell them to be ready."
"That's risky—if any of the resistance gets caught, then whoever's commanding the troops there will know we're coming."
Hick nodded. "We got no choice but to take risks. Devon did us a favor by eliminating this Sahi fella—though Cassie's red-hot with him about it, so now's the time to attack. Maybe him and Gert'll find and kill Mendoza; then we'll be able to keep what we take."
"Yeah, you talked that up, too. I don't think Dickie would have agreed to join the attack otherwise. And I reckon you know more about where Mendoza's going and what he's doing than you told us."
Hick shrugged. "I told you everything I know. Now, Said, I want to have a word with you, so I suggest we leave these two lovebirds in peace for a while."
Hick resisted the temptation—the strong temptation—to glance up the slope to where Sam and Jay were wandering among the tussocks. He needed to focus on the stern young man walking alongside him.
"I know what you are going to ask, Mr. Hickman."
Hick stopped and Said turned to face him. "You wish me and my followers to attack the machine gun posts."
"Yeah. I'm sorry to have to ask, but …"
Even in a darkness illuminated only by the half moon and the glow of the Milky Way, Hick could see the white of his smile. "Do not apologize. It is logical. My men, at least, will pass for Sons of Solomon fighters. And it is an opportunity to right some of the wrongs my family has caused. My fighters will be glad of the chance to restore their honor."
"You're a good man, Said."
Hick sensed a shrug. "I think that remains to be seen."
"Well, I sure wish you …"
A small chuckle. "Desired Sam? No, you would not put it so. But I do love her, just not as she would wish, or as she needs. Jay is also a good man, in his way."
"Yeah. He did good in Salt Lake, but he's got a darkness in his soul, if you take my meaning."
"So do I, Mr. Hickman. And so, I think, do you."
Route 90 was the only way into Hope from the north unless you were prepared to take trucks, cars and motorcycles across the desert. Hick had overseen the construction of a roadblock across the road that the Sons of Solomon had taken over once they'd occupied the city and this was the first barrier the liberating forces would have to overcome.
Again, Said had volunteered to lead his fighters on foot in a wide arc around the barricade and then attack it from behind as darkness fell. The catch was that the guards would almost certainly get a message away before it was taken and, even if they didn't, the sounds of battle would alert the town garrison. And that would mean a pitched battle on the highway itself which the better-equipped, better-trained Sons of Solomon would win.
So it was that Hick found himself to the south of the town, looking through binoculars at the guards walking back and forth over the bridge he had himself defended months before against Crawford. It was a hell of a gamble. Said's attack was a feint, and their hopes rested on the enemy taking the bait and sending forces north. In the chaos, and as the Sons of Solomon looked north, the allied citizen army would attack from the south.
The only problem was that the bridge to the south was held against them, and so Hick made ready to play commando. Sam would have begged him not to go, but she was locked in a secure room back at Barratt's Mine, cursing Jay and Hick in equal measure for what she would see as betrayal. But Hick couldn't countenance Sam being part of the fight. He had to know she was safe. He knew he was being selfish, and he knew he'd pay the price if he survived to let her out again, but if he was to go into battle, he could only do it from the firm foundation of knowing where she was and that she was guarded.
Jay would have come on the mission to take the bridge, but they both knew he would slow them down, so he'd taken his place in the first group of the strike force.
"Hey boss, it sure is hot ain't it?"
Of course, Brain would be coming. Somehow, Hick found that comforting. At least a little. Kris Ritter was behind him.
"Then take off your camouflage jacket."
Brain whistled. "Can't do that, or how will folks know whose side I'm on?"
"The fact you're shooting at the enemy will help. But whatever you're gonna do, do it now. We have to move."
Hick glanced left and right at his fellow commandos. They were, it seemed, the best of a bad bunch—if this was their elite, then they were in big trouble. He certainly wished Gert was with them, but Brain and the others would have to do. A dirty dozen taken from each of the contingents of the citizen army. Zak was on his right. Hick hadn't wanted him to come, fearing that if they both fell in the attack, total command would fall to Dickie and Hick didn't trust him any farther than he could spit him.
But, as he'd said to Sam before having her imprisoned, this was not a time for caution. He glanced down at his watch. Said should be in position and waiting for the sun to set. That was due at eight and then everything depended on moving quickly. Using the gathering twilight to shield them while still making it possible for those unfamiliar with the town to find their way, they had to be attacking the school before night fell. Said would attack the barricade and, if he were successful, he and his group would ride the motorcycles they'd wheeled into position to head down a dirt track into the city and take out the advanced machine gun positions while Cassie's crew attacked those surrounding the school.
It was a desperate plan for a desperate time.
&n
bsp; "Come on," Hick said, as he slipped down the slope toward the dry bed of the creek.
Behind, the rumbling of pebbles and the scratching of boots on gravel told him that they were following. This was the most dangerous moment as they scampered across the yards between the escarpment and the edge of the gulch.
No cry went up as Hick slid boots first down onto the riverbed, then ran to the other side and stood with his back to a rock embedded in the far bank. Brain panted alongside him, and Hick spotted Zak's grizzly hair and bear-like frame resting farther along.
7:59
8:00
Right on time, the sound of gunfire crackled in the air. Almost immediately, boots ran across the top of the bank above them and Hick began to move toward the bridge that ran across the creek fifty yards to his left.
Bingo! Vehicles started up and he heard the distinctive cough of Land Rover engines accelerating away. Fewer for them to deal with, for now. The others had formed up beside him, and he lifted the Glock to his cheek, turned and began scrambling up the bank.
He was the first to the top, and he scanned left and right for defenders. Movement! He swung around and fired, dropping the guard on the second attempt as the air was punctuated with rounds and the night went from near silence to chaos in moments.
Brain roared as he ran past Hick toward the sandbagged trenches that the Sons had built to replace the rusting cars of the old defenses. A figure ran toward him, but Brain was on him before he could bring his weapon to bear. A flash of steel and the blade was dripping scarlet when he pulled it up again.
"Over there!" Zak called, gesturing toward a circular mound of sandbags. "Get down!"
BOOM!!
Something slammed into Hick's side, throwing him backward, showering him with dust and grit. He couldn't hear a thing as he rubbed the debris from his eyes and cast around for his weapon. A dark shape loomed over him and he looked directly into the muzzle of an assault rifle. He froze, bracing himself, waiting for death.
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 12
