“You're right. God, I just need five quiet minutes to think.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “We talked about that very thing inside, but some of these military guys want things their way or the highway.”
“You trust 'em? Sounds like a blue falcon trying to take himself off the field of battle...”
They discussed the plan for about five minutes. It wasn't enough time to cover every eventuality, but it was enough time to address the fundamentals. Melissa was very keen to convey that the plan must be as simple as possible. Mr. Lee rounded up some of his lieutenants and together they established a new plan. Liam listened in, but offered no opinions. He knew he was out of his league, and for once he was glad. He would be worried if he knew more about tactical matters than the people supposedly in charge of security.
The only divergence from Melissa's plan was that a few of the ex-military men insisted on going around the hills to hit them from behind as originally planned. No one argued with those guys, and Liam had to admit it would be sweet to have someone taking the fight to the enemy. If they got there in time. A team of four took off at a run down the road.
Liam risked injecting a question into the planning session. “Mr. Lee, who's defending us up on the hills right now?”
Mr. Lee smiled. “Liam, I asked the kids in my pack to call me 'Mr. Lee' to teach them respect. I guess it kind of caught on for everyone. But I want you to know, I'd prefer it if you just used my first name. Call me Lee.”
Liam was honored.
Lee continued with a sadness in his voice. “I sent several two-man teams of older Boy Scouts and their fathers to harass the invaders from random positions. I instructed them to shoot from afar and run—stay alive—but I fear many of them are dying too. But we desperately needed the time to organize a defense down here. My assumption was that any attacker would need to secure their flanks before advancing. Needless to say, I don't want to blow their sacrifice.”
Liam had no idea if it was a good or bad plan. The crack of gunfire intensified in the hills; Scouts were in peril out there.
Mel was right. This is nothing like the movies.
His hands were shaking.
4
Everyone was put to work to execute the plan. Mel and Phil ran back to the MRAP, while Liam and Victoria split up so they could each get people moving out of their tents and toward the far hillside—away from the attackers. He felt something unsettling as she ran from him. He watched until she was consumed by the stirring campers and he could no longer see her...
Liam had to yell at people and get them moving. Most needed little encouragement since the shooting was loud and clear on the hill above them. But there were holdouts. Some men and women refused to abandon what little they had in their tents, and were willing to fight and die for it, no matter how long the odds. Nothing Liam could say would change their minds, and he didn't waste time arguing.
Maybe they'll delay the enemy, giving the rest of us a chance.
Thousands of people running across the valley in the dim twilight was a sight to behold. The area closest to the administration building where Liam operated was also the area with the highest percentage of Boy Scouts. They coordinated and executed the evacuation in a remarkably short period of time, given the pressure of the situation. But even the best of the best weren't fast enough for the worst of the worst.
“Come on! Run!”
He ran toward the administration building with a lagging group of men and women when he heard some gunshots close by. In the low light, he couldn't tell if the shots were coming his way or going the other. His fears were confirmed when a large man in a white t-shirt crumpled in front of him. The red splotch grew on his backside.
Shots from behind.
Rather than push his luck to keep pace with the stragglers, he ducked down between a couple of large tents and found his way inside the smaller of the two. He took off his backpack because the box of ammunition rattled obnoxiously as he ran, and stashed it under a blanket to hide it. His hands shook almost to the point of uselessness. He couldn't help himself. He unslung his rifle so both hands had something to do while he readied himself for any encounter. A round was in the chamber, so all he had to do was drop the safety to get it ready for action.
Footfalls outside ran by, but he was pretty certain they weren't from campers. They were quiet and disciplined. His suspicions were confirmed when they conversed in hushed, winded, voices.
“We've got them all on the run, sir.”
“Understood. Push through these people and continue until you find the primary target. We have—”
Liam took a step back in the tent, and stepped on something which made a large pop. He didn't have time to curse himself. He pulled out his pocket knife and got to work on the orange rear wall of the tent. In ten seconds, he was out and running; he stayed low while putting distance between himself and the infiltrators.
He expected yelling and orders to pursue him, but the men were either too disciplined or—worse—pursued him silently. The thought got him running.
He went perpendicular to the survivalists coming off the hill, but in the darkness and confusing tent city they couldn't see him before they were on top of him—if at all. Several times he crossed paths with a survivalist just as he ran by. They skipped civilians and kept pushing in. He thought it was pretty risky to leave anyone behind your main attack, but now that he was there...
I can make a difference.
He tried to be as quiet as he could and snuck his way into another of the abandoned tents. He grabbed what turned out to be a shoe and briefly stuck his arm out the tent flap and tossed the shoe as hard as he could on the path where he was heading. It was the oldest trick in the book, but people kept trying it because it seemed to work.
He heard several people run by, but there was no way to check which direction they were going. He no longer heard voices or foot traffic nearby. If he had pursuers, he felt he'd lost them. Still, it was several minutes before he considered leaving the relative safety of his tent.
As he huddled there, his heart rate kept going up. He could hear his blood beating through his eardrums. His mind fed him suggestions of delusions of grandeur. He knew if he was in a movie, this would be the time he could sneak behind the lines and kill the enemy general, and single-handedly win the battle for the good guys.
“Listen, this is not a movie. The golden rule is to not do something dumb.”
He was deliberately talking to himself inside his head. He felt it had to be done to keep himself straight under such pressures. A big part of him really was drawn to being a hero at that moment, but he was tempered by a vision of Victoria chastising him for even thinking it.
While he deliberated, the volume of gunfire increased from the area near the administration building. The plan was to draw the enemy fighters in that direction—
Something tore through his tent; it whirred as it went by. Suddenly his position behind the enemy became a liability.
This is why I don't devise military strategy.
5
The night should have given way to the light of dawn, but when a few drops hit the tent, he understood the delay. A flash of lightning lit up the inside of his hideout. The immediate burst of thunder made the gunshots sound quiet by comparison. The sound rumbled up the valley.
He had to give them credit, they couldn't have picked a better time to attack.
Almost like they knew.
He was on his stomach to minimize the risk of any stray bullets heading his way. He thought of his next move as the pitter patter of rain slowly increased. How long had he been out here? The battle seemed to reach a crescendo near the administration building.
Lightning. Thunder. Gunfire. Death.
The cycle repeated many times over the next few minutes as the rain increased to a torrent. He loathed going out in the dark rain, but knew staying in the tent wouldn't serve anyone. Thinking of Grandma, he said a short prayer for protection, and slowly made his way t
o the front flap. He could see nothing beyond the next tent. Even flashes of lightning seemed to be subdued by the darkness of the heavy rain and dense cloud cover.
The gunfire, and the screaming, finally got him moving.
His plan was to swing wide of the battle and move down the valley. That would ensure he wasn't in the main line of fire behind the survivalists, and give him the best chance of linking up with someone on his own side.
He ran like hell. Instantly soaked, he held his rifle down, hoping to avoid getting water in the barrel, though he wasn't sure if that really mattered. He passed no one, though at times he thought he heard crying in tents as he ran by.
Music and lyrics from a childhood movie popped in his head.
Just keep running!
In ten minutes, he had looped around the entire epicenter of the battle, and went back up the creek bed running down the middle of the valley. He stopped when he guessed he was about 100 yards south of the administration building. He could see the flashes of gunfire everywhere up there.
As scheduled, the MRAP rolled up the tiny road toward the building. Liam braced for what it was about to do—end the battle. He cautiously made his way a few yards up the creek to see if he could find a better vantage point. He noted, but ignored, several campers hiding their families around him. He had to see how this ended.
Lightning. Thunder. Buzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzz. It looked like dragon's breath, and it was pointed at the administration building.
The MRAP sank its teeth into the building for several short bursts; the enemy was getting a taste of their own medicine.
“That's for Bo, you duck mounting bastards!”
No one could hear him over the rain, thunder, and constant gunfire.
The intensity of gunfire flared as the MRAP poured thousands of rounds into the infrastructure of the building.
Then it died down considerably.
Within moments, it stopped completely.
The MRAP advanced into the grassy field next to the road. It paid no heed to the tents it crushed.
He slung his rifle and climbed up the soggy incline of the creek—he gripped small tree trunks to steady himself in the mud—and ran across the ten or fifteen yards of ruined tents to get behind the MRAP. It would be the epicenter of the surrender.
When it stopped, Liam ran up and banged hard on the back with the butt of his pistol. He took a few steps back so Phil could see him on the remote camera or out a rear window if he was up.
One of the rear doors began to open. He still held his pistol, but it was pointed down; an afterthought. His rifle was on his back, forgotten. The door opened fully.
Intense gunfire flared at point blank range, both in front of him and behind him. The person who opened the door was thrown back into the compartment. Liam threw himself to the ground and tried to claw his way under the truck for cover. Gunfire continued, though the MRAP moved ahead and began to turn to the right—directly for the nearby creek.
More gunfire from behind him on the hill. Directed at the MRAP.
How did the enemy get up on the hill?
While low in the wet grass, and among the tents smashed down by the truck tires, he watched in horror as the MRAP drove over the lip of the creek bank, and disappeared.
He was too terrified to move.
Gunfire ceased once again.
He lay in the grass for another fifteen minutes.
The storm ebbed. It became a light drizzle.
It was lighter now. Liam spied the area. The administration building was chewed up. All the windows were broken out. Smoke poured out from points inside.
He feared the increasing light would give him away, but he was petrified. He admitted he couldn't force his muscles to move due to fright. If the MRAP was destroyed and his friends were in it, then who was shooting from up on the hill behind him? Would they shoot him in the back if he ran to the creek?
Finally, after an eternity, he heard a voice from far away.
“Give Liam Peters to us and we'll let everyone else walk out of there.”
He heard the director of the movie yell “That's a wrap!”
6
Minutes went by. He still couldn't move himself from his position in the tall grass. As the daylight increased he could tell he was exposed, but not by as much as he feared. No one was mowing grass these days and it was particularly tall where he had fallen. There were also the many downed tents in the area.
He sensed a couple people walking nearby. He chanced a slight turn of his head to see what they were doing, and was rewarded with a good clear look at two people from the camp waving a white sheet of some kind. One of them was Lee. The other he didn't recognize. They walked toward the administration building.
He was unable to turn his head to see where they went, but he heard them perfectly.
“That's far enough,” said one of the survival guys. “We're sending someone over.”
In moments, a pair of voices were close to Lee and his partner.
“Hello. I'm...Red. Y'all fought bravely, but it's over. You've lost. We can either kill everyone right here, right now, or you can turn over Liam and a few others, and walk out of here alive. It makes no difference to me, although it would be nice to save the ammo if you'd just hand him over.”
“Liam is a member of this camp. What has he done that would warrant this type of assault on innocent women and children?”
He heard soggy footsteps move closer. He could imagine the two parties closing together to discuss terms. When they resumed speaking, it was in a much quieter tone.
“Listen, friend, I don't have to tell you jack. We have enough men to sack this entire valley, but we only get paid if we take Liam off your hands. That's what we intend to do. Having the rest of you dead or alive is a non-factor here.”
“We'll give him to you.”
“Charles, what the hell?” Lee asked. Hushed voices continued.
“We can't risk the whole valley for one kid. If they want him, they can have him.”
“Smart man, maybe we'll deal with you, huh?”
“No, we can't give him up just like that. For all we know, they're going to kill the boy for no reason if we give him up.”
“We just need to capture him. Bring him back alive. We'll be super gentle with him.”
Lee knew some of his travails with Hayes, but not all of them. Still, Liam was pleased to hear him defend him.
“Why Liam? He seems like a pretty solid kid. Not someone who would warrant such an attack. He do something bad?”
There was a long delay. “What the hell, it doesn't matter to me. The kid blew up a research facility that was close to unraveling the mystery of this plague, and then killed a bunch of old folks for sport. If we bring him in, we get two MRAPs in the deal, though I would have really liked to have the third one you guys shot up and sent over the edge of the creek.”
“That was our MRAP.”
The man laughed out loud at that. “Ha! You let our specialists walk right into your camp and steal it from under you. You don't deserve it.”
“I guess you don't either, seeing as you drove it off the ledge.”
There was no talking for a long period of time. Liam could imagine them staring each other down. The survivalist finally broke the silence.
“You have thirty minutes. Give us Liam or we burn your people alive inside that building. We'll be watching from the creek. We'll shoot anyone who leaves the building, so you might want to let 'em know.”
It wasn't the survivalists inside the administration building. It was his people. The campers from the valley. Were his parents still in there?
It almost made him raise his head to look. But something told him to keep still. Play dead.
He was so confused, and staring at the grass didn't help.
He was prone for several moments before he heard a low voice.
“Liam, don't you dare move.”
Lee.
A long silence followed.
Chapter 9: Mig
rations
Liam couldn't tell what was going on around him as he lay in the tall grass near the site of the recent battle. He didn't know who was in charge, who had been killed, or whether he was going to be turned over to the enemy. The drizzle had become a mist and the night had given way to morning.
He nearly fell asleep in the wet grass as the adrenaline of the battle was subsumed by the exhaustion which never seemed to go away. But he jolted awake when he heard a commotion from up on the hill behind him. It started with gun shots.
More survivalists? He wondered if they surrounded the whole camp now.
Someone screamed, “Infected!”
He heard the familiar sounds of loading weapons, checking ammo, and racking slides. Those around him were redoubling their efforts at preparing for war.
A deep voice shouted from up the hill, “Marines inbound!” In moments, footfalls through the wet leaves approached.
The survivalist negotiator was still somewhere close by. “This better not be a trick.” Then, louder, “My guys, hold your ground.”
Liam heard men, women, and children running. Muffled chatter was all around. Impossible to tell who were friends and who were enemies without looking up. He really wanted to look.
A Marine spoke between great gulps of air.
“Unbelievable. Look at all these children,” he sounded frustrated as he said children. “I don't know what you all have got going on here, but trust me when I tell you your only hope is to stop the horde of zombies behind us. They wiped out our unit and are coming over the hill behind us. They're relentless in their pursuit.”
“They wiped out your MRAPs? How's that possible?”
The Marine seemed to hesitate before responding. “Well, I don't know about the main column but our detached team was keeping an eye on the highway over this hill. The zombies massed up along the roadway like they were returning to the city. They stumbled on our position and we've been running ever since.”
They were spying on us too, no doubt.
Liam didn't blame them. It made perfect military sense.
Men, women, and children started running back across the valley—sloshing like so much bathwater in the basin—now going in the opposite direction they'd fled this morning.
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 70
