by Boyd Craven
“You got no problem taking the ladies for a turn, you hypocrite,” his words came out in a sob.
“They ain’t kids, and the women were given a choice. Keep. Your. Hands. Off. The. Girl.” Each word was punctuated by a slap. “She’s going to be worth a fortune, whereas your value to us keeps shrinking by the day.”
“You know,” Danny’s voice got a little louder, “you put your hands on me again, and I’ll make sure you’re hung out to dry.”
The threat hung in the air for a moment
“Yeah? With what?” The voice sounded hesitant.
“I’ll let Spider know you’re the one who forgot to lock the shed. That Marshall bastard is still—”
I heard another thud and then a commotion. I risked getting up on a knee and saw that the two figures were rolling around on the grass, kicking and cursing at each other from no more than twenty steps ahead of me. I heard shouts further back, somebody calling out for Danny and Steve. It was too dark for me to make out the features of the men, but I was high enough that I could see that one was straddling the other, raining heavy blows down on him. I was about to flatten myself down and start creeping out of there when I saw a flash of moonlight reflected off something in the man's hand. It plunged down, and an agonized growl or groan escaped the other man’s lips. I started backing up slowly, keeping the rifle between me and the men.
The man on the ground started making a high keening noise, and I could hear the impacts of flesh and then the soft begging. I could hear Danny, as he was stabbed close to fifteen or twenty times. It had shaken Steve’s confidence, Danny’s conviction that he could get Spider to believe him about how Marshall had got loose. Apparently, it was enough of a threat that it was worth killing him over. I saw the figure stand up, the one that must have been Steve, and then bend back over. He stood up a second later and tucked something into his belt. He had sheathed his knife after wiping it off on the dead man’s man shirt.
“Danny, Steve, where are you?” a voice called out of the darkness from a distance.
“I'm headed back,” Steve shouted, “don't shoot.”
“Where the hell is Danny?” another voice called back.
I could hear the sound of feet moving through the tall grass at a fast clip. They were making a lot of noise. They were coming in loud and fast, and I didn't want to be overrun. I got down on all fours and moved out as quickly as I could until I was against the edge of the tree line again. Once I was there, I was able to stand up within the darkness and peer out. I could see the large group of men, and they were shouting and shoving at one in the middle who had his hands up. I heard him repeatedly mention the little girl, but through the binoculars I couldn’t make out features of the men in front of me.
There were at least seven or eight men there, and I did the best I could with the binoculars to memorize every face. The moon was helping, but there were still shadows from the trees on the edge of the field that were blocking a couple of them from my sight. I got a good look at Steve and, although by Danny’s allegations, he was a rapist, and bad shit had been going down here, he had kept little Mary safe, for one more night at least. I wanted more information about what he was talking about, how they were going to be worth a fortune. A fortune to whom?
I started moving away through the shadows, dodging tree branches and moving slowly and softly. I felt my way to the north end of the field, my feet probing for dry, brittle sticks that I might not see beneath the old leaf litter that was under the trees. When possible, I stayed out of the field. Keeping an eye on the group of men became difficult, but I could hear them moving off in the direction of the campfire. Three men were pushing and shoving another one, and I had to figure it was Steve, but I wasn’t sure.
I stopped when they got close to the bonfire then got the binoculars back out. I leaned against a tree to take some of the weight off my back, and scanned what was going on, praying I wasn’t reflecting light back at them. A tall, thin man stepped out of the crowd, the one I’d seen earlier with his arms raised. He was wearing dark clothing, and if I had to guess it would be leather or jean material. Black, maybe? I was too far away to tell for sure, but I could see his exposed skin and face easily in the firelight. He put his hands up and made a motion as if to quiet the group of men, and then started speaking.
He spoke with Steve, who motioned back in the direction they had been in. And then he made some kind of gesture, pointing at one of the nearby camping trailers. It was the bunkhouse, judging by the description I’d heard from Jessica’s guys. I was glad to know, or at least have a good idea, where the prisoners were being held now.
I was close enough to the trucks now and pulled my pack off.
Grandpa had wrapped a spare shirt in between each of the jars. The smaller jars with the fuses were what I wanted right now, and I got those out first. A quick scan and a listen had me hopeful that there was no one hanging out at the vehicles at the moment. The last time I’d snuck over on this end, a fight had broken out between two different sets of people, and several had been shot. I didn’t want a repeat of that, especially as I would potentially be one of the people shot.
My goal tonight was to disable vehicles and hopefully create enough of a distraction to get close enough to the trailer to make stuff happen. It wasn’t a fancy plan by any means, but considering everything that was going on, I doubted they were ready to be hit in the same fashion they’d been a week ago. Who would be stupid enough to do that?
The first two pickup trucks I came to had their tailgates down, the back of the beds full of old debris and junk. Still, a pickup truck is a pickup truck. It doesn’t matter the make or the model, the gas tank is roughly in the same location.
I would have loved to have known how much fuel was left in each tank. In an ideal world, I would target trucks with tanks that were only a quarter full, because that would give room for fumes to build and expand within the gas tank, and that would go perfectly with what I was about to do. I worked my way slowly to the front, near where the motorcycles were parked. The truck with the topper that the couple had been rolling around in last time I’d been here was gone, something that stuck in my mind but probably meant nothing.
I picked out three likely looking trucks and set the jar of thermite right over the bed. Each of the pint jars had about three feet of fuse, which was nowhere near enough for what I wanted to do. I would have to get each of them lit and run to the next truck. My best guess, with the old adage of twenty-five seconds per foot, I had seventy-five seconds or one minute and fifteen seconds after I lit the first fuse to place two other charges and light those as well. I was going to have to move fast, and hopefully not draw attention to myself.
The next part was going to be a bit tricky. I had half a dozen Ammonal charges. I had seen videos where just a pound of it was enough to launch a push mower in the air and had been used to demolish things. The trick tonight wasn’t to kill people, despite how I’d felt earlier. Tonight’s trick was to disable their vehicles. Without the vehicles, they would be forced to march everywhere. That is, if they didn’t just find more that were working. Most of what was here represented the economy used car lot, but it was the mid-south, and everybody had an old Chevy or Ford that never quite ran right.
12
Placing the Ammonal charges was a little more difficult. I wanted them near the bikes. Why in the books I read did the bad guys always have bikes? In real life, they had mostly American trucks, but there was a dozen Harleys and a couple Goldwings here, representing something different. Comfort, maybe? I found the Sportster I’d just recently seen. I had to wonder if that was who’d knifed Danny just a little while ago. Steve? Was he Bandana?
The yelling and commotion from that area had died down long ago, and I’d used that distraction to do my work as quickly as I could. I was going to light off the thermite, hoping to catch a tank with a bunch of fumes in it. In the movies, things blew up in a dramatic fashion. I was hoping for much the same. During the confusion, and with
them trying to put out the fires in the trucks, I’d shoot two of the jars with the yellow stripe. I placed one of them under the Sportster that Bandana had been riding. I had to hope that Danny’s was the other one, now forever without its owner.
I grinned at that. If things hadn’t been so urgent, it would have made more sense to just let them keep killing each other.
I was about to light the first fuse when a noise caught my attention. I backed into the trees and looked over to see several men arguing, a good ten or fifteen feet away from the main group at the fire. Unlike the tall, thin man from earlier, who seemed to hold everyone’s attention, one of the figures here wasn’t just tall and thin, he was almost gaunt. The guy looked like a walking bean pole, but I could make his features out in the darkness and the dancing shadows from the firelight.
I made sure my backpack was on the ground, and pulled my rifle up, looking through the scope. It took a while to get the sight picture, but I was able to make out his face a little bit better. The guy wasn’t gaunt from lack of food, but built lankier than I was, and he was scarred up in a way that suggested he’d been burned or had a really bad case of road rash at one point or another. Pink keloid scar tissue covered part of his face and neck, with thick, dark hair growing longer and wild. The moonlight and dancing rays of the fire were giving me a lot more illumination than I had expected. He was tall and powerful.
Spittle flew from his mouth as he screamed insults, pointing a big finger in the face of the man who’d stabbed Danny. I shifted the scope a bit and saw dark spots covering the man’s face and neck as he moved around, keeping room between him and the big man. Danny’s blood?
“…was going after the little girl!” I finally made words out, desperate and angry sounding words.
Both were moving this direction but were nowhere close enough to make me out. I was adept at moving in the darkness and being quiet. I had to be to keep the family fed, and to help Grandpa with the moonshining. Now I was using those skills to hopefully save as many people as I could. I’d never set out to be a criminal but considered myself something of a modern-day outlaw. I would follow the law if I could, but circumstances… I cut that thought off as the big man backhanded the other. The slap was so forceful it sent the man who’d stabbed Danny crashing to the ground. He got back to his feet slowly.
Was this Spider? I had him in my crosshairs. If this was him here, I could take care of a lot of—
An angry wasp buzzed by me and a second later another one punched my left shoulder, rocking me back. If I hadn’t had my sling wrapped around my left hand, I would have dropped the gun because my right hand immediately slapped at my shoulder, coming away slick. Something hit the tree right behind me, sending splinters exploding, tearing into the back of my head. Then I heard the echo of the shots as I realized I hadn’t been stung after all. I fell to the ground, hiding behind the truck as two more shots rang out. I crawled part way under the truck for cover.
The pain hit, and it was bad. My whole body suddenly convulsed as the spot in my shoulder seemed to be connected to every nerve ending and screamed for attention. I heard shouts and a radio crackle nearby. I couldn’t make out the words, but the big man was yelling orders, drowning out everything else except the gunfire, and that kept pouring in just over my head. It was dark out, I was invisible, I had been quiet; yet somebody was raining gunfire my way.
“Red team, form up. Our guys say they nailed somebody messing around near the trucks. Blue Team, take Lance’s boys and go secure the hostages and get a good count, I want to know who’s missing, if any. Green Team, watch for another ambush. Cover me and Red Team, and we’ll see if the target is down like the snipers say.”
The words were emotionless, but given in a loud, commanding voice. A voice that had practice directing and guiding others. And… three color coded teams? I suddenly had an idea of what I was up against, and it terrified me. I was about to become hamburger if I didn’t move fast. Luckily, I was partially under one of the trucks I intended to use as a distraction. Except now, the distraction might save my life. Maybe.
My left arm was useless when I tried pushing myself up; instead, I had to roll over and sling my rifle with my right hand and fumble in my chest pocket for the zippo. I found it and flicked it open, lighting it. Warm flame greeted me. With a hand that was shaking more than I’d like to admit, I lit the first fuse and then dragged my backpack with me to the next truck, waiting for a bullet to hit me.
“Where did he go down?” the man who had to be Spider yelled.
“Blue Chevy,” a voice crackled over a radio somewhere.
They were close, too damned close. I had seventy-five seconds? Rough estimate? Would that be too long? I made it to the next fuse and lit it about a foot from the end. It lit after a few moments, burning in two directions. I hurried to the third truck, running up right now, the gun banging on my back. Nothing hit me, and I made it to the last truck. I forgot about fuse length and lit it before closing and pocketing the lighter. I dropped the pack, got the rifle off my back, and put the pack on, almost screaming in pain as I worked my left arm through the strap. Precious time was going, and I could smell the fuse burning off next to me. Any moment now the first truck would light. I didn’t want to be anywhere near it.
Having got my load adjusted, I slinked into the tree line. Even if the sniper had thermal sights, seeing me would be a chore, and I had trees to use as cover now. Bright light lit the sky behind me, and I hurried. The thin sheet metal that was used as the bed of the truck wouldn’t hold for long, the gas tank probably only half a second longer. Shouts behind me let me know I had surprised them at least. Good.
“Put it out—”
A loud thunderclap precluded a pressure wave of warm air. I half turned, seeing flaming debris fly everywhere, and an enormous fire spreading out from where the truck had been. Several figures were wreathed in flames, screaming. I spied all of this from behind trees and bushes as I moved stealthily out of the area, back the way I’d come. Another thermite charge ignited, the light much brighter and harsher than the gas tank explosion. I’d had no idea that this would work this well. At worst it would have disabled the trucks, but at best… I was seeing it right in front of me. It was going as I had hoped and prayed it would.
The second truck exploded, and a heartbeat later something flew past me, tearing a huge hole in the foliage. I hit the dirt and turned to see that the truck had gone up, spewing fire and flame in all directions. What had flown past my head? Was it shrapnel? Screams punctuated the night, and I couldn’t make out the words over the crackling of the flames. Then the night lit up again. There was no WHUMP sound, but the screams were loud. In the secondary fires, I saw figures moving and the tall grass start burning and spreading across what was usually a freshly turned field that people had prospected for diamonds in, before the power had gone out in the world.
With no explosions happening for a moment, I slid down a tree and pulled my pack into my lap with one hand. My side was warm and wet, and I needed something to stop the bleeding. I dug through the pack with bloodied hands until I found a pair of clean socks. I undid one of them and folded it and pressed it against the spot I’d been shot. The pain was worse, and the entire entry wound throbbed. I looked up quickly to make sure I was still safely hidden, and saw human shapes running around. I could hear shouts, screams, and curses, but nobody came my way.
I was sweating heavily, and it was more than the usual heat we had in the late summer. I took the other sock and bit down on one end, using my mouth to hold it in place as I fished the other end out from under my armpit. I dropped the wadded sock I was using as a pad. It took me a few minutes, but I was able to tie the sock around my armpit and shoulder and get the wad in place, so it was holding constant pressure. No exit hole in the back of the shoulder. Well, shit.
Communications were one of the things my preps had lacked, medical supplies were another. If I got out of this, I would have to figure something out. Maybe Carter? Would he he
lp me after this? I looked back out to see that the fire was being fought bucket by bucket. Where were they getting the water? How had they organized so quickly? I put my pack in front of me and pulled my rifle over. Using the pack as a rest and trying not to use my left arm as I looked through the scope.
Dirty, sweaty men and a couple figures I thought were women, had organized a bucket brigade and were busy working on putting out the grass. The trucks had been parked in a spot that had been hacked into the brush, and it looked like those were going to burn also. I grinned. At least something had gone right. I couldn’t get an angle on the bikes because of the spot I was at, so I moved to the right. I gasped as a new bolt of pain shot through me, but I managed to reposition myself.
I had just focused my sight picture when I saw a figure hold up something to eye level, then shout. Spider stepped out of the bucket line and shouted a question, but the words were lost in the chaos and madness. The person shouted back and held the object up higher. A mason jar with a yellow stripe. I was shaking from the pain and adrenaline, and I knew I was losing blood, but I wasn’t done yet. Not even close.
I focused, clicked my safety off and took a breath. I let it out slowly as I took in the small amount of slack in the gun’s trigger. I adjusted my aim up about two inches from the top of the jar to take into account the distance. I couldn’t adjust for wind because the fire around the figure was being fed by small gusts from every direction, and I couldn’t make a determination. It was a long shot at a small object, but I’d done farther shots before, but never while injured and bleeding.
Three. Time slowed down for me, I blew out my breath as slow as I could.
Two. My heart beat, lub dub.
One. The shot went down range, the gun surprising me as it should, when the trigger was pulled.
I lost the sight picture for a moment, but an explosion rocked the compound for a fourth time. I worked the bolt and found half the bucket line had fallen or were running. I couldn’t find the big man or the figure who’d been holding my jar up. Nobody was looking in my direction; the suppressor had done its job well. I focused on the furthest out of the now re-forming line, wondering if they thought something had cooked off. Didn’t they know I was after them?
