Art nodded. “Makes sense. Still, I’m surprised to hear there are Chinese everywhere.”
“Yeah, well, join the club.”
“Why don’t you leave?” Sam asked. “Or organize some kind of resistance?”
The man laughed again. “Leave and go where? Portland’s supposed to be toxic. Canada sealed their border – not that I blame them. So that pretty much leaves here.”
“Lot of other towns,” Lucas said.
“Yeah. Heard about them. Regular vacation spots, aren’t they? Prison gangs, cartels, and marauders running them. Might as well stay put. At least I know the lay of the land here.”
“What if you had guns? You think this would have gone differently?”
His expression darkened. “Hell yeah. I mean, there’s like ten thousand survivors here. You think we would have let anyone take the place over if we’d had a choice?”
“Sorry. No disrespect intended,” Art said. “Just seems strange to have so many people letting a few push them around.”
The man shrugged and moved away. “Life’s that way sometimes. No telling, is there?”
The squirrel was edible, but they decided to try some of the other carts. One featured apple slices roasting with an assortment of nuts, and they each bought a bag. Lucas decided to pass on the stewed cockroaches. “Good source of protein,” the woman at the cart assured them with a gap-toothed smile. “And cheap.”
“Good to know,” Lucas said. “Maybe later.”
They climbed back on their horses and continued toward the arena, finally stopping when they could clearly see the needle jutting high above the city. “Sounds like we have to hit the arena at night, like we did in Salem,” Sam said. “No point risking our necks riding around anymore, is there?”
“Probably not,” Art said with a yawn.
“You boys head back. I’m going to nose around and see if I can get any more info.”
“It doesn’t sound like there are any surprises. They’re dug in. If you take out the arena, you take out their command. The island will be a piece of cake if it’s a small contingent.”
“Maybe. But no harm in checking.”
“You going to try to make it down there?”
“No. But I want to scope out approaches to the arena.”
“If it keeps pissing like this, they’ll never see us coming,” Art said.
“Hope not,” Lucas said. “See you back at the house.”
He rode toward the arena, and the homes gradually gave way to multistory buildings, most with the same bombed-out look he’d seen in the larger metro areas he’d traveled through. It never failed to amaze him that a sophisticated society could be reduced to living like refugees in a war zone in just a few short years, but from what he’d seen of his fellow man, it was sadly predictable. Only the smaller towns, where a sense of community had existed and neighbors knew each other and helped out when necessary, had fared decently in the collapse. The larger cities, where everybody was a stranger and nobody wanted anything to do with everyone else, had been eviscerated and would never recover.
Lucas turned a corner and nearly ran headlong into a three-man Chinese patrol that appeared shocked to see a heavily armed rider on horseback in the middle of the city. They were raising their rifles when Lucas spurred Tango hard right and simultaneously brought his M4 to bear. One of the soldiers got off a shot that missed by a few feet, and Lucas fired a host of three-round bursts as he drove Tango through a collapsed picture window and into a storefront.
He was off the stallion in an instant and dropped to the ground. Bullets slammed into the brick façade by his head, and he squeezed off another burst that caught one of the soldiers in the abdomen and sent him staggering three steps before dropping. The others ran for cover, but Lucas was too fast and cut them down with two final bursts as they neared a doorway. Both pitched forward and their rifles flew onto the street, and then the area was silent except for Tango’s hooves on the broken glass behind Lucas.
He stood, brushed himself off, and went to retrieve Tango, who was sensibly back as far as he could get in the gutted shop. Lucas took his reins and patted his nose, and murmured reassurance before he led him back to the street.
Lucas knew he had to get clear of the area before reinforcements showed up, and he swung up into the saddle just as five civilians in filthy clothes, their hair matted and long, appeared from one of the buildings. One of them pointed to Lucas and called something over his shoulder, and three more emerged from a doorway, one with a baseball bat in hand and one of the others with a pipe and a length of chain.
“Whoa there, fellas. Don’t have any argument with you,” Lucas said as the men moved to encircle him.
“You killed them Chinese,” one of them said.
“That’s right. They were trying to kill me. Seemed like a good idea.”
A voice spoke from behind him. “Put the gun down and get off the horse, nice and slow.”
Lucas twisted to see who was speaking and saw a man pointing one of the Chinese patrol’s assault rifles at him.
Lucas held his M4 away from his body and eased out of the saddle, and then set the gun on the ground.
“Pistol too,” the man said, motioning with the rifle.
Lucas complied with a frown. “Now what?”
“The Chinese made it clear that if any of them got hurt, they’d round up and execute ten for every one of them. You just condemned thirty of us to death.”
“I didn’t know. What was I supposed to do? Let them shoot me?”
“You’re a damned fool riding around with guns here. You were asking for it.”
“So…what’s your move? You’re the man with the gun,” Lucas said.
“We should take him in,” the one with the chain said. “Maybe they’ll give us a break if we do.”
“You mean turn me in to the group that invaded your country? To try to save your own skins? Let me guess – you all were hiding in your rooms when they landed and took over the city.”
“That’s enough of your mouth,” the man with the rifle warned.
“Why?” Lucas asked. “What are you going to do? Shoot me? The Chinese will the moment you hand me over. And they’ll probably shoot you for good measure, since you make it so easy for them.”
The men looked less certain. Lucas looked around, hands raised, and shook his head. “Sad to see men willing to crawl on their knees. Me, I’d rather die a free man than live like a slave.”
“They’re gonna come through and shoot thirty of us. We got no choice, mister.”
“Of course you do. You can help me get rid of the bodies so they never find them, and take their guns and put them to good use. Or you can be yellowbellies and turn me in to the gang that has you living like animals.”
The man with the rifle lowered it, and the men exchanged glances. “He’s got a point,” the one with the bat said. “What are we turning into?”
Lucas addressed the one who seemed to be having second thoughts. “I remember stories about France back in the Second World War, when a lot of them turned their countrymen in to the Nazis. Never understood how men could sink so low.”
“But what are we supposed to do? Let you go and get shot ourselves?”
Lucas lowered his hands. “Like I said – make the bodies disappear. Nobody knows what happened. Maybe go find a new shithole to live in till it dies down.”
“We could do that,” the man with the chain said. “Not like there ain’t a million places to lose a body or three.”
Lucas allowed himself a half smile. “You won’t be sorry.”
He leaned down to retrieve his weapons, and the man with the rifle raised his again. “Hang on there. Nothing’s decided yet. These idiots want to get their asses shot for bucking the Chinese, that’s their business. I’m not going to.”
“Now hold on, Len,” the bat man said.
“No, you hold on. This guy’s gonna get us all killed. I say we take him to the Chinese, and good riddance.”
>
The men stared at each other, uncertain what to do. Lucas eyed the man with the rifle. “You’re going to have to use that if you think you’re going to keep me here.”
One of the others scooped up another Chinese rifle and trained it on Lucas’s head. “Len’s right. Let the Chinese sort it out. This isn’t our problem.”
“Bad idea, pardner,” Lucas said.
“Shut your piehole,” the rifleman warned, “or I’ll–”
A shot rang out. A hole appeared in the center of the man’s forehead and his head jerked back. He fell, dropping the gun, and another shot caught the second gunman in the chest. He crumpled with a groan, and Lucas grabbed his Kimber and M4 and stared down the rest of the scavengers.
Art and Sam rode down the street, rifles leveled at the crowd, and Lucas holstered his pistol and pulled himself onto Tango’s back.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
“You looked like you were having fun. Didn’t want to spoil it,” Art said.
Lucas glared at the men. “You’ve got two choices. Leave your two dead here with the Chinese, and it’ll look like they got into a fight. Or hide the bodies and git. I’d do the second, but it’s your call.” He sighed. “Sounds like if you stick around, you’re worm food. Just a matter of when.”
Lucas rode away, and Art and Sam covered the men until he rounded the corner, and then spun and galloped to follow him, leaving the locals with the most difficult choice of their lives.
Chapter 45
Houston, Texas
Barton sat at the oval conference table in the meeting room Snake used for his difficult discussions, staring at him like he was crazy. Snake had received confirmation from Laredo that his entire force had been routed, with only twenty men surviving and managing to escape the cartel’s onslaught. They’d traveled east until they’d arrived at a trading post with a shortwave set, and radioed a report that had sent Snake into a rage.
He’d threatened them and told them not to bother coming back to Houston or he’d shoot them on sight, and then retired to his quarters for some chemical fortification before making some hard decisions. The loss of Laredo was a body blow, and as news spread, he could expect other towns under Crew control to come under attack by rivals. Snake and his men lived by the law of the jungle, and weakness would lead to a swift death. Losing a major trading hub to the Mexicans would shake the Crew’s credibility to its core, and it was only a matter of time before other predators began circling; or worse, his own men decided that he wasn’t a sufficiently strong leader and had to be taken out.
Which left him exposed and vulnerable. He had to do something dramatic to regain control or he wouldn’t last a month. The question was what. Like many collapsed empires of the past, he was overextended with his fighters spread too thin, unable to supply them with reinforcements in time should they be attacked by a large group – Laredo had proved that, and it would be repeated until the Crew was no more.
“Are you deaf?” Snake bellowed. “They took Laredo from us like we’re nothing, and we’ll never get it back now. That was a big part of the territory’s income. A lot of trade with Mexico now gone forever. Meanwhile you’ve been promising me to get the refinery live and for gold to show up, but you’ve done nothing.” Snake glowered at Barton. “I lost Laredo because I didn’t have fuel to run a couple of tanks and armored personnel carriers down there. I lost it because you screwed me over, and you’re giving me nothing to work with.”
“You lost it because someone has been feeding your enemies compromising information about where you’re weak. I have nothing to do with that.”
“That’s a guess. You don’t know it for a fact. And even if you’re right, I’d still have Laredo if they’d leaked that I had armor headed to blow up some Mexican ass.”
“Snake, I’m doing everything I can. I just relay messages. They told me the gold was on its way. I believe them. As for the loss of Laredo, we had nothing to do with that, and you and I both know it. So quit taking your frustrations out on me and start concentrating on your own business. Get your nose out of the pipe, for starters. It’s making you weak and clouding your judgment.”
Snake’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
“To someone who’s losing their grip and lashing out. Time to buck up and start acting like a leader, or you’re going to be replaced.”
Snake drew his Desert Eagle .50 caliber and leveled it at Barton. “Say that again.”
Barton didn’t blink. “You wouldn’t dare. The Illuminati would cut you to–”
The big gun bucked in Snake’s hand, and Barton’s chair blew back two feet from the impact. He slowly looked down at the wound in the center of his chest, and then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he died without a sound.
“Yeah? Who’s the big man now, punkass? Got any other ‘observations’ you wanna make? Piece of shit.” Snake spit on the dead man and turned when the door flew open and three of his bodyguards entered with guns drawn.
Snake waved his pistol in the air and then slipped it back in its holster. “Our boy here and I had a disagreement. Get him out of here and make sure he disappears for good. Anyone asks, nobody knows what happened to him – he just went for a walk one day and never came back.” Snake paused and looked each man in the eyes. “And if I hear anything at all about this from anyone, all three of you will follow him, you understand? Open your mouth and everyone dies.”
They nodded and Snake pushed past them. He stopped in the hall and looked over his shoulder at them.
“Things are going back to the old days, where it’s just the Crew. We don’t take orders from anyone. We don’t need anybody. We tell them how it’s gonna be, and if they don’t play ball, they wind up in a ditch.”
The men nodded again, unsure of how to respond, and Snake stormed away, his arms twitching from the meth, his eyes wild, and the stink of flop sweat strong in his wake. In his quarters, he went right for his stash and stuffed a wad of marijuana into a pipe with shaking fingers to calm his nerves.
The Illuminati punk had been asking for it. Nobody talked to Snake like that. He should have known better than to disrespect him to his face.
Snake inhaled a huge hit and held it deep in his lungs. A part of him knew he’d set something in motion he could never undo, but the drug buzz numbed that part, leaving him to laugh silently at the split-second expression in the dead man’s eyes when he realized he’d called Snake wrong.
Chapter 46
Seattle, Washington
Lucas surveyed the arena through his M4 night vision scope and watched as the soldiers at the main gate guard post scanned their surroundings with night vision goggles. They had a big machine gun on a tripod behind an array of sandbags, and there were four of them, all obviously alert.
The Chinese had discovered their ship earlier in the day, so they knew something bad was coming their way. But they had no idea what, or how many, or even why, which was an advantage Lucas hoped to leverage with the strategy he’d mapped out with Art. Rather than a frontal attack, they would need to lure the Chinese out where they were vulnerable, which was the initial part of his plan. If it worked, some percentage of the troops would fall prey to the militia’s guns, and then the battle would begin in earnest.
“Ready?” Lucas asked.
Sam nodded beside him, his M16 equipped with a similar NV scope as Lucas’s M4.
“On my count.”
“Okay.”
“Three…two…one…fire.”
Both rifles fired in unison, and two of the soldiers fell. Lucas shifted his aim to the one on the left and squeezed off another shot, and Sam did the same with the man on the right, with identical effect.
“Now let’s see if they take the bait,” Sam murmured.
They scurried away from their hiding place, back toward the buildings that lined the streets near the arena. They made it a hundred yards and stopped. Lucas raised his radio.
“Anything?”
“Looks like they’re mobilizing.”
“Send in the first twenty and take out some of their shooters at the wall. Won’t do for them to be too complacent. I want them worried and reacting, not thinking.”
“Roger that.”
Gunmen emerged from the buildings and ran toward the spot where Lucas and Sam had hidden. When they were in position, they began firing at the Chinese, their rifles popping and cracking to little effect. A few of the guards who were manning the wall fell, but most of the shooting was to convince the Chinese that the attack was with rifles and nothing else.
They’d moved into position at midnight as the cloud cover had blanketed the city, ensuring darkness; the drizzle rendered the spotter nest in the Space Needle blind. Lucas and Art had hoped that the Chinese would be thrown by their vessel showing up with nobody aboard but the dead, and would make a few stupid mistakes that would cost them the city.
If they didn’t, the alternative was to lay siege to the arena in conjunction with a relentless barrage of round-the-clock shelling and starve them out. But that was less desirable, even though it would be effective, because it would require not one but two sieges – the other at Harbor Island – and ran the very real risk that another ship would appear on the horizon, tipping the odds drastically in the invaders’ favor.
Art’s advance group continued firing at the arena, and then, after a seeming eternity, the Chinese began shooting back. The occasional shots from the militia were answered with a cacophony of fire from the wall, and the men kept their heads down, waiting for the Chinese troops to exhaust their magazines.
Snipers in the buildings near the arena took well-targeted shots at the assembled Chinese, never lingering at a window for more than one kill before moving to a different one. There was no doubt the Chinese had rockets and grenades, too, and would bring them to bear if presented with opportune targets.
After ten minutes of gunfire, several of the militia tossed fragmentation grenades at the gate, and when they detonated, all twenty men ran toward it as the snipers in the buildings laid down covering fire on full auto. The Chinese retreated from the gate as more grenades sailed over the wall and exploded inside the perimeter, and then an officer screamed orders and the confused melee organized while the militia took potshots at them through the rents in the gate.
The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc Page 23
