by Lopez, Rob
The two raiders outside the vehicles rolled on the ground, trying to bring their weapons to bear. Bloody wounds appeared on them in seconds. The Suburban rolled forward. Rick wasn’t sure if it was because the driver was trying to get away, or because his foot had slipped off the clutch and the vehicle was still in gear. The SUV nudged the log and stalled. Rick hurled the second bottle. It sailed through the fragmented windshield and exploded inside. There was a scream as injured men battered at the doors, trying to get out.
A third raider made it out of the sedan. Running past his stricken colleagues, he tried to make it over the ditch and to the trees. Packy’s second magazine, fired at close range, shredded him.
Scott, coming up from his position at the stream, put two rounds into one of the raiders still struggling on the ground. The other had stopped moving. Rick launched the third bottle at the sedan, engulfing it in flames, and put a couple more rounds through the window, just to make sure.
A burning body tried to climb out the back window of the Suburban. The militia filled him full of holes and put him out of his misery. Scott approached the sedan and executed a raider still inside. And that was it. Nobody in the convoy moved again.
Rick checked his stopwatch. Forty five seconds since the action started. It had gone better than he’d hoped, but now he had to think of his guys, most of whom stared dumbly at the carnage they’d caused. Rick didn’t want them dwelling on what they’d done.
“Everybody move. Back to the rendezvous point. Now!”
Nobody moved. The burning man proved to be too alluring a spectacle. Rick ran along the outside of the trench, grabbing arms and pulling them up. “Stop looking and start walking,” he said. “This isn’t over yet.”
Down by the vehicles, Scott and Packy were already picking up fallen weapons and hastily searching pockets for more ammunition. As soon as they were done, they sprinted down the road. Acrid black smoke filled the air. Rick slid down the slope to Scott.
“Why was there a delay with the explosion?” he called.
Scott shrugged. “I guess it just didn’t want to go. Took a little longer, is all.”
There was a thump as the fuel in the Suburban blew, sending up a fiery mushroom cloud.
“Better late than never, I guess. Let’s hope they take the bait.”
*
Rick figured that the raiders would get angry. A good leader would size up the tactical situation in light of new developments and prevent his men from acting like an angry mob and taking out their wrath on the nearest community. Rick had seen that enough times among militias in Africa, Afghanistan and Syria: local groups would react badly to an ambush or drone strike and immediately descend on the nearest village, demanding answers and the heads of any informers. Actions ranged from roughing up the villagers to razing the village to the ground. Hell, Rick had seen U.S. soldiers do the same sometimes. It all depended on the leadership of the armed group.
Unfortunately, Rick had no idea of the character of the raider leader – nor even if they had one. He’d quizzed Doug on the matter, but the intel he received was vague, and the hours he’d spent watching the raider camp left him none the wiser. The second part of his plan was therefore based on a mere hunch.
He figured they’d come via Camp Grier again. Any other approach involved an arduous trek along the ridges and up the mountain, and the raiders hadn’t shown themselves to be keen hikers. The mountain bike trail from Camp Grier zigzagged up the slope in a series of long, gentle inclines. Rick had chosen one section to be a killing zone. A line of fortified trenches and camouflaged wooden bunkers had been built on the slope above a section of trail, running parallel to it. A blocking position hidden at a corner had been built with a view directly up the trail, ready to engage the raiders from the rear once they’d passed. It was a classic L-shaped ambush – not the most sophisticated military invention, but simple enough for the kind of troops Rick had at his disposal. Anything more complicated would have caused problems.
Lauren commanded the main line. With her were the majority of volunteers, plus a few more that Doug had cajoled into joining the effort. Rick arrived at her position, bringing the extra rifles. Pale faces along the line stared at him as he dropped into Lauren’s trench.
“You ready for this?” said Rick to his wife.
“I think so,” said Lauren. “I heard the explosion. Did everyone make it back okay?”
“Yeah, but a couple of them are still in shock.”
Lauren glanced at her own troops, all clutching rifles, shotguns or bows. “I think we’ve got a few here like that already. It’s crazy. Are we really going to be shooting arrows at them?”
“Better than throwing stones.”
“Rick, two of them are using air rifles. Are they going to be any good to us?”
“It all adds to the confusion. If we can panic the raiders, that’s good. I don’t want them recovering and mounting a counter-attack. We’ve got one shot at this and I don’t want it to fail. Where’s Josh?”
“He’s on lookout.”
Rick hadn’t wanted Josh involved in the actual fight, and in spite of Josh’s protestations had placed him in a high location with the best view. He would act as a runner to warn them of any developments, like a group of raiders coming from another direction. He was unarmed though, all weapons being handed to the fighters – even Rick and Scott’s sidearms – and Rick was uneasy about that. In spite of his preparations, he felt his family was vulnerable. It was the right decision, but he didn’t like it.
“If it goes bad, you make sure he’s okay. You take him and Lizzy and head to the rendezvous point. I don’t want any heroics this time.”
“I don’t want any from you, either.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll work better if I know you guys are going to be all right.”
“Work?”
“It’s just a job.”
“Glad you can be so casual about it.”
“I’m not casual about anything. You know that.”
Lauren couldn’t help but smile. “Too well. But you take care, you hear?”
Rick kissed her on the cheek and climbed out of the trench.
“Is that all I get?” she said.
“I told you, I’m at work. We’ll fire on your mark, okay?”
*
April sat on the ground in front of the huts, cradling Daniel’s head. She couldn’t hide her anxiety and Daniel had crawled into her lap, infected by her fear and wanting his own solace. April felt vulnerable without her shotgun. It had been added to the militia’s arsenal, though she’d held onto her Ruger pistol. In fact, Scott had insisted she keep it. She had the feeling that, had she asked, he would have given her the shotgun too, in spite of their need. There was nothing he wouldn’t give her, and that felt strange to April.
None of the men in her previous life had been like Scott. He was easy-going and kind of casual, but at the same time she knew he was always looking out for her, and would do absolutely anything to keep her safe and happy. He’d kill for her. That was a fact. But he’d also die for her. And that was a worry.
It felt wonderful to be so cared for. Especially now that her pregnancy hormones had kicked in and she felt hyper-sensitive, exposed and defenseless. But the risks were so much higher now than when she carried Daniel. Scott was getting involved in one dangerous situation after another, and while he kept surviving, and assuring her that he knew what he was doing, every victory only raised the odds of the next one being the calamity she dreaded. It was like a ticking time bomb.
She’d raised one child alone. She didn’t want to raise the second one without Scott. In really emotional moments, the very thought of it brought tears to her eyes.
It didn’t seem fair that the struggle to survive was getting harder rather than easier, and she brooded some days on everything that could go wrong. It wasn’t a good idea to get like that, but she couldn’t help herself. Carrying a precious new life inside her made her more easily frightened. In
days of old, and during wartime, this feeling would have been common, and maybe the women who endured it were tougher. But she was a modern city girl, and in spite of putting on an attitude and telling herself she could take anything, moments like this dragged down all her hopes and brought the darkness. Lizzy, sitting nearby, seemed to sense the somber mood and she came over to join Daniel.
Chuck paced up and down. His ribs were healing and he could walk with the aid of a stick. Every now and again he stopped to lean on it, making an effort to keep his breathing shallow. Dee sat on a stump, breastfeeding Jacob.
“It’s peaceful,” she said suddenly.
“It’s certainly quiet,” said Chuck, cocking an ear. “Even the birds have stopped singing.”
“Everybody’s waiting.”
“Not much else we can do.”
“We just wait for the end.”
“There’s no need to put it like that. We’ll come through this okay. Guys like Rick and Scott, they’re soldiers. They know what to do.”
“Soldiers die,” said Dee a little wistfully.
April looked at her with a spike of anger, wanting to shout something, but there was no trace of malice on Dee’s face. She did indeed look peaceful, even nostalgic, and April remembered that Dee’s boyfriend, and Jacob’s father, had been a soldier. Her anger evaporated and she saw herself a year into the future, breastfeeding a baby on her own and wondering what might have been if only Scott had lived.
A series of cracks made her jump. A cacophonous crescendo of gunfire sounded close by, and the first shouts and cries echoed through the woods.
April hugged Daniel and Lizzy with a desperation that bordered on insanity.
21
Rick thought the raiders would send three or four vehicles to punish the Bergen Mountain residents. Instead they sent seven. Every angry thug who could get into a car or truck seemed to have done so, so fierce was the reaction to the slaughter of their friends at Mill Creek. They arrived at Camp Grier, got out of their vehicles and tramped en masse up the mountain bike trail. Eager to mete out retribution, they ascended with energy, but by the time they got to the kill-zone, they were strung out as the least fit lagged behind. That was when Lauren opened fire.
The shooting from the defenders was hesitant and ragged as many were awed by the spectacle of the raiders who outnumbered them. That initial volley, however, was enough to spook the raiders on the wide gravel track. Turning to face the fire, they were unable to see the camouflaged defenders. A raider with a police vest tried to rally his comrades, and was surprised by an arrow that pierced his thigh. Unable to believe such a thing, he paused, inclined to laugh. Then the volume of fire increased and he took a shot to the head that knocked him flat on his back. The men around him turned and ran into the trees on the other side of the track. Covered pits awaited them. They crashed through the thin-branched covers and down onto sharpened stakes.
*
At the blocking position, Rick, Scott and the six shooters from the first ambush were still waiting for the last raiders to pass by when the shooting started. Rick and Scott opened fire immediately, hitting the hapless raiders at point blank range. The ones that didn’t fall straight away crawled or ran, but with the shooters being in such close proximity, they didn’t get far.
*
“We can slash the tires,” said Red. “That’ll stop them getting away.”
Packy rolled his eyes. They were hidden in the bushes at the edge of Camp Grier, looking at the vehicles the raiders had left there.
“Have you no respect?” said Packy. “Look at those cars. They’re beautiful. See that one there? That’s a Hudson Hornet.”
“That was Jeff Goldberg’s.”
“And that one just behind it? Oh my God, it’s a Plymouth Road Runner.”
“That was Ryan Creasy’s. He loved that car.”
“You can’t disrespect these cars by slashing their tires.”
“So what are we going to do? Just let the raiders jump right back in them? This ain’t a parade.”
The crackle of gunfire up the mountain continued unabated.
“Watch and learn, my retarded friend.”
“Who are you calling retarded?”
“It’s just an expression.”
“No it ain’t.”
“Relax, my man. Let me show you how it’s done.”
They sneaked over to the Hudson and Packy popped the hood.
“Oh, wow,” swooned Packy. “Original Packard V8. Do you know, Steve McQueen owned one of these?”
“Who?”
“Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”
“I don’t care. Can you hurry up? Some of those guys might be coming back now.”
Packy unclipped the distributor cap. “I shouldn’t worry about that. I don’t think there’s going to be too many left. That guy Rick, he’s like the Terminator, only without the accent. Honestly, I feel sorry for those raiders.” With the ignition exposed, Packy removed the rotor arm and held it up. “See? Without this, the car’s going nowhere. Now we put the cap back on, lower the hood and Bob’s your uncle.”
“He fuckin’ ain’t. Hurry the hell up.”
*
Trapped between the pits, the blocking position and the militia’s main line, the raiders fought back hard. Lauren flinched under the return fire. Raiders climbed the slope, using the trees for cover, and casualties among the militia mounted. An archer had fallen beside her already and had bled out as she tried to save his life. Poking her head above the trench, she took another shot at a raider, kicking up dirt by his face. The bolt slammed back on her rifle and stuck, there being no more bullets left in the magazine to feed. Lauren ducked back down. She contemplated picking up the bow, but she had no idea how to use it properly. Discarding the rifle, she launched herself out of the trench and fast-crawled to the next bunker, rounds zinging over her head. Slipping in behind the wooden emplacement, she found Harvey firing out the opening between the logs. The wood around the port had been chewed up from the raiders’ fierce counterattack. Doug lay on the ground, nursing a bloody arm.
“Doug, are you okay?”
Doug gave her a pained look. His voice was slurred, like he was sleepy. “As long as I hold onto it, I guess I could be, but I ain’t much use to you now. How’s it going?”
Harvey discharged another shot then ducked down to feed more shells into the magazine. “Not good,” he snapped. “What’s happened to the others? Nobody’s shooting anymore.”
Lauren glanced across and saw it was true. Cowed by the return fire, most of the militia members were keeping their heads down. Unused to combat, they looked to be on the verge of giving up.
Lauren picked up Doug’s rifle. “Harvey, keep up the fire and cover me.”
“You’re not going out there, are you?” said Doug.
Lauren didn’t feel she had a choice. If she didn’t rally her troops, they were going to be overrun.
Harvey understood what she was going to do. “On my mark,” he said.
Lauren readied herself, her heart beating so fast it was starting to hurt. “Ready,” she said.
“Go,” said Harvey, rising to shoot.
Lauren scrambled out of the dugout and sprinted through the trees. Wood splinters flew around her as the raiders took snapshots. Lauren’s feet barely touched the ground. Throwing herself into the next trench, she slammed into the side of the roughly dug pit. Two militia members, a young guy and an older woman, crouched down and stared wide eyed at her. Pumped full of adrenaline, Lauren yelled at them.
“Get firing or we’re all dead!”
They didn’t move, so Lauren rose to the parapet, took aim at a raider only a few yards away and fired. The rifle she’d picked up was a bigger caliber than the one she’d dropped. The recoil surprised her, and the round impacted on the raider’s arm and nearly tore it off. Lauren dropped down to work the bolt. The militia members were still staring so she grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her up.
“Start shooting or so help me I’ll shoot you myself!”
It wasn’t the most diplomatic of orders, but the way Lauren felt, she was ready to throw them physically out of the trench. Seeing that she might be more dangerous than the raiders, the two rose tentatively to aim their rifles.
“Keep shooting even if you don’t see a target. I want those raiders to keep their heads down.”
She had no idea what was happening at the blocking position, but she hoped that Rick and Scott would start rolling up the raiders’ positions. If the raiders were too busy being worried about getting hit, they might not notice they were getting flanked.
The thought that things might have gone bad at the blocking position, and that Rick and Scott were in trouble – or worse – crossed her mind, but she pushed the thought out as quickly as it had entered. Steeling herself, she gritted her teeth and climbed out of the trench, her feet sliding on the dirt as she darted over to the next position. How she wasn’t hit, she never knew, but she moved from one emplacement to another, cajoling and threatening until there were enough weapons firing to pin the raiders down again.
*
Packy and Red hid as they watched two raiders come stumbling down from the mountain trail. One was limping but they still moved at a shambling run, so desperate were they to get away. Red raised his rifle and took aim.
“Wait,” said Packy. “I want to see this.”
The two made it to a vehicle. There was a quick conference as they decided who should push-start it. In the end, they both did, steering the vehicle around and putting their shoulders into it as they got some momentum up. When they judged they had enough, they jumped in to engage gear. The transmission whined up and then down to a sad note as the vehicle slowed and stopped.
