He kicked a large bottle of vitamins off the counter and out into the store, the rattling missile striking a shelf and causing more items to fall. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he pulled his foot back just as a small hand caught the fabric of his pants.
“Oh shit!” Jim cried out.
It was a kid!
He stepped back out of the thing’s reach. It must have been nine or ten…No! Don’t even think about it, Jim told himself. This thing is a monster like the others.
Damn it!
He raised his rifle to fire a round into the things head. He gritted his teeth and willed his finger to squeeze the trigger.
He couldn’t do it!
The thing’s rotting, dead fingers scrabbled along the counter, desperately seeking the meal just out of reach. The low growls leaving its throat were eerily similar to its larger companions. Jim tried to think of it as doing the thing a favor, releasing it from a torturous existence. It’s what he would want if he was one of those things.
He raised the rifle again and aimed. He took a deep breath.
“Forgive me,” he asked someone, anyone.
He fired. The Z went down instantly, falling to the floor with a small thud. He refused to look at it. He grabbed a sweater from the back of a nearby chair and tossed it over the small corpse.
He then turned his mind back to the mission. He pulled the list from his pocket and scanned it, then got a shopping bag from a holder nearby and started searching the shelves. On the third aisle in the back, he found Jessica’s medication— huge bottle of it. He shook it as he picked it up.
“Full,” he said smiling. “Should be enough to last the next ten years…” he muttered under his breath.
He finished gathering the rest of the things Brad had wanted and added a few things of his own to the bag.
He was finished. He checked his watch. It was after noon. They should get moving.
◆◆◆
They found a two-story house, three streets over, that offered them a view of their target from the attic.
They made sure they had at least two routes of egress in case they were found out. They took turns keeping an eye on the mysterious house. They saw occasional movement behind the windows, but nobody spent more than an instant passing by.
They spent the afternoon pilfering through the house for anything useable or necessary.
They found a small cache of medications in an upstairs bathroom, as well as several boxes of ammo and a rifle. They really didn’t need another rifle, but it didn’t feel right leaving it behind.
There were some canned foods in the pantry, and they took those as well. Also not really needed, but some day they may be grateful for a few cans of food. Jim went back upstairs as the sun was setting and relieved Nick.
“We’ll be going in at zero-one-hundred, as long as there are no indications that they are awake. We’ll go in through the front door, unless the back seems to be a better option. We’ll have to figure it out on the fly.”
“Cam wouldn’t like that,” Nick said.
“Cam knows the value of improvisation and adaptation,” Jim retorted. “And Cam’s not here. We are.”
“True.”
◆◆◆
At midnight they left the house, keeping to the shadows.
They were extra cautious of running into the dead, so they made sure to really be aware of their surroundings. Jim wished they had thought to bring some of the night vision optics. They would come in handy right about now.
A cooler breeze blew gently through his hair. It was fresh. No hint of the dead.
He suddenly had a sense of déjà vu, of standing in some dark neighborhood with a cool breeze blowing and a large moon shining down upon the ruins of a society. He paused to let the feeling pass.
He thought about mentioning it to Nick, but it wasn’t really worth it.
They moved unseen around the perimeter fence of the stately home. No light peeked from the windows, no eyes searched the dark, and no women crept from their opulent confinement. They stopped near the back, seeing a small door set into the foundation of the home.
“A basement,” Nick breathed.
“That’s where we’ll go in,” Jim said.
They went back to the front gate and Nick kept watch while Jim picked the lock. Several minutes passed and he finally succeeded. He stood up and returned his kit to his small assault pack. They had left their rucks in the Humvee, in the garage of their overwatch position.
“Watch our six,” Jim said.
They both readied their rifles, though they would be a last resort. The grass dampened their pants and boots as they crept to the basement door. There was no window. It was a solid steel core door. But there was something strange…
The lock was on the outside.
Someone had modified and padlocked this door shut from the outside. It gave credence to the woman’s story. He pulled his tools again and went to work, attempting to be a silent as possible when manipulating the lock.
He thought he did pretty damn good.
They stood up and stepped back into the shadows. Standing off to the side, Jim turned the latch and opened the door. The hinges squeaked in protest, and he winced.
When the door was open completely, and no shotgun blast sounded from within, Jim stepped through the doorway and close to an interior wall. Nick followed.
They stood, weapons at the ready, and looked around for possible threats. Shapes emerged in the gloom— pale shapes…moving shapes.
Jim stood stock still, aiming carefully at the closest one. They made no sound, only inched closer.
He smelled the air, testing it for the stench of death, and found none. These were people. Judging from the size of them, they were women.
“It’s us,” he said to the gloom, hoping Cara was here to recognize him.
“Who is us?” a figure said, getting closer.
Jim saw that he was right. These were women.
The one who spoke was of average height and weight, with short black hair and an amazing array of tattoos for one so young. She was also holding a chair leg like a baseball bat and was obviously intending to bash his head in if she didn’t like his answer.
“Did you hear the shooting earlier? We were the ones making all the noise. Came up on a herd.” He looked around as the women came close enough that he could make out their features.
He was wrong, these weren’t all women, some were girls.
“Where’s Cara? She came out and asked for our help. She can tell you,” he assured them.
One by one they all looked up to the ceiling. Jim and Nick did as well, though they didn’t know what they were looking at.
“She’s up there…with them,” Tattoo girl said.
“With the men?”
“Every night one of us has to go up. Tonight, they picked her,” said another girl. They all looked at each other then.
“We’ve come to get you guys out of here. If you want to come with us, you’ll be safer than if you go out alone. We have women in our group too.”
“Wait here, please,” Tattoos requested.
Jim and Nick looked at each other as the girls gathered together further away, obviously discussing their options. Soon, they seemed to come to a consensus and Tattoos walked back over.
“We’ll go with you. First, we want you to go save Cara…and kill the men,” she said with a hard glint in her eyes.
Chapter Eight
Unexpected Guests
Cam
Cam was waiting in the trees near the prison for Ed’s transmission.
His radio was short-range and wasn’t guaranteed to receive clearly beyond a certain point. He settled back into his tree to wait. He went back over his mental op order for tomorrow’s mission.
He ticked off the points on his fingers as he went. First, he would take out the first patrol several miles down the road. Then, he would run back here and wait for noon. At exactly twelve-oh-two, the second patrol vehicle should ro
ll out the gate.
Five seconds later he would detonate the two claymores. One would do it, but two would ensure that no hostiles would be left alive…or anything close to life.
At twelve-oh-two, Ed would take out the two guards and egress to the exfil point in the trees. He would meet him there.
From there, Ed would use the two weapons caches to fire on any guards leaving the gates. Cam would use the other two on the far side of the prison. Then, they would go home.
Cam didn’t expect any resistance right away. His tactics would ensure that the prison leader would be unaware of the strength of his enemy. Any type of offensive measure would be suicidal. No, they would wait several days to be sure they weren’t going to be sniped at from the trees.
He felt a cool breeze ripple through the leaves of the oaks, and he breathed deeply of the fragrant night air. The heat of the day had dissipated a little and he was enjoying the calm before the storm, so to speak.
Finally, a crackle in his ear alerted him to an impending transmission.
“Barbarian, this is Cart-Rider. Do you read?” Ed said in a low tone.
“Roger Cart-Rider. Good to hear your voice. Is everything good to go? Over,” Cam asked.
“That’s affirmative, but there may be extra guests for dinner. Over,” Ed said cryptically.
“That’s a no-go. Not this time,” Cam returned.
“No choice. We have friendlies around, some hidden in plain sight,” Ed said.
“Wait one,” Cam said, giving himself some time to consider the options.
There were obviously allies in the prison. Perhaps they even knew of the plan or would know something was up. Hidden in plain sight…that was a little harder to comprehend. They couldn’t be hidden outside the prison because Cam would have seen activity, or at least signs of others about.
There must be friendly guards. That really complicates things…
“Affirmative. Proceed as planned. Bring guests. Turn your comms on two minutes before zero hour. Over.”
“Roger that. Thanks. See you soon,” Ed added.
“Very soon. Barbarian out.”
Everything was ready, although they would have more people to worry about. He wondered how many Ed was planning to bring. They may need another vehicle.
Cam looked around the peaceful woods, enjoying the solitude while it lasted. Soon, he would be back home in the arms of his future wife.
It couldn’t come soon enough for him.
◆◆◆
Shortly before dawn, Cam was waiting at the first ambush point. He expected the first patrol to arrive within thirty minutes.
He took a moment to get his head in the right place. He learned how to do it during his first deployment to Iraq, and it was an effective exercise.
He closed his eyes took a deep breath, gathering up all of his worries and fears. On the exhale, he released them all into the air. They lived in him no more. He opened his eyes. He had no emotions, no fear, no concern except the mission at hand.
He checked the clacker sitting in a small patch of dirt at his feet. The wire was undisturbed. The mine was ready to detonate. He glanced down at his watch.
They should be on the move now. Any second they will be rounding the corner.
He controlled his breathing and heartrate and picked up the clacker. He flipped the safety off and clasped it loosely, but securely, in his palm. The seconds ticked by, and he remained motionless. His attention was divided between watching the road and listening to his surroundings.
It would have been a horrible time to be taken off guard.
He heard an approaching engine. The rumble of the motor was familiar. They were right on time. He watched as the SUV flashed through the trees before the curve. It slowed for the sharp turn.
Its front tires reached the kill zone and Cam squeezed the clacker three times rapidly.
The blasting cap ignited the plastic explosive in the mine. Hundreds of steel ball bearings punched through the air. They punctured the frame of the and pierced the occupants of the vehicle with immense and deadly strength. Blood misted the interior of the SUV. It skidded out of control, in a violent reel toward the trees.
Dust clouded the area. Shrapnel and gravel flew through the kill zone, shredding leaves and shrubs. The explosion echoed through the surrounding area, finally ending in complete silence and utter destruction of the prison’s first patrol. The smoking ruin of the SUV was wedged tightly next to a large tree across the road.
Cam readied his rifle and watched the wreckage of the truck.
Nothing moved inside. He stayed in the trees for several more minutes, ensuring that they were dead. He glanced at his watch. It was time to go.
He pushed through the brush at the end of the trees and jumped across the ditch and into the road. He approached the vehicle with caution but didn’t anticipate a fight. There just wasn’t enough left of any of them.
He peered through a rear window glazed with blood and cratered with holes. The glass was spiderwebbed in places, but he could see enough. They wouldn’t be coming back. They didn’t have enough brains left. Most of them were splattered over the seats. He pushed away the twinge of remorse trying to make its way in.
He had no remorse for them, they made their choice.
He had probably saved countless lives by destroying them. He packed up his gear, respooling the wire and placing it with the clacker back in the bandoleer.
You just never know when you’ll need an electric charge to trigger something…
Ed
Ed was eating breakfast.
If everything went according to plan this would be his last meal here. He was excited and nervous. He was trying to psyche himself up to completing his part of the mission: killing the guards. Well, one guard. McDaniels might be able to be spared. He hoped so anyway.
He figured that he would start at the end of the bean row and make his way gradually over toward the pistol and ammo. Closer to eleven, he would stow the pistol in his waistband and the spare mag in his pocket. He would then move to a row closer to the guards.
When twelve-oh-two came he would execute the mission.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a bandana. A spare bandana. His other was currently fulfilling its function as a hidden radio holster.
He got up with his breakfast tray and took it over to the trash cans and threw away his napkin. He then set his dirty tray in the large tub reserved for that purpose.
He passed by Barnes on the way back to his table.
She was standing, arms crossed, and feet placed wide, guarding the cafeteria line with all her considerable bulk. There would be no pilfering of sauce packets today. He gave her a slight nod and she returned it, careful not to arouse the suspicion of the nearby guard.
Ed stood near the table. McDaniels and Jones were rounding up the others, preparing for another long day in the sun. He had so much nervous energy that he was having to consciously keep from tapping his fingers and bouncing on his toes.
“Line up!” Jones shouted to the crew.
They did as they were told, knowing the drill well by now. Ed inserted himself between the old man with the broken arm and a smaller woman who never spoke. They were marched out to the garden.
Upon opening the door, Ed saw that the day was overcast though still hot. There was a slight breeze, and he was thankful for it. The first half of the day he could pick beans in relative comfort. The second half he could run for his life without the sun beating down on him.
Knock on wood.
He wondered if Cam was watching him right now. He glanced surreptitiously toward the trees and scanned. He didn’t see anything. Cam had told him to have his radio on right before noon. He didn’t know how he would manage it without being seen, but he would try.
First, he wanted to make his way to the pistol buried under the fence.
He picked for hours, sometimes getting a drink of water, and sometimes standing to stretch his back. The guards had continued their
predictable routine of sitting in the shade talking. He supposed they must have ticked off someone important to be assigned to this job every day.
Maybe the warden just didn’t like them.
Time crawled by. It was worse than when he was a kid waiting for Christmas. Finally, he managed to make it to his section of fence without alerting the guards that anything unusual was happening. He picked with one hand and used the other to feel for the plastic. He found it and pulled it toward him with pinched fingers.
The pistol was a small one, though still deadly enough to get the job done. It was a nine-millimeter, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He pulled it from the bag, trying not to rattle the plastic too much. Then he pulled out the two magazines of ammo. One went into the pistol. One went into his pocket. He couldn’t charge it yet. It would be too loud and unmistakable.
He would have to do it at the very last minute.
He pushed the bag down until it was hidden deep between two bean bushes and looked at his watch. It was eleven-fifty-two, and Ed was about to make his first, and hopefully last, prison break.
He slowly untied the bandana and slipped the radio out, making sure the earbud jack was securely seated in the radio. It was silenced, but it was better to be careful.
He pulled his wide brimmed hat lower over his ears and eyes, trying to cover his movements. He slipped the earbud in place and switched it on.
“Barbarian, this is Cart-Rider. I am in position.”
“Roger. Everything is Green. Repeat, Green,” Cam said, informing him the mission was still a go.
“10-4,” Ed said into the mic.
He could practically hear ol’ Cam rolling his eyes at that. He knew Cam preferred military lingo, but Ed liked to mess with him sometimes.
Ed moved the radio and earbuds to his pocket and felt the reassuring, but strangely cold, weight of the magazine against his hand. He carefully pulled it and the pistol out and placed it into the magazine well with a small click. He waited another five minutes before getting to his feet and making his way over to the water cooler.
Refuge From The Dead | Book 3 | Dead Fall Page 9
