by Schow, Ryan
The men in the back of the troop transport, however, were all seated, most of them with their heads bowed—some leaning back asleep, the others with their hats pulled over their faces.
He tried to slow his heartbeat, tell himself everything was going to be okay, that his heart didn’t need to work so hard. But all that happened was he took a breath and it felt shallow, too high up in his chest for him to even remain remotely calm.
As he steadily approached the transport’s cab, he saw two more men, both Chinese.
“Pricks,” he mumbled as he gave a veiled, mollifying nod and pushed on.
Once he was clear of them, he stepped on the gas and quickly put them in his rear-view mirror, anxious to get to Five Falls before nightfall. The last thing he needed was to be sleeping in the Jeep in hill country. That was a good way to freeze to death.
Some time later, near the Oregon border, he saw a huge convoy lumbering along. His stomach dropped and he refused to pass them. He’d been lucky on the last encounter, but he didn’t think he’d be so lucky now. If he was seen as the Chicom imposter he was, he’d surely be eviscerated.
He hung back, kept his distance.
With each gradual turn in the freeway, with each and every dip and rise of the road, he saw the size of the convoy and it left him with a sick feeling in his gut.
This group was monstrous in size. Like some giant, shifting dragon, cruising up the interstate unbidden, undeterred, waiting only for a target before it rained down fire and death upon it.
This was not a transport convoy.
This was a kill squad.
He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was afraid, but for the love of God, he was! The truth was, he was but a crow chasing that dragon, a dragon convoy that spanned maybe fifteen or twenty vehicles long with a gas truck and a rather imposing looking tank on a flatbed, no less.
That’s when movement in his rear view mirror caught his attention.
“Damn,” he said, reaching for his pistol. A Chicom Jeep was closing in on him from behind.
“Where the hell did you come from?” he mumbled to himself. Looking down, the gas gauge was sitting near empty, his fuel can bone dry.
This was not the time to panic, he told himself.
He needed to strategize.
The Jeep needed gas, but due to the oppressive Chicom rule, they had seized the freeways, leaving no vehicles in sight.
In other words, if he ran out of gas, he was walking.
He watched the black dot in his rear view getting closer and closer. Should he let it go by? Shoot the driver when they were side-by-side? If he did, at that speed, the Jeep would surely flip.
His heart was sprinting again, his body too warm and uncomfortable. If anything, he couldn’t risk tailing the caravan. He’d see it again, he was sure. Besides, there was a better-than-average chance he’d be forced to deal with it should the Five Falls Resistance be ready to fight the way Skylar claimed they were.
Up ahead, where the road rolled over a hill and dropped low, he hit the brakes and skidded to a near stop, cranking the wheel in the last moment. The back end fishtailed around, the Jeep finally rocking to a stop. He grabbed his pistol, pushed open the door and got low, ducking behind the metal door he hoped would hold as a shield. The instant the Jeep barreled over the hill, he started shooting at the driver.
The Chicom driver stood on the brakes, ducking low as the windshield spider-webbed, making it hard to see his target. The Jeep slid to a stop, plumes of smoke lifting off the tires. The door flung open; he had a fresh mag already locked and loaded.
The instant he saw feet, he shot at them.
And missed.
The driver ducked down and scurried around the back of the Jeep, opening the back gate, grabbing something and then firing on him with a semi-automatic weapon. This put him on his heels, had him racing off into the woods.
Okay, so this was not going according to plan.
You have no plan, idiot!
Bits of dirt and debris kicked up behind him, hot lead nipping at his heels. He dove behind an outcropping of rock, slid a few feet on his belly, then came to a stop. Awkwardly, he righted himself, took up a crouching shooter’s stance, lined up the Jeep in his sights.
“One way or another I’m going to put you down, you commie bag of shit!” the voice shouted.
Holy balls, he knew that voice!
“Not if I put you down first, you bald headed jailbird!” he shouted, praying he was right.
“What did you say?” the woman shouted.
“If I stand up,” he said, his voice shaky with hope, “it’s only to confirm your identity.”
“Ryker?” the woman said.
He took off his hat, raised his hands and stood up. The instant she saw it was him, Skylar’s face flooded with relief.
She started screaming with joy, something he thought he’d never hear from the warrior. The smile that lit his face was unfamiliar and unrestrained. It almost hurt to smile that big. He stood and went to her, limping a bit, his eyes moist. They met at the edge of the road with a hug that lasted forever.
“Oh my God,” Skylar cried. “I thought you were dead!”
“I almost was a few times,” he said, wiping a wayward tear from her eye and looking over her injured face. “You look like a baboon’s ass. Where is all this blood coming from?”
“Top of my head is where it’s most problematic,” she confessed. He lifted off her hat and cringed. “That bad?”
“Good God, girl, you need a fire hose to clean that out. And some stitches, too.”
“I almost killed you,” she said.
“I almost killed you, too.”
“I could have taken you,” she teased.
“I only let you think that so you’d get overconfident. Do you realize how close you were to dying?”
“I only let you think I was overconfident to draw you out,” she teased back. “I had the bead on you the second you moved.”
He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, long, slow and hard. The kiss seemed to take her by surprise, her body stiffening at first, but then melting into his. When the two of them unlocked lips and came up for air, she said, “Even looking like a baboon’s ass?”
He nodded and grinned.
“In your defense,” he said, “I have a decent idea of what you looked like before all this. Besides, I think maybe I like you for you, not just because of those good looks you used to have.”
She laughed, her hand gripping his bicep.
“Well, I am surprised,” she said.
“I didn’t realize how important you were to me until I thought I’d never see you again,” he told her.
“Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” she said. “Not to move this party along, but how much gas do you have?”
“Considering I haven’t eaten much in the last few days, I’m neither bloated nor gassy,” he said, holding his stomach. “I am hungry though, now that you mention it.”
“Not that kind of gas, moron,” she laughed. “Fuel type gas.”
“I think I’ve got enough to get us to Five Falls, so long as it’s not far from here.”
“It’s not far,” she said. “I’ve got a quarter tank in the gas can. And since your windshield isn’t shot to hell, we’re taking your Jeep.”
“Uh oh,” he said, seeing trouble approaching fast.
Moving up the freeway toward them at what looked like an accelerated rate of speed, was the troop transport and the supply truck he’d passed earlier.
He and Skylar hurried off the road, ducked down, then watched the two large vehicles swerve around the Jeeps, the angle so tight they nearly nicked his Jeep where it sat parked in the middle of the highway.
The rush of wind blew road dust in their faces, but they closed their eyes and ducked their heads, Ryker terrified of losing the Jeep.
When he glanced up, he saw both Jeeps had survived. “Good Lord that was close,” he said.
“Saw them on the way by,�
� she said. “Something’s off about them.”
“They must be with the procession ahead.”
“What do you mean?”
He told her about the monster caravan he’d seen, then she said, “If we can catch up, we can make sure they get through Five Falls okay. But if they stop, it means the town’s taken up arms and we’re going to have a hell of a fight on our hands.”
“Is that something they’re capable of?” he asked. “Fighting a cavalcade that size?”
“I don’t know yet. There are some hunters, some rednecks, and maybe a hillbilly or two. Plus this guy named Otto makes dynamite, so he’ll definitely be a staple in the redneck militia. But as far as mobilizing and organizing? I don’t know. Maybe. Let’s go see what we see.”
“And pray for the best,” he added.
Ryker gassed up his Jeep with the last of Skylar’s reserves, then they hopped in and took off, pedal to the metal, burning way too much fuel in the chase.
She assured him he could stay on the gas, though, because with each passing mile, it seemed she was getting more and more worried.
Chapter Nineteen
From where Boone was standing, his Uniden crackled to life. It was the spotter reporting to Noah.
“We have the mother of all caravans approaching! Code Red! I repeat, Code Red!”
“How far away?” Noah asked, his voice steady, calm.
“About a mile and a half from my location, out,” he said.
“Roger that,” he said. “Boone is your CO. So you answer to him in my stead.”
“Copy that,” the frantic voice said.
Across the way, everyone mobilized. It was all hands on deck.
Boone was on site, for he and the kids just laid the gray canvas out over the trench, concealing it from the road enough to do the job.
Everyone scattered.
Boone got on the two-way and alerted Harper. “We’re already headed your way,” she responded. “ETA is five minutes if we don’t flip and barrel roll down the hill to your location.”
“Roger that,” he said.
Logan, Stephani and Harper arrived just minutes before the caravan’s lead Jeep slammed into the pit covered by the canvas. The windshield shattered, both bodies blasting halfway through the glass where they lay face-down on the hood and bleeding out.
“Not yet,” Boone said, stopping the sniper from putting rounds into the driver and passenger.
“Copy that,” the sniper’s voice came back. “I don’t see a pulse in either of them.”
“Maintain position,” Boone said. “We’ll handle the flood, you pick off the more fortunate strays.”
“Copy that,” the voice returned.
By the time Boone cut the transmission, two more Jeeps had slammed into both the destroyed Jeep and the right side of the ditch. Like the first Jeep, the third vehicle hammered the deep ditch’s opposite wall, bringing the vehicle to a brutal stop.
All of the drivers and the passengers shot through their windshields, their bodies lacerated beyond recognition, and most certainly dead.
Apparently the Chicoms did not like the lap belts, not that it would have saved them from the bullets that would have followed the accident.
“I think I have an erection right now,” one of the ditch diggers next to Boone said.
“I think we all do,” Boone replied, the joy of seeing their plan coming together overwhelming. “Then again, I might just soil my britches, too.”
The man nodded and said, “Roger that.”
The troop transport behind the Jeep fought to swerve out of the way, but slammed into them at an angle, a couple of men spilling out into the roadway.
“Light ‘em up when they pour out,” Boone called out across the wire. “Otto, get ready with those arrows!”
“Just say the word,” Otto said, the arrow in hand strapped with three half-sized sticks of dynamite.
Boone was nervous as hell about Otto’s plans for what he called APDs, arrow propelled dynamite, but he trusted his friend. Then again, Otto only had seven fingers, which left Boone feeling even more vulnerable than ever in that moment.
The hulking fuel truck behind the troop transport locked its brakes, swerving hard as the Chicom masses saw it coming and flooded out the back.
“Now!” Boone screamed, raising his own rifle and unloading into the departing masses.
Men shook and stumbled, none of them able to get off a shot as the Five Falls ranks leveled them with smoking hot lead and determination.
The tanker’s rig missed the pileup, but the trailer slammed into the troop transport sideways, causing a brief respite in the roar of gunfire. When the vehicle didn’t explode right away, the gunfire continued.
“Now Otto!” Boone yelled.
From the tree line, Otto lit the half-sticks of dynamite strapped to a single arrow, then aimed and fired the load into the fuel truck’s windshield.
“Everyone back!” Boone yelled over the gunfire. He could barely hear himself scream, but that wasn’t necessary. They knew the plan.
The Five Falls militia tucked back into the tree line, taking cover behind rock outcroppings and the thicker trees.
More vehicles smashed into the fuel truck seconds before it blew, one of them being one of those huge, armored eight wheeled riot trucks.
The dynamite rocked the ground they stood on, a wash of heat roaring over the land under their feet. Any Chicom soldiers trying to avoid the blast were caught up in it, their bodies burning, their screams swallowed by fire and death.
“That big bitch is backing up!” Clay called out to Boone.
Boone snuck a look, saw the armored vehicle was burning but still functional. Only for a moment, though. The big rig towing the tank on its flat bed trailer swerved hard, unable to control the heavy load. At nearly the same moment, the rig slammed into the left end of the dynamited tanker truck while the trailer caught the back of the armored riot truck, shoving it back into the already crunched troop transport.
Thick black smoke boiled into the sky, the sounds of smashing metal and dying heavy in the air. The lines of militia were moving out of the trees again, seeing for the first time that most of the vehicles had either smashed into those in front of them, or had come to a stop just before doing so.
He keyed in the sniper and said, “Pick your targets, you’re weapons free.”
“Copy that,” the sniper said.
Clay said, “There’s two more arriving.” He handed Boone the binoculars and said, “Troop truck and a supply truck by the look of it.”
Boone saw the two vehicles in view, then he saw a lone Jeep trailing them.
Keying the two-way, he said to the spotter, “We’ve got more company, over.”
“Roger that,” he said. “They look different, over.”
“Explain,” Boone said.
“One of the drivers is white,” he said.
“Copy that, so advised, over.” Boone said to the sniper, “You get that, TREE TOP1?”
“Copy that,” he said.
“ROE, observe and report, engage these three targets only if engaged.”
“Copy that, sir. ROE confirmed.”
Boone handed Clay the binos, but Clay already had eyes on them.
“Something’s off,” Clay said.
“Your Spidey senses tingling?” Boone asked, something they used to say as kids.
“Big time.”
Boone lifted the rifle just as Logan joined them. He hobbled in, sidearm holstered, rifle at the ready. Logan didn’t say a word, but the look Boone saw in his eye was one of complete focus. He didn’t know much about Logan but what he’d seen at the tail end of the first offensive and the high school. By the look of him, however, he knew there was a caged beast inside, one that was dying to get out.
Boone went back to his scope, saw the men had moved down the line, firing on the last of the troop transports.
“5F1, you copy?” Boone keyed into the two-way.
“Copy, B1.”
“Do not engage the trailing three vehicles. I repeat, do not engage.”
“We’re about to be overrun. Have you seen the incoming forces, over?”
“ROE set for final three vehicles, over.”
“Go ahead with ROE, B1,” he said as the sounds of gunfire once again lit the canyon.
“TREE TOP1 has command,” Boone said. “His shot is your clearance to go, over.”
“Roger that, B1, over.”
As the forces from the tree line took down what they could, more Chicom soldiers escaped the gunfire, taking cover behind the vehicles, much of the smoke lifting into the air, but some of it heavy and drifting. Through the haze, Boone tried to see the drivers of the incoming vehicles.
All he could see before the breeze blew in was the white kid in the front seat of the troop transport. At first blush, it appeared he wasn’t looking ahead at the Five Falls militia; it seemed like he was looking like the enemy was directly in front of him.
The haze blew through.
“5F1 to B1, over,” the two-way crackled.
“5F1, go ahead.”
“Running light on ammo, sir.”
He was afraid that would happen. Boone keyed the two-way and said, “Go to knives where you can but let TREE TOP1 cover the high ground, over.”
“Copy that, sir. But…these guys are multiplying, over.”
Boone took a deep breath, finger hovering over the two-way’s transmit button. He looked at Clay and Logan.
“We got this,” Logan said.
“You still got shit in them pants?” Clay asked him.
“A little,” Logan replied, knowing what Clay was asking. How mobile were you? That was the question.
“Boone, you coming?” Clay asked.
“Hell yes.”
More gunfire broke out, this time 5F (Five Falls) was on the receiving end of said assault.
“Let’s move,” Clay said, traipsing down into the trench, weapons free, pushing forward at a tactical pace.
“I’ve got right,” Logan said.
“Roger that, watch the crossfire,” Clay said.
Up ahead, in the maelstrom of the pileup, the explosions and the 5F assault, the surviving Chicoms were dug in and fighting back.
