Doing what he could with his remaining senses piqued, the villain moved from one hiding place to the next, stopping a few seconds at each, to watch and listen. He anticipated he might not be the only hunter on the prowl tonight. No, not tonight…surely some Ward members would be skulking about, knowing he was still an ample threat.
“Let them come,” he whispered softly to himself. I could use the exercise to warm me up.
Reaching the west side of the cemetery was arduous, each step as slow and calculated as a panther on the prowl. He leaned heavily against a marble slab, which felt solid and cold against his back. It’s still early, he reasoned, taking a slow but deliberate look around both ends of the aging gravestone. Nothing. Good. A glance to the east yielded no hint of an early sunrise. I’ve got some time to kill, the awkward pun brought a brief smile to his lips but also reminded him that he may not be alone.
Staying to the perimeter of the expansive cemetery, he inched northward; working his way to the rendezvous point he’d laid out for the impending Harvesters. No need to rush, he told himself. There’s plenty of time. Take it slow…easy. Find them before they find you.
Amidst the cascading rush of internal self-assurances, he heard something – an animal…a cricket? No, a breaking twig, and it was dangerously close. He laid prone, his muscles taut, ready to spring, yet his surroundings remained unchanged; no sound…no movement…just calm. Minutes passed, the killer’s breath coming in short, ragged pulses of stagnant air. Finally, he moved, crawling to a large, upright marker that had caught the moon’s diminished gaze. He knelt behind it and leveled his gun, swinging it left and right while looking for misplaced shapes or moving shadows…but nothing stirred.
Inhaling deeply, he sucked a large draft of fresh air into his lungs and was slowly blowing it away when something darted through his peripheral vision. He jerked his weapon to his shoulder and almost squeezed off a shot, but resisted the impulse and backpedalled a step or two before an object dashed between his legs, sending him sprawling for cover.
Somewhat unhinged, the mole watched a scrawny jackrabbit bolt right, and then left, before vanishing from sight. Slowly he shifted his weight and was retreating to safer ground when a low-lying gravestone upended and flattened him on his back. He dared not move, or breathe; almost sure the fall had given him away. Seconds passed, a flutter of faint ambient noises filling a void – and then he heard it – the unmistakable grunt of a small pig…not once but thrice; each call more loud and urgent than the first.
Chapter 36
Fifteen blocks north of the cemetery, in what remained of a community park, Finn waited for his detachment of Harvesters to assemble. They drifted in a few at a time, tired and winded. The hardened collection of determined killers had left their motorcycles on the outskirts of town and walked several miles to avoid detection, but the journey had not been easy. Some dropped their weapons, sprawling amongst the weeds and rusted playground equipment, while others clustered together to murmur and complain.
“Why’d we have to walk so far? We could’ve ridden right up to this here park and been alright,” one burly redhead exclaimed. A few of his peers expressed the same sentiment, but were quickly silenced when Finn produced a large Bowie knife and sliced off a small portion of Red’s left ear. The ruthless act drew everyone’s attention, quieting those that had unbridled their tongues and angering many. Red howled and snapped one hand to the wound, while reaching for his pistol with the other.
“You don’t want to do that, Red,” Finn said, thrusting his blade under the taller man’s chin. “I could have taken more,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “It’s not anything you’ll miss…but I will kill you if you don’t settle down. You hear me?”
The big Harvester grumbled but raised his hands, as if in a sign of surrender. “Yeah, I’m cool…I’m good.”
“Great. You’re more valuable to me alive than rotting here in the weeds. As for the rest of you, quit your incessant bellyaching. You remind me of a bunch of old women at tea. Just shut the hell up and do what you’re told.”
“Hey, Finn,” a skinny, grossly tattooed character called from behind a cluster of heavily armed men and women. “What about that? We’re tired of doing what we’re told. When do we get to have our say?”
“Who’s that?” Finn asked, taking a few steps to address the unexpected outburst. The warriors parted like the Red Sea, leaving the fearless lout to fend for himself. “That you, Marty?”
“Yeah, it’s me. So, as I was saying…”
“I heard ya the first time,” Finn confirmed.
Marty was half the width of Finn, but what he lacked in size he compensated for with a cunning intellect and close friends with plenty of muscle. “Well?”
“This ain’t the time, Marty. We’ve got work to do and a timetable to keep.”
“Screw the timetable and screw Williams. I…that is to say, we are tired of taking her crap and eating her scraps. Aren’t we?” he called to an uproarious group of supporters who had pressed closer around him, brandishing their weapons. Likewise, an equal number of darkly painted Harvesters had surrounded Finn, leaving only a few fence sitters to occupy a perilously unsafe no-man’s land.
“You want to do this here? Now?” Finn asked, in disbelief.
“No better time than the present, as far as I can see,” Marty replied. “Don’t get me wrong, Finn. You’re the man. You’re in charge – we’re not disputing that. Hell…none of us want the job…that’s for sure. We’d just like to know what our futures hold if we’re gonna put our lives on the line tonight. You get my drift?”
“Okay, that’s fair,” their leader agreed. By now, the brigade of Harvesters filled the park. Every man and woman among them edged closer to the dispute, knowing they had a stake in the outcome, but they held their peace.
“So, lay it out for us. We don’t…” Marty began to say, motioning to the group near him, “we don’t fire a single shot or slit a throat until we’ve got an assurance from you that it’s for more than Juanita’s glory.” A few hushed ‘right-on’s’ lifted quickly from the gathering, but they were subdued just as hastily when Finn’s supporters took a few steps forward.
“It’s okay, give them some space,” Finn instructed, extending his hand, which still held the lengthy blade. “They’ve got a right…”
Suddenly, Finn pivoted and hurled his knife at Marty, who had virtually no time to react. The heavy weapon twirled end-over-end, the bone handle and blade reflecting what little light there was, as it miraculously missed the skinny spokesman and lodged between his feet. Before anyone could react, Finn quickly closed the short distance between he and his opponent, pulling his pistol as he did. He leveled the muzzle at Marty’s forehead…not pulling the trigger.
“You want answers?” he nearly screamed.
Surprisingly, Marty did not back down – he’d played chicken before. “Yes, I want answers,” he spat back at Finn.
“Marty, you’ve got more balls than brains.”
“Other way around,” Marty quipped, without skipping a beat.
“Maybe…just maybe, but don’t you ever get in my face like this again,” Finn growled, pushing his pistol hard against Marty’s head, leaving a trail of blood behind.
“Listen up, you heathens. We play our cards right and this whole part of the country will be ours. No more ‘Yes, Ma’am’ for any of us. We get in, we take out The Ward, rack up some kills, harvest some liver, and capture us some sweet Normals. I don’t know about you, but I’m not much in a sharing mood.”
A whoop of exuberant cheers went up around the park.
“Quiet, brothers…or you’ll give us away before we even get started. You follow our plan to a ‘T’, no screw-ups, no cowboy stunts. You got me?”
“Yeah…yeah…”
“The Ward will thin out Juanita’s militia. I’m sure of it…and if not…well, let’s just say I have a backup. Marty, is that what you’re after?”
“That’s all we’re aski
ng,” he concurred.
“You and your…supporters…with the rest of us?” Finn asked, while reaching down to retrieve his sunken blade.
Marty cocked his head sideways and squinted before bringing a dirty finger to his forehead. He rubbed the blood from his skin and smeared it across the front of his dark tunic. “We’re Harvesters…first and foremost…right?”
“Always,” Finn agreed, finally letting a subtle grin cross his lips.
“Then, we’re with you – our knives are yours.”
“Good. Now let’s get this battle under our belts. I could use some fresh meat,” Finn grunted, just loud enough for all those in the park to hear him clearly. A muted throng of anxious assassins stood ready to do Finn’s bidding, giving him an overwhelming sense of lustful power. No wonder Lady Williams gets off on this, he thought. “Move out in teams of 20 and hold fast at the border of the cemetery. We don’t go any further until I talk with our mole. If we run into trouble or are spotted, hold your fire unless absolutely necessary. We need surprise to be on our side. Use your knives or crossbows. Now, move out.”
* * *
Six miles northeast of the park, where Finn was rallying his Harvesters, the once agriculturally strong township of Smithfield was getting its first glimpse of Juanita Williams’ troops. There was no fanfare to greet the invaders, no parade reminiscent of Sky View High School football glory, just empty, slumbering streets that were crumbling to dust. An advance party of machine-gun-toting militia had killed their lights a mile north of town and their engines at the first crossroad. They now moved two-by-two down the central thoroughfare, bobbing into empty stores and checking rooftops for possible snipers or Ward scouting parties. They found none, making their sweep fast, but nonetheless nerve-wracking.
Two hours later they sent word to bring up the Bradley and the remainder of the troops, including Lady Williams.
“Good work,” she said, nodding at the advance squad that had cleared the town. Juanita’s soldiers were gathered outside an old hardware store that looked somewhat haunted, as the moon bathed it with macabre shapes and shadows. The wooden exterior was dry, cracked, and peeling; lending itself perfectly for a western-styled shootout. “We lay low for a couple more hours,” she reminded her unit leaders, while she looked at the face of an old watch that was lashed to her wrist by a discolored leather band. “The Harvesters should be in position by now. Remember, we act as planned; Finn strikes the campus after we’ve crushed their security outposts and begun our assault on Old Main. They may be expecting something, but…”
She stopped for a moment, tipping her head to catch the unmistakable rumble of a 600-horsepower diesel engine. Suddenly the BFV emerged from a cave of darkness, created by rows of opposing businesses lining the street. Juanita smiled and completed her sentence, “but they’re not expecting this.”
Williams walked to the front of the fighting vehicle, where she knew she’d be seen, and drew her index finger across her throat. A second later the engine chugged to a stop and silence prevailed. The hatch at the rear of the unit, as well as one on top, popped open and three crewmembers escaped the killing beast.
“So far…so good,” the driver, Bruce, noted.
Juanita quickly joined the three, shooing away a couple of security people that were interested in small talk. She huddled them together and whispered, so only they could hear. “You’re my spearhead,” she said, stopping long enough to look each man directly in the eyes. “Our victory today is very much in your hands.”
The men looked from their leader to each other as if to say, ‘Yeah, we know…so what?’
Williams picked up on their vibe and answered their non-vocalized question with a stern warning, “So, what I’m saying is…don’t screw it up! You follow?”
“Ah…yes, Ma’am,” they each said, almost in unison.
“You roll your butts up there like you’re going to a fire. I want it fast…but conserve ammo. The sight of this thing may be enough to get them to abandon the position, which would be fine with me.”
“What about mines?” Bruce asked.
“Good point. Our mole’s never mentioned any, but…let’s…let’s send a fast-moving truck ahead of you. I’ll make an assignment and have them coordinate with you, but don’t you dare say anything about mines – comprendé?”
“Yup,” the gunner acknowledged, smiling broadly. “Poor saps.”
For a second, Juanita and the crew were distracted by a lone dust devil that appeared out of nowhere, kicking up dust and litter as it sped by them and disappeared from sight. Juanita coughed and spat a wad of grainy phlegm in the mini-tornado’s wake.
“I guess that’s about it. If they manage to put up a fight, stick around long enough to break their back and then haul ass to their next checkpoint. They’ll drop like dominos. Once we’ve mopped up, get to Old Main and breach their western defenses. You can use the machine guns, if needed, but save me some cannon ammo for The Ward’s ‘Alamo’. Stupid name if you ask me. We sure aren’t Santa Anna but I like his strategy.”
“Speaking of that – what do we do with prisoners? What if they surrender?”
Williams looked at Bruce as if he had three heads. “Prisoners?’
“Yeah, who watches them while we move on?” he asked.
“There aren’t going to be any prisoners, at least not from the outposts. We kill them all. They’ll only slow us down and there won’t be any Normals anywhere but on campus. They’re our main focus. They’re what we’re after…the rest are sacrificial lambs.”
“All right by me…just asking.”
“Fine. Get an hour’s sleep and be ready to roll just before sunup. Make me proud,” Juanita grumbled.
The three-man-crew nodded as Juanita turned to walk away, but the gunner made the mistake of lighting a cigarette, drawing Williams’ wrath instantly. She ran back to the group, slapped the lit smoke from between his teeth with two quick, openhanded strikes. The result was startling and abrasive, drawing a trickle of blood from the man’s lower lip.
“You moron. Do you have any idea how many miles you can see a small flame on a night like this? Get some sleep and don’t piss me off again.”
Satisfied she’d made her point, she turned and stormed away, but not before looking at her bloodstained palm to appreciate her handiwork.
Chapter 37
For a time the cemetery lay deadly still…quiet. Six feet down, decaying bones and rotting flesh withered to dust, as the living played a lethal game atop the aging tombs. A host of leafless sentinels, their branches unencumbered and reaching skyward, stood guard over the departed. The trees had seen better times and fruitful seasons, but not now. Their roots had once clawed deep into the earth, drinking from the dead, who now had nothing more to give.
Strategically perched aloft a centrally located oak, a pair of crows pecked at one another, while they watched…and waited. Even they could sense a meal was in the making. At the tree’s base, Cory and Clayton huddled, their backs together and eyes searching. They had found each other shortly after the ‘pig’ mysteriously hammered out its call, but since, nothing had moved, squawked or squealed.
“Anything?” Clayton questioned softly.
“Nope, but there’s no way that was a real pig.”
“Agreed – we’re not alone,” Clayton acknowledged.
“It came from the west – follow me,” Cory whispered. Saying nothing further, he dropped to his knees and crawled ten feet to an upright headstone. He patiently waited for Clayton to do the same. Repeating the maneuver, the friends leapfrogged across the burial ground, methodically taking terrain and covering one another. Thick, dead brush and thistles raked at their bare hands and faces, leaving thin rivulets of blood as a painful reminder of their crossing. Nearing the edge of the graveyard, Cory suddenly halted his advance and swung his fist up, signaling his partner to stop.
Clayton froze and slowly brought his rifle to his shoulder, while fighting his failing nighttime vision to make ou
t what Cory had likely seen. There’s something there…Cor’s got him, he thought, praying the night was coming to a successful end. Seconds passed as Clayton’s heart beat wildly, thumbing out a rhythm in his ears and chest. He tried desperately to remain calm; thinking, and repeating…focus Clayton…focus. It was then, amidst his inner chaos, that he saw Cory flash a signal – move up…move…move…
“I’ve got ’em…’bout 30 yards ahead – I spotted two, maybe three – I can’t be sure.”
“What now?”
“Have you got one of those HIT grenades on you?” Cory asked, extending his hand to take the device.
Chapter 38
The halls of Old Main were deserted except for the occasional security guard making rounds. Oil-filled lanterns took the place of incandescent lights, giving the edifice an ominous, Gothic aura. Across The Quad a few of the more mechanically inclined were feverishly working to restore energy to the campus, but the process was arduous and time consuming. For Clark, the drab corridors of the old structure were a bleak reminder of just how vulnerable they really were.
Leaving the communications room, Clark thought of Rod and wondered if he had managed to get any sleep. The leaders had parted company hours before, sending Rod off for a few hours of much needed rest. Sleep…it’s highly overrated, Clark mused, sarcastically. In all reality, he’d give anything for a few hours of unencumbered, thoughtless, safe slumber. “Someday…someday…” he said softly to himself.
Minutes before, he’d reviewed the last of the communiqués from each of the perimeter security posts, finding all to be well. Still, something bothered him. Too much had happened in such a short period of time to believe the treacherous killer was done doing his worst. Before leaving Old Main, Clark stuck his head back into the radio room and reminded the attendants to charge the batteries as soon as power was back online. “We’ll be in the dark for the next few hours. I’ll see about sending out some runners.”
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