“Doug! Mike! Move your men and some big guns to those houses and set up a defensive perimeter so nobody can get near the train. Al, I want three thousand fighters ready to move on the town in fifteen minutes. Clark, commandeer as many men as you need to lay track while we’re gone. Get moving! Now!”
Clark sprinted to where Scott was issuing orders. “I figure a few hundred should do the trick,” Clark said. “We should put some of the horses to use, too. They can drag rails faster than we can carry them.”
Scott shook his head. “I’d rather not risk the animals.”
“There’ll be more in town, right? We’re losing daylight. If we have to sacrifice some of ours, we can replace them.”
Scott considered Clark’s words and nodded. “Fair enough. Keeping the train rolling is the most important thing.”
“What are you planning to do?” Clark asked.
“We didn’t ask for this fight, but we’re going to finish it.”
“Might have just been a few random squatters…”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re Blood Dogs. Nobody messes with us.”
Clark went to work, and Scott strode off with his lieutenants. Soon most of the fighters on the train had been deployed to create a buffer zone against further attack or to raze the town. Those left guarding the train grumbled good-naturedly about missing out on the fun, and watched their unlucky peers laboring over the rails, prying the spikes loose and then harnessing the ends of the steel tracks to a pair of horses to be dragged to the front to replace the missing sections. It was backbreaking work in the hot sun, but Clark was a tireless taskmaster and kept up the pace so they’d be done in as few hours as possible.
When they got to Redding, the Blood Dogs’ superior force easily overwhelmed the town’s defenses, and Scott ordered his men to slaughter every male they found and to only spare the younger females – all others were to be killed, including any children, as was the gang’s policy. The gunmen went house to house and butchered the inhabitants indiscriminately, dragging them into the street before bludgeoning them to death to save ammo.
The town only yielded two dozen women deemed worth saving for continual gang raping on the train, and every other living thing except the horses and any edible animals was executed without mercy. A search party scoured the dwellings for ammunition and weapons, but the results were paltry – Redding had largely survived by trading with travelers and by harvesting fish from Lake Shasta, and was as poor as any outpost the Blood Dogs had run across.
By the time the town was in ruins, the wooden buildings set ablaze by the gang, the air was thick with smoke. The returning fighters hurried back to the train, their day’s work done, eager to celebrate on the packed railcars with their human spoils and to cook the few chickens and pigs they’d found when they made camp for the night. Clark had deemed it too dangerous to run the locomotive round the clock, given their lack of knowledge of the condition of the track, so that night would be a victory feast for the gang as they camped beneath the stars, with only the sobs and whimpers of the captive women for company.
Clark checked the newly laid track and approved it, and the firemen shoveled coal with all the speed they could muster until the engine had built a sufficient head of steam to crawl forward. It lumbered over the fresh rails until it had regained speed, and within minutes had left the destroyed husk of Redding behind as a cautionary tale for any foolish enough to dare to risk the Blood Dogs’ wrath.
Chapter 18
Seattle, Washington
Art and Lucas sat at a table mulling over the Chinese gang’s aborted attempt to bring the building down on Lucas and his men the prior day, unsure of how to proceed. Art sat forward and poured a shot of Chinese whiskey from one of the bottles they’d scrounged from the enemy’s stores, and tilted the glass to Lucas in invitation.
Lucas shook his head. “If I start now, I’ll finish the bottle,” he said, his expression grim.
“I wouldn’t judge you,” Art said, and tossed back the drink with a grimace. “You aren’t missing much. Tastes like gasoline.”
“You and I both know that if we don’t find these bastards, they’re going to wait until we’re gone, and then all of this will have been for nothing.”
Art shrugged. “Normally we agree, but at this point I’m not sure what more we can do. They’ve disappeared. Your man got played and almost took you with him. There’s no trace of the gang, and nobody’s talking. Did I miss anything?”
“The part where we can’t get out of here until we find them.”
“At the rate we’re going, that’s going to be a long winter. Maybe this would be a good place to start leaving local problems to the locals?”
“They’re not equipped to go up against an organized group yet, and we both know it. The Chinese will have taken Seattle back before we’ve disappeared over the horizon.”
“Look, Lucas. Some of the men are grumbling. We won some big ones, but that momentum won’t last forever. They want to get back to Salem, and if we’re going to go after some of the really big gangs, we need to figure out who and do it. I’m not saying they’re right, but morale’s about all we have right now.”
Lucas eyed the bottle like it was a scorpion. “No argument. If you remember, I wanted out of this a while ago. It wasn’t my bright idea to try to lead an army cross-country to tackle every scumbag that’s been able to take over a city. I just want to go home.”
“Like it or not, you’re the point man, Lucas. That’s why the decision on how to play this situation is yours. I’m just offering an old man’s advice.”
“That doesn’t sound like the General who took on the Chinese and won. And you’re not that old.”
“I feel triple my age, and that’s on a good day. Look, we did some good here. But we can’t play cops forever. The council’s been set up. We did our job. I’ve repeated to the men that any who feel like staying and helping out can, with our blessing.” Art poured another shot. “Armies are liabilities in peacetime, Lucas. They need a purpose. We gave them one with Seattle. The vision of clearing out the vermin and taking back the country is powerful, but it won’t last forever. We need to do, not sit on our hands.”
“I’d just as soon mount up and never look back. Leave the men to you.”
Art’s face split with a sad grin. “You keep saying that, but you’re still here.”
“I blame Ruby. Woman’s a damn witch.” Lucas exhaled heavily. “Maybe I will have a shot of that snake oil.”
Art slid a dusty glass from the center of the table, blew into it, and poured it half full. “There you go. It’ll clear your head. And kill any parasites that have taken up residence in your black heart.”
It was Lucas’s turn to grin. “Silver-tongued devil, as usual,” he said, and tossed the drink back neat. His expression didn’t change, and Art snorted.
“Glad I never had to play poker across a table from you. I’d-a lost every hand.”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk me,” Lucas said, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
A knock at the door interrupted them, and both looked to where Sam stood with a man Lucas knew; someone Sam had suggested would make a solid Seattle commander for the men who decided to stay.
“Got some news,” Sam announced. “Brad here got a tip.” Sam looked to Brad. “Go ahead. Tell them.”
“One of the patrols down at the waterfront says there was some suspicious activity at one of the big warehouses yesterday, near one of the marinas. He heard it from one of the scavengers who works the area. A big group of men and animals loaded in after nightfall.”
“Why are we only hearing about this now?” Art barked.
Brad shrugged apologetically. “It’s a big city. Lot of people. I guess the patrol didn’t think much of it, or their group leader didn’t. I came to Sam the second I heard.”
Lucas glanced out the high window. “Too dark to move on it now, even with the night vision gear – we’d never be able to spot all their snipers. But I wa
nt some men stationed around the area. We don’t want to lose them again.”
“I’ll see to it personally,” Brad said.
“I don’t want them spooked. Stay out of sight. Assume they have watchers. Use NV gear, but stay far enough away so they don’t spot you,” Lucas instructed.
“Will do,” Brad said, and brushed past Sam on his way out.
“What do you think?” Art asked.
“Got to be them. Timing’s right. They cleared out of the gym after Yi spotted them, and lay low until it was dark enough to cover their tracks,” Lucas said.
Sam frowned. “Wonder why they chose a warehouse on the water?”
“Maybe they’re going to try to use some of the sailboats to get the invaders out of Seattle,” Art said.
Lucas nodded. “Could be. Or maybe they know something about the district that we don’t. They could have a weapons cache we missed. Might be anything.” He looked at the whiskey bottle. “You want any of this poison, Sam?”
“No, thanks. Sounds like we’re going to be up early, right?”
Lucas offered a wan smile. “Good guess. We’ll want to hit them at dawn. They’re not the only ones who can use the dark to get into position.”
Art cleared his throat. “Probably want to go in heavy, then. No point in fooling around.”
“I’d like to take as many as possible prisoner,” Lucas said. “Some of the invasion force may have intel on how soon we can expect another bunch to show up from China. We don’t know enough about their capabilities. For all we know, those were the only ships the Chinese had that still ran.”
Art considered their options for a moment. “Fair enough. But I still say we use overwhelming force.”
“No question. As many men as you think we need. My only concern is moving them into position without being seen or heard. We both know how hard that can be, especially assuming they have experienced watchers.”
“It can be done.”
“I know. Once Brad has his people in place, we’ll assemble a strike force and get them outfitted. Give ourselves plenty of time to surround the place.”
“Sounds like you don’t want to hit them with everything we’ve got,” Sam observed.
“Correct. Any survivors from the invasion force will be invaluable.” The Chinese had fought to the last man when confronted; that had been one of Art and Lucas’s annoyances, and the news that there had been some who had gotten away offered a glimmer of hope for their capture.
“So what’s the plan, other than to rally the men?” Sam asked.
Lucas frowned. “I’ll need to slip down to the warehouse tonight and scope out the area. Meet back here in a few hours?”
Art nodded. “Sure. I’m not going anywhere.”
“In the meantime, I can put the word out to the men. How many you figure we’ll need?” Sam asked.
Art’s expression hardened. “Five hundred of your best.”
“Sounds like that would do the trick,” Sam agreed.
Lucas rose. “Let me go catch up to Brad so he can show me the place. See you in a couple of hours.”
Art pushed the half-empty whiskey bottle away with a rueful gaze. “Deal.”
Chapter 19
Houston, Texas
The night sky was overcast and the air heavy with humidity. Torches flared around the exterior of the Crew’s headquarters, a former mega-church that had been converted into an impenetrable fortress. Sentries sat in machine-gun bunkers at strategic points on the roof, the stifling conditions with slim ventilation the worst part of the duty, but still better than the day shifts, which were infamous for broiling the guards in spite of shade tarps and plentiful water.
Two men watched the street from above the front entrance, though their machine gun on a tripod was pointed at the stars. One of them yawned and wiped sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve and reached for a canteen. His partner stirred and then resumed snoring softly; the boredom of a guard routine where nothing ever happened was overwhelming even at the best of times, much less on a miserably hot South Texas night.
A tarnished Airstream trailer rolled slowly up the street from out of the shadows, pulled by a team of four mules. A thin man wearing one of the Crew’s distinctive black leather vests and a pair of ragged jeans was perched on a makeshift bench seat at the front of the trailer, flicking the reins to encourage the beasts to pull harder. A marijuana cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth beneath a raggedy mustache and barely above the filthy snarl of his unkempt beard.
The trailer inched along the street until it reached the front entrance of the headquarters, where the guard above called down to the drover.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Following orders. Snake wants this thing here by dawn. I’m early.”
“He didn’t say anything to us about it.”
“Probably got a lot on his mind.”
The drover stepped down from his seat and began unharnessing the mules. The guard frowned, perplexed, his forehead wrinkling with the effort of evaluating the situation and formulating a response. The man finished with the mules, climbed on the lead animal’s back, and gave the guards a wave. “See you tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”
The slumbering guard groaned and sat up, his face and eyes puffy. “What was that?”
“Something for Snake.”
“What?”
“That thing,” the first guard said, pointing at the trailer.
“Ha! What’s he planning to do, go camp–”
The Airstream exploded in a fireball so large the foundations shook. The entire front of the building caved in, and the guards were dead before they hit the ground in a shower of flaming rubble. A section of roof farther toward the center of the structure sagged for a moment like a geriatric’s chin and then crumbled downward into the cavernous interior with a roar.
Men scrambled from the nearby outposts that ringed the building, and then assault-rifle fire began stuttering from nearby, their rattle muted after the deafening blast.
Snake bolted awake, shaken by the explosion, and leapt to his feet. He pulled on a shirt, pants, and a pair of boots as pounding at his door boomed through the room.
“We’re under attack,” Derek, one of his lieutenants, called through the heavy slab.
“What? Who?”
“Dunno. But they destroyed half the building with the first salvo, and it looks like thousands are attacking.”
“Shit.” Snake knew that there was no way his few-hundred-guard contingent could hold off a sizeable assault force, so now it was going to be about saving his own skin. He strapped on a gun belt with a holstered Desert Eagle and a sheathed combat knife and ran to the door. When he threw it open, he found Derek and Nate, his two most loyal men, standing with torches in the hall.
“Let’s go,” Snake said, and took off at a run down the corridor just as another, smaller detonation shook the floor – a grenade, he guessed, and far too close for comfort.
The men followed him down the corridor to a maintenance doorway. Once Derek and Nate had caught up to him with their torches, Snake threw the door open and proceeded toward a stack of crates against the far wall. “Move those,” he ordered.
The pair exchanged a look. Nate handed Derek his torch and began heaving the crates aside. In moments he’d cleared enough of a gap for them to see a steel door that had been hidden behind the boxes.
Snake shouldered past Nate and twisted the door handle. It groaned inward on rusting hinges, and Snake snapped his fingers at Derek.
“Torch,” he barked.
Derek came forward and handed him one of the torches, and Snake stepped into the space beyond the door and called over his shoulder, “Follow me. Last one in, bolt the door.”
Nate was first into the breach, and Derek followed. He slammed the heavy steel bolt into place, and then they were moving through the basement of the massive edifice. The sound of rifle fire from above was now little more than barely audible popping in
the distance. Snake led the way, moving with sure steps down the familiar path. He’d always feared he’d one day have to use the secret passageway to his hidey-hole, where he’d stashed gold, weapons, different clothes, and other basics in case he had to duck out of Houston quickly.
They reached another door, also a thick steel slab, and Snake pushed it open. Once inside, he handed Nate the torch and scooped up an LED lantern with a hand crank for power generation, and spun the handle for thirty seconds before flicking it on. The room flooded with white light, and Snake looked around at his trove in satisfaction. Everything was still there exactly as he’d left it, which told him nobody had discovered the chamber.
He moved to a leather pouch that contained a hundred gold Krugerrands and bounced it in his hand, the heft reassuring that even under attack he had options. Snake wasn’t kidding himself that it would be easy to get away clean, but if he could make it to safety, he’d have a chance; and more importantly, the gold would buy him influence. He didn’t know who was assaulting his headquarters – an external enemy or internal – but it hardly mattered in a world where a hundred gold ounces would enable you to live like a multimillionaire.
Snake slipped the pouch into his pocket and turned to the assault rifle, an M16 with a metal can filled with rounds. He would have preferred to have loaded the magazines when he’d secreted the weapon and gold, but he knew from experience that the springs inside the mags would compress over time if he did, and wouldn’t function well – which could be potentially fatal in a firefight.
“We need to figure out who’s attacking us,” he said, eyeing the ammo.
“All I heard before I came for you was that it looked like some of ours,” Derek said.
Snake’s face twisted with rage. “I’ll kill everyone involved. They’ll pay with the worst kind of death.”
“Right now we need to get out of here,” Derek emphasized.
Snake shrugged out of his leather vest and donned a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a flak jacket. “Right. Help me load the magazines, and we will.”
The Day After Never - Legion (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 8) Page 10