by Lopez, Rob
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.
Packy was laughing. “I knew it. That just made my day.”
Unwilling to try again, the two raiders got out and started running up the road. Red opened fire, a round ricocheting off the asphalt. The raiders picked up the pace and Red fired again and again until one of the raiders fell. The other kept going without a backward glance and disappeared behind the trees. Red turned to Packy.
“Why didn’t you open fire? You could have got them both with that thing.”
Packy, wiping tears from his eyes, looked at the Mac-10 still in his grip.
“This?” he said. “Nah. It sprays bullets everywhere. I didn’t want to hit the car. Do you know that’s a Fairlane 500 R? They only built sixty of those. Terrible car, but boy is it rare.”
Red stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”
“No, no, no. The phrase you’re looking for is I have a transcendent mind. I’m like, above it all.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts.”
*
The fight went on longer than Rick anticipated. In their desperation, the raiders were actually doing the right thing: attacking the ambush. A couple had even climbed gingerly into the stake pits and were using them as trenches. Rooting them out took time. Rick expended the last of his ammunition on the M4 and stooped to pick up a raider’s rifle. A bullet zipped past his ear and he saw a raider lying in the grass by the track. Rick swiftly aimed his new rifle and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Taking cover behind a tree, Rick yanked the breech open, seeing the dud round that had failed to fire for the previous user. Two more shots hit his tree while he cleared his rifle. Switching it to shoot from his left, he peered around the other side of the tree, where the raider would not expect him to peek. The raider saw him, but by the time he switched his aim, Rick put a bullet between his eyes. Scott dashed by to take up another position, and Rick looked behind him. His six shooters were advancing more cautiously, unwilling to expose themselves to fire. Rick beckoned emphatically, urging them forward. He wanted to hit the raiders hard before they had another chance to recover. With Scott in position to cover him, Rick dashed forward to the next location. Passing a stake pit, he saw a raider lying at the bottom in an awkward position, a bloody stake sticking up through his thigh. He couldn’t reach his fallen weapon and, upon seeing Rick, raised a hand to surrender. Without a second thought, Rick shot him and moved on.
As the raiders’ numbers depleted, the militia grew more confident. Sweeping through the woods, they shot at raiders trying to run away. Rick made his way up the slope until he reached Lauren’s position. He found her surrounded by spent cartridges, with a dead raider only yards from her trench. Leaning over her rifle with her head bowed, Rick thought she was wounded. He jumped into the trench and lifted her pale face. She winked at him.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.
Rick held her tight and noticed she was trembling. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m just hyped.”
She moved to step back and stumbled, her knees giving way. Rick caught her and lowered her down to sit.
“I feel sick,” she said.
“You’re in shock. It’ll pass.”
“They nearly beat us.”
“No, it just looks that way from here.”
“I had a boy die on me. He looked … he looked just like Josh.”
Rick could see a young militiaman lying half out of a dugout, his mouth locked open as he stared at the sky. He looked nothing like Josh, but in the heat of the moment it might have seemed that way. It jolted Rick, nevertheless.
“It’s not over yet,” he said. “We have to finish this and make sure it really is over.”
He called Scott over. “Get everyone together. We’ve got to take Round Knob.”
Lauren sagged back. “I’m not ready to do that again.”
“You don’t have to,” Rick said to her. “Leave it to us.”
Scott came over to the trench. Rifle cracks continued to sound in the distance. “Give us a few hours and we might be able to do it,” he said.
Rick turned to him. “We don’t have a few hours. We need to take Round Knob right now, before they can recover.”
“They ain’t the only ones who need to recover.”
Scott glanced across the trenches. Sally and some volunteers were tending to the wounded. Doug, his arm bandaged, looked solemnly on as a sheet was laid over a dead body. Militia members stood around looking dazed. Some appeared close to tears.
“Scott, we’ve got to attack while we’ve still got the initiative.”
Scott stared at him. “These aren’t soldiers,” he said slowly. “You can’t about-turn them and march them straight into battle. They’re not ready.”
“Then get them ready.”
Scott sighed. “I can’t, okay?”
“Scott …”
“No.”
Rick gazed at his feet for a second, biting his lip. “I’ve never had to give you a direct order, Scott …”
“And you’re not about to now. Open your eyes. Look around. They’re not combat ready, and you know it. Don’t get bull-headed.”
“I want this to be over.”
“If you get everyone killed, it will be over. The raiders won’t attack again today. The majority of their strength is right here, bleeding into the dirt.”
“You don’t know that.”
“As good as. Let it go. Give these people time to rest.”
Rick saw now the lines around Scott’s eyes, and the dark shadows that lay there.
“You’ve never backed out of a fight before. What happened to you?”
“I got old.”
Scott walked away, and Rick watched him.
“It’s for the best, darling,” murmured Lauren.
But Rick wasn’t sure it was.
22
“You’ve achieved great things,” said Doug, poking at the camp fire, “but I don’t know why we hav
e to attack the raiders directly. They’re not going to mess with us after today. Maybe we can negotiate a truce.”
The light from the flames lit Rick’s face from below. He stared across to where Scott and his family sat by another camp fire. Daniel lay curled up in Scott’s lap while Scott and April talked. The conversation appeared jovial as Scott, being Scott, made jokes and sarcastic remarks, and April stifled her laughter. They were happy, but the somber atmosphere on the rest of the mountain meant it would have been obscene to laugh out loud. Four members of the community had died today, and at least seven had suffered wounds of one sort or another. Maybe if today had truly been the final battle, the mood would have been more celebratory, especially since laughter often accompanied a release of tension, no matter how inappropriate. Thoughts, however, were turned to the next day’s operation, which Rick insisted should go ahead.
“There’s hostages in that camp,” said Rick to Doug without looking at him. He kept his eye on Scott.
“We can include those in the negotiations. Cut a deal.”
Rick inserted another bullet into a magazine. The dead raiders’ arsenal included several AR-15s, providing Rick with enough ammunition to replenish the M4s and the M16. Among the dead, however, they’d also discovered bundles of cable ties. The raiders were clearly planning to add to their hostages.
“There’ll be no deal,” said Rick. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
“You’ll only be happy when they’re dead,” sighed Doug, shaking his head. “You military types believe in absolutes.”
Rick watched Scott lean over to kiss April. “Some of us do,” he said.
He’d never figured Scott for a family guy, though it seemed pretty natural to assume so now. Rick, on the other hand, was a family guy. Or supposed to be. But he felt a fraud as he observed someone else’s family. Before the storm, he’d been obsessed about retiring from the service. Looking at Scott now, he could see what a guy who really was ready to retire looked like. If he’d seen Scott like this back then, he’d have dropped him from his squad. For his own safety as well as the squad’s. Every man had his limit. Today he’d glimpsed Scott’s. Too often, Rick had heard about soldiers who, after losing that fire in the belly, went on to make mistakes in combat. They’d lose their focus and, if they didn’t then quit, they usually wound up dead.