by James Ryke
Rick’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do to Old Pete?”
“Secure the armored vehicle—Rick—we only have minutes before they’re reinforced by the larger encampment, and if that happens, none of us will be leaving here alive.”
Rick grabbed Chass’ shoulders. “What did you do to Old Pete?”
Chass broke Rick’s grip. “He’ll live, which is more than any of us will be able to say in a few minutes.” With this, Chass disappeared into the darkness of the stairwell.
***
From the moment he heard the radio traffic between Old Pete and Rick, Jacob knew that something had gone terribly wrong. He was partnered up with Archibald Madrid, a chubby and cheery man who formerly worked as a chemical engineer. They were assigned to watch the road that went from the satellite camp to the main encampment. It was a small, paved road that ran along a series of telephone poles. They were halfway between the two camps—a distance of about six miles. It was the safest job—the job that he was sure he was given because of his age, or perhaps because Rick was his uncle, or perhaps because Rick did not trust him. They had been given one of the solar vehicles, which was currently parked off a dirt road a few hundred yards away.
The gunfire intensified, lengthening the seconds into minutes. Either Rick had been shot, or the gunfight had consumed all of his attention, but the radio traffic completely stopped, leaving Jacob’s imagination spinning with the worst-case scenarios.
“They’re coming,” said Archibald.
Jacob turned towards the vast encampment, the bright lights visible for miles in the black night. He could see headlights of several dozen vehicles approaching. They were still a distance away, but he could tell by how aggressively the lights bumped up and down that they were moving at a good pace.
Jacob pulled the radio to his lips and cued the microphone. “We’ve got movement from the main encampment. ETA to your location is about fifteen minutes, how copy?”
No response.
Jacob attempted again, his heart sinking more as each second passed.
“10-4,” Rick finally replied. “I copy. Fall back to location Charlie; we’ll regroup there.”
“Are you clear of the building?” Jacob asked.
“Negative,” Rick’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’ll regroup at location Charlie, how copy?”
“Good copy,” Jacob said. He lowered the radio, his eyes still intently staring at the approaching vehicles. “They’re still in there. They’ll be trapped.”
“We need to get out of here,” Archibald said, his eyebrows furrowing into urgent diagonals. “You heard Rick. We need to fall back to Charlie.”
“He was just saying that because he knows I’m here,” Jacob replied. “He doesn’t want to put me into danger, but if I don’t do anything, they’ll surround the building. We need to stall the Executor long enough for them to get away.”
“Are you crazy? There are probably more soldiers on their way to the satellite camp than are there right now. How are the two of us going to take on a couple hundred soldiers? We’ve got nothing but a couple of assault rifles. We don’t even have flashlights.”
“Good point,” Jacob answered. “We need something to backlight them so they’re easy targets.”
“What?”
“Well,” Jacob replied. “We know what road they’re traveling on; this is the only paved one that goes the right direction. If we fire at them, I’m sure that we can take out a few—maybe even the first couple of vehicles, but after that, they’ll unload their troops, and we won’t be able to see where they go. If we keep firing, our muzzle flashes will give away our position, but if they have a light source behind them, we’ll be able to see them, but they’ll have a hard time seeing us.”
“How do we do that?”
“The transformer on the telephone pole has about five gallons of fuel in it—that’s what Rick uses to refuel his vehicle. If we ignite it at the right time, we should be able to create enough light to backlight them.”
“That’s crazy—we’re going to end up dead.”
“Rick and the rest of those men will end up dead if we don’t do something,” Jacob said with a new intensity. “I would rather die than let them get trapped.”
“We don’t even have a plan. What are we supposed to do?”
“I have an idea.”
It only took a few moments for Jacob and Archibald to set up firing positions, minutes later before they could hear the sound of vehicles approaching their position. Jacob had stationed himself further down the road in a foot and a half deep ditch that provided ample cover when he was lying flat on his back. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest; with each beat, self-doubt bubbled up and shook his resolve. He knew what he needed to do, but he was unsure that in the moment he needed to do it, if he would freeze. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, forcing his breathing into shallow, quick breaths. What if they shoot right through my attempted roadblock, and we don’t delay them more than a few seconds. Am I ready to die? Or, worse, what if they capture me? What sort of torture will they have waiting for me? This is it. This is it. If I just lay down, they’ll blow right past me—unseen, unnoticed in the trench.
Jacob took a deep breath. “I’ve trained for this. I have to do this. This is who I am now.” He raised his rifle to his shoulder and rested it on the palm of his left hand. The position was relatively comfortable, and he was sure that his bullets would hit the mark. The vehicles were getting closer and closer, the noise of the engines now splitting the night air. The headlights were so close now that they were affecting his vision, forcing him to squint.
He shot four times in quick succession, all of which were aimed at the passenger of the vehicle. The driver reacted just as predicted and slammed on his brakes, forcing the vehicle to a stop. Archibald then shot several times, his bullets striking the transformer that was high above.
Jacob turned his attention to the other side of the car and placed six bullets into the driver. The effect was immediate, and the vehicle stalled right below the transformer, which was now leaking from several bullet holes. Jacob dropped his magazine and thumbed two tracer rounds into it. He slammed it home, worked the action, and waited. The long procession was forced to a halt. Several of the Red Sleeves began to dismount their vehicles, confused by the sudden change in pace, but none of them seemed to realize quite yet what was happening. A few moments passed. Several soldiers approached the primary vehicle. Jacob shot a tracer at the drenched vehicle, which turned the bio-diesel into an instant fireball that consumed the bodies of every soldier around it.
A couple of vehicles fell out of formation and drove off the road, most of them getting stuck in the same trench that concealed Jacob’s position. A vehicle began to pass the first car, its driver so blinded by the light from the flames that he could barely see the road in front of him. Jacob put several shots through the gas tank of the vehicle that was already on fire. A concussive wave pushed out as the gas tank exploded, sending debris and flames in every direction. The explosion was so intense that the windows of the vehicle instantly turned into shards of glass. The effect was like a stun grenade that paralyzed the occupants. The vehicle stalled, giving Jacob a perfect opportunity to take out several of the occupants and the driver. Now two vehicles blocked the road—one of which was still a massive fireball.
The light from the fire worked perfectly and lit up every opponent that attempted to approach their position. Jacob opened fire and soon made a mound of bodies. He felt and heard the bolt lock to the rear of his rifle—his gun had run dry. He laid back into the trench, reloading as fast as he could. Within moments, he was up again and releasing bullet after bullet downrange.
Then something struck him. He fell back into the trench, his right hand instinctively grabbing his left forearm. Pain rippled through his body; already a warm liquid began to soak his sleeve. The light in the trench was too dim to see much, but he knew instantly he had been shot.
More bullets buzzed above, forcing him to stay as low in the trench as possible.
“Move Jacob,” he said to himself, “Gotta move.” He quickly flipped himself onto his belly. With his gun cradled between his forearms, he began to crawl with as much speed as he could muster. The adrenaline was coursing so quickly through his body that he hardly noticed the pain in his left forearm. The bullets zooming overhead seemed to slow down momentarily, as if something else was demanding their attention. A lump of gratitude swelled in Jacob’s heart as he realized that Archibald must have drawn the attackers’ fire. But the lull in the gunfire did not seem to last for long, and when it returned, it was more intense than before. The noise was deafening but Jacob, oddly enough, found it comforting. As long as the gunfire continued, Jacob was relatively sure that Archibald was still alive and laying down suppressive fire.
He had crawled another thirty yards in the trench when something struck his leg. He jolted forward, the pain forcing a loud cry from his mouth. More shots followed, but the shooter did not seem to know precisely where Jacob was. He turned around slowly, careful not to attract any more attention, and shouldered his gun. Three Red Sleeves were standing over the part of the trench where Jacob had been hiding only moments ago. They were in the open and randomly firing into the ditch.
Jacob trained his gun and fired, killing one of them with a headshot and wounding another with a bullet to the chest. The third man disappeared as he dove for cover. Jacob sat up, aimed in, and squeezed the trigger. He hit the man, but he could not tell where or how severely. He fired several more times at the ankles of soldiers who were using their vehicles for cover. Then a bullet struck him in the right hand, completely ripping through his pinky finger. Of the three shots, this one was the most painful. The pain pulsed through his body, forcing him back into the trench. He looked at the wound, but he could see nothing in the darkness. It felt as if the bullet had pushed the bone out of the skin.
He caught himself hyperventilating. You can do this, Jacob. You can do this. This is who you are now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You’ve got to move. He dropped his M4 and turned back onto his stomach—his only hope left was to fall back to the solar vehicle. As he pulled himself through the trench, his adrenaline continued to push him along, forcing the pain from his mind. Occasionally, he would bump his busted finger on something and a shock wave would ripple through his body. The gunfire slowed, but it did not stop.
I hope Archibald is still alive, Jacob thought. He has to be alive.
After crawling for several more minutes, he chanced a look back at the chaos. The soldiers had momentarily fallen back to their vehicles, where they took cover, but this respite from the firefight did not seem like it was going to last for long. With each passing second, they were being reinforced by Red Sleeves that were marching from the rear of the column. Multiple vehicles had broken off from the group and were now driving around the road in an attempt to circumvent the roadblock. It would only be a few minutes before they would be surrounded and the chance of escape gone.
Jacob stood up, his wounds burning with pain. He limped as fast as he could towards a collection of trees. For the next several moments, he felt keenly aware of how painfully exposed he was as he limped. I’ve got to make it to the tree line—that should give me enough cover to get back to the vehicle. It’s not far. I gotta move.
Then something shot into the sky. A second later, it exploded into a ball of light, leaving Jacob momentarily visible. He heard several voices shouting. Another ball of light was shot into the sky—this time, it was accompanied by gunfire. Bullets began to strike the ground all around Jacob, sometimes hitting only feet away.
It’s not that far. Jacob said to himself. Keep going.
When the third flare shot up, the night sky lit up with gunfire. Jacob was sure that it was only a matter of time before he was shot down. He pushed on as fast as he could, only a few yards away from his destination. Then, from the tree line, a muzzle flashed with return fire and drew away the attention of the shooters. This provided just the distraction Jacob needed to make it the rest of the way.
Archibald was waiting for him. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
Just as Jacob hit the tree line, a fourth flare took to the sky, lighting up the forest one last time. Only a few shots went off, but one of them ricocheted off a rock and hit Jacob square in the back, pitching the boy forward into Archibald’s arms.
“Jacob! Jacob! Stay with me.”
THIRTY-THREE
Day 78
“Where is he?” Rick yelled. The crowd made way as he pushed towards his nephew. Rick easily lifted the boy into the air and brought him to the SUV at a run.
His movements were only slightly slowed by Archibald, who now had a stream of tears dripping down his face. “I’m sorry, Rick. Everything happened so fast. We were trying to buy you more time. We attacked the convoy.”
“Everyone mount up,” Rick yelled, “we’re moving out in ten!” He carefully put Jacob’s body into the front passenger seat.
“Grab the medic kit, and I need someone to drive.”
Chass approached the driver’s seat, his swords still slung on his back and his body red with blood.
“Can you drive, Chass?” Rick asked roughly. “If we leave the Solar Cars in the dust, we can make good time. We’ve gotta move fast.” Chass did not answer. Instead, he turned the car on and revved the engine.
“All right,” Rick said as he turned his attention to the others that were standing nearby. “We’ve got a few wounded—make sure they get bandaged before we move.”
“McCurdy and Parker you work on Ryan—he has the most serious wound.”
“I’m all right,” said Ryan Brown.
“I didn’t ask you if you were all right,” Rick answered.
“Hector and Shane, you take care of the rest.”
“Yes sir,” Hector and Shane replied in unison.
Rick turned to no one in particular as he yelled out. “Put all the wounded in the back of the U-Haul. Make sure the solar vehicles have enough food for a few days—they won’t be able to keep up with the SUV. Let’s move!”
Rick turned his focus back to Jacob. The boy’s face was ghostly white from exertion and the loss of blood. His back was still bleeding heavily and demanded the most attention. Rick packed gauze into the wound until no more would fit and then placed a bandage over it. He repeated the process with the other injuries. Rick cut off what little remained of the pinky finger and then cauterized the stump with the cigarette lighter.
By the time he had finished bandaging the leg, Jacob had awoken, his eyes wide with shock. “What? What are you doing?” He struggled against Rick’s grip for a few moments before his eyes rolled back into his head, and he was unconscious.
Rick stuck a needle into Jacob’s arm and then hung an IV on the rear coat hanger of the Suburban. He lowered the backseat and moved Jacob onto his back. Seconds later, the group was ready to move. Chass led the way in the SUV, wasting no time as he floored the gas pedal and sped off. Jacob’s limp body bumped roughly as they took a sharp turn onto pavement. They made good time as they weaved around stalled vehicles and passed through small towns, but with each mile, Jacob only seemed to get worse. The boy would sometimes half-wake up, his words jumbling together as he spoke. Other times, his body would stay as still as death, and Rick had to take a pulse just to be sure he was still alive.
They drove for over an hour before Jacob spoke again. “Water…water.”
Rick pressed a canteen to Jacob’s lips, but he was only able to take a small swig before he was out again. After another hour, they were forced to stop for fuel.
“He doesn’t have much longer,” Chass said, his voice cold and distant. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Rick clenched his jaw. “Just make sure you keep us moving at a good clip.”
After they refueled, they continued for another hour before Rick spoke again. “C
hass, why did you go into the building?”
“To kill,” Chass said, his voice sounding worn and harsh.
“So, that’s it?” Rick asked. “You just needed some blood on your hands.”
Chass did not respond.
“Why did you go in there?”
“What does it matter?”
Rick looked down at the floor, searching for the right words. “This is…well…. hell, you’re my little brother—it does matter.”
Chass did not respond.
“Why did you stop killing when you saw me and the others?”
Chass shook his head ever so slightly. “Just focus on saving the kid. Whatever answer I give you is not going to matter—it won’t change anything. I went into that building to kill.”
“Why did you come back?”
“Because, Rick, as your wife and child can attest, where you are, death seems to follow.”
***
“Someone get the doctors,” Isaac yelled. “Put him in the med shed.”
They had traveled the rest of the night and all during the next day. It was not until the afternoon hours of the following day before they reached the Costco. Despite the abundant amount of stalled vehicles in the road, Chass seemed to be a natural at handling the chaos, and they made much better time than Rick thought possible.
As they arrived, a Congregation member directed them where to go, and Chass drove right into the front entrance and to the center of the building. There they found a large square structure that was made from the existing Costco shelving. Only half of it was complete, but already it was stocked with beds, lights, and various personal possessions. Jacob’s limp body was transported from the SUV to the first floor of the structure, which had been converted into a medical facility. Isaac appeared shortly thereafter, his face turning deathly pale upon seeing Jacob’s limp body. He shot Rick a look just as Jacob’s body disappeared into the med shed. The look was not accusatory or filled with hate—as Rick might have supposed—but it merely seemed to say, “so this is our future.”