by Stu Jones
“What’s going on, Courtland?” Jenna spoke up.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day—about these creatures being controlled by the one, their leader. He uses the song of the flute to get them to do what he wants.”
“So, what about it?”
“You said it yourself, Jenna. We could kill every one of those things, and it still won’t stop until he says so. They revere him. If we take him down, maybe they’ll disperse like you said.”
“Uh, Courtland, I, uh…” Jenna backpedaled.
“Isn’t that what you said yesterday?”
“It was, but I’d been up all night staring death in the face. I wasn’t exactly in my right mind at the moment.”
“I think you were, and we need to be thinking outside the box right now. Look, they’re attacking us at night, which means they must be sleeping during the day. They’re animals, just like us. The difference is that they’re the predators here. They have no reason to fear us. Attacking them is the least logical thing we could do. Which is exactly why we’re going to do it.”
“I’m not following you,” said Dagen, frowning and shaking his head. “You want to use a handful of people to assault a much larger force head-on? That’s certifiable crazy.”
“No, no,” said Courtland, kneeling down to their level. “Not assault. Infiltrate and assassinate. It’s brilliant. We take a small force, slip in under their noses while they’re sleeping, take out their leader, and while they’re reeling from the confusion, we make our getaway.”
Jenna shrugged. “We have no reason to believe they’ll disperse if they’re not controlled by their leader. They could just as easy turn on you.”
“Maybe so, my dear Jenna.” Courtland nodded. “But if we do nothing, they’ll come here tonight and murder every man, woman, and child at this station. What else can we do?” the giant said, returning to his full height and adjusting one of the bags on his shoulder.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dagen said, as he gathered his crutches and struggled to his feet. “I’m in.”
Courtland gave him a serious look. “And what can you do to help?”
“Well, I’m a pretty good tactician. I’ve had years of training. I can help orchestrate your infiltration. In addition you give me a good rifle and an elevated position of overwatch, and I can shoot a burning matchstick from your fingertips at three hundred yards. My time in the marine corps wasn’t for nothing.”
Dagen’s cold, analytical delivery convinced Courtland and Jenna that not only was this true, but also somewhere, somehow he’d actually performed this dangerous feat in the past.
Courtland nodded and smiled. “I think I have just the weapon for you. Get what you need, and meet us out front ASAP. I’ll get your rifle.” Turning to Jenna, he continued, “Lock everyone down here as well as you can until we return. Even if the Sicks don’t come back, you’re vulnerable to bandits with the fence down.”
Jenna nodded and watched Dagen take a few awkward steps with his crutches. “Wait,” she called out. “I’m not sure what to say here. You’re risking your lives for the rest of us. You’re doing this so they don’t come for us again.”
“We’re doing it because it has to be done,” Courtland said.
“Right, and I appreciate that. It’s just…this sounds like a suicide mission.”
“Then it’s right up my alley, isn’t it?” Dagen said, the edges of his mouth turning up to form a sly smile.
TWENTY-THREE
Tynuk crouched low and observed the scene with curiosity and caution. The camp was alive. Even at such an early hour, they didn’t wait for the sun to rise to begin the day’s work. Tynuk saw people, both male, and female, moving back and forth in front of the glowing light as heavy curls of smoke belched into the sky.
Tynuk had seen the fires from a long way off. He’d known immediately that they’d finally found what they’d been looking for. He and the beast had diverted south and then west as they approached Amarillo, Texas. Though he’d intended to avoid the city as usual, Tynuk also sought to stay away from the interstate. It no longer took him in the right direction. His final destination was southwest through Palo Duro Canyon, toward the Llano Estacado and above the Caprock Escarpment. There he would find the remnants of a civilization that had lived and thrived long before the one that was now dead.
As they approached Palo Duro, Tynuk and the beast saw the glow of distant fires burning along the canyon. The camp was definitely Native American. The tepee dwellings, their arrangement, the horses, and the muffled, non-English language all served to confirm his suspicion. The camp included twenty to twenty-five members, either a scouting or a raiding party. Were these people the true bloods Tynuk had been looking for? Or could they be some other tribe? It was impossible for the boy to know without making contact. He shuffled back a few paces, away from his place of observation, and patted Azolja on the head.
“I don’t want to seem confrontational. I’ll wait until first light, and then I’ll approach the camp—alone.” He rubbed his friend on the snout. “You are my brother, but they won’t understand you. I must make contact alone, and you must not interfere—no matter what. This part must be my journey alone.”
The beast gazed at him with ethereal, silver eyes. They seemed to convey an almost celestial understanding.
“Do you understand?”
The beast lowered his head.
“Good. Then let us rest here together for a little while longer. When the sun has risen, we will see where fate leads us.”
Dagen carried a satchel loaded with the last of his water ration, a wool blanket, a few makeshift squeeze bags, a pair of binoculars, a note pad and a pencil, and fifty rounds of ammunition—all that was left in the armory. He didn’t know which rifle Courtland would bring or how it was outfitted, but he had been told it was chambered in 308. Stabbing at the ground with his crutches, Dagen swung his legs forward and rounded the corner. Looking up, he caught sight of the doors to the medical bay and hesitated.
Keep going. There’s nothing left to say.
“Yes, there is,” he whispered to himself. “There’s still so much.”
Dagen dug deep into his pocket and coiled the silver chain and cross around his fingers. He’d held on to it for too long. Moving with long strides on his crutches, Dagen made his way up to the doors and eased them open with his shoulder. He took a moment to survey the room until his eyes came to rest on the woman he loved, the woman who should never have to know how he felt.
“Jenna,” he said, her name catching in his throat.
She looked up and caught sight of him dressed to leave. She gave a small nod but kept her focus as she talked with one of her patients. After a moment, she rose and crossed the room. Dagen watched as she made her way among the wounded and the sick like an angel sent from God to do His good work on earth.
“Ready to head out?” she said as she approached.
“Yeah,” Dagen said, dropping his gaze, his fingers still touching the cross in his pocket. “I uh…”
You can do this. You could die, and if you do, you’re a coward if you take this to your grave. Give it to her. Tell her.
“What’s up?” asked Jenna, surveying him. She looked puzzled.
“Can you step into the hall for just a sec?”
“Okay,” she murmured, her confusion deepening.
As they stepped out, the doors swung shut behind them, blocking them from the view of others in the med bay. Dagen took a second to compose himself.
“Look,” he began. “I need to give you something I should have given you a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Dagen, I don’t know what this is about—” Jenna gasped and put her hands to her face as Dagen held up the small silver cross and connected chain. “That can’t be,” she cried, as the scooped the cross from his hands, tears welling in her eyes. “Have you had this since…since…?”
“Yeah,” Dagen said, looking awa
y. “I took it off your daughter. I…don’t know why I kept it…” Dagen paused and cautiously raised his eyes to see Jenna weeping as she clutched at the small chain to her lips. The sight of which caused the stone of his heart to crumble, like the ancient facade of a forgotten fortress, darkened by self-loathing and fear. “Jenna.” He swallowed. “I’ll hate myself forever for what I’ve done to you, for what I took from you.”
“Why are you saying this to me, Dagen? Why now?” Jenna mumbled through her tears.
“You rescued me—showed me the way,” he responded, his voice faltering. “You told me I can be redeemed—that it’s up to me to choose if I can accept that gift or not.”
Jenna nodded and wiped the tears from her face with her shirtsleeve. “All I’ve wanted for you is to be free from what you can’t change. And I thought that if I could care for you more than I hate you, then maybe you’d understand the things I’ve said. God has spared you for a reason. I want you to know why.”
Dagen nodded and swallowed hard. “You told me that Jesus died for me, that He was enough, even for someone like me. If you’re a reflection of His love, then maybe that’s true. But I have to start by telling you that I’ll always owe you something I can’t repay.”
Jenna shook her head. “No. You don’t owe me anything else.”
“Yes, I do,” Dagen said. “I’ll always owe you…something,” he said, as he turned and started to go.
“Hey,” Jenna called with a sniffle. “This is all so twisted, but…” She exhaled as she wiped her face and rolled her eyes. “Gosh, Dagen. Everything is so messed up. I’m just so…ugh. Look, you’re all I have left. I don’t want you to go, okay?”
“You know I have to,” he answered. “You know why.” He pushed the door to the courtyard open with his shoulder and turned on his crutches to face her once again. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to a guy like me. I’m going to prove that to you the only way I know how.”
“What are you going to do?” Jenna said, bringing her hands to her chest.
“I don’t believe in me, Jenna, but you do. You never gave up on me, even when you had every right to. I never deserved your kindness, but you gave it anyway. I don’t deserve God’s love, but still, you say he loves me.”
Jenna nodded, tears glistening in her eyes.
Dagen glanced down and shook his head slowly. He looked back at Jenna, connecting once more with her tearful gaze.
“It’s all so hard for me to accept. I’m not even sure I can accept it. I don’t know if we can save this station, and I’m not sure I can become that man, the man you believe I can be. But for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to hope, and I’m not afraid to try.”
“They are divided, Lord Malak,” Saxon said, as he bowed his head before the leader of the Coyotes. His resources and his men were organized to achieve the maximum effect against his enemies. It would not fail. Not now.
“Raith reports that Kane is en route to Garrett’s camp with a few others to secure his family. It’s looking like they’re armed and plan to use force.”
Malak turned to face his lieutenant. “And the giant?”
“He has departed as well, we believe on some mission to stop the beasts that have whittled down their numbers.”
Malak smiled. “So who is left at the station?”
“Not many. Mostly the injured and the children. There is no one there to protect them or the resources they have left, including the fuel tanker that was taken from you months ago when—”
Malak snarled as he grabbed Saxon by the throat. “Are you saying I was defeated?”
Saxon gasped. “No, of course not! It was a part of your plan to leave them be so you could finish them on your own terms.”
“Exactly,” responded Malak. “You won’t ever question my methods if you value your life,” he hissed into the blue of the man’s face.
“No, of course not. I would never—”
“Good,” Malak spat, releasing Saxon and turning to survey the men as they lined up the vehicles and prepared the weapons. His temporary base at the Reeds at Colonial Pointe had been functional, but it was time to leave, to discover something on a grander scale. It was time for Malak to make his move and claim his destiny.
Saxon swore and rubbed at his neck.
“Stop crying like a little bitch, and pull yourself together,” Malak growled. “Contact Raith and tell him to move ahead with taking the station and what’s left of the people there. Tell him that when he’s finished, we’ll meet back up on Highway Forty-Five, north of Seventeen.”
Saxon nodded, a hand still on his neck. “And what do you need me to do?”
“You and I will be moving in on Garrett’s camp to take advantage of Kane’s separation from that giant who follows him around like a loyal dog.”
“Yes, Lord Malak.”
“And tell Raith to leave nothing to chance during his assault. I have given him my consent to collect the woman he wants, but beyond that there must be no survivors. Even the children must die. Do you understand?”
“I do, my lord.”
Malak glowered. “They won’t know what hit them until they’ve been reduced to nothing. They will beg for their God to save them, but he will not for he is a cruel and unjust hypocrite, a disinterested tyrant who loves only himself.”
Though Dagen had joked about the plan being a perfect fit for him, he knew it was suicidal. It was especially risky for Courtland, Kris, and the other men who would make a run for it. They planned to blitz straight into the camp of Sicks while the mutant freaks slept. They’d head straight for the one who controlled the others and hope that if they could take him down, the others would flee.
Fat chance. Definitely a suicide mission.
The mutant camp hadn’t been difficult to locate. It sat just two miles away, due west into the hills. After confirming the location, they parked the truck and walked in to avoid detection. That had been easier said than done, especially since Dagen relied on crutches to get around.
It had taken him much longer than planned to get into position. His crutches weren’t made for off-road travel. After the first coating of clay, they’d become useless. Dagen had to crawl, dragging his rifle and gear the last fifty yards up the hillside. The extensive crawling on his elbows had brought on a strong sense of déjà vu, taking Dagen back to his military days, reminding him of how exhausting the simplest tasks could be.
Finally, in position, Dagen could now see that his guess on which location to use had been correct. From his elevated position, he had a clear line of sight through the camp for approximately two hundred fifty yards. Before Dagen contacted Courtland as planned, he took a moment to analyze the best means of approach for Courtland and the others.
He observed the terrain, noting the rolling hills on all sides, and the camp’s position in the center of a short valley. The scene was strange. The encampment appeared as though it might belong to some primitive culture. It had a dirty, disheveled look, which might befit any cave-dwelling or woodland creatures. But there were also structures, more like huts made of wood and clay. These were spaced at regular intervals throughout the camp, with an enlarged open space in the center. Dagen could just make out a large fire pit, the hot coals mere specks through the lens of his binoculars. Further on, he saw a larger mud hut, three or four times the size of those around it, which seemed to push its way out of the earth. Dagen watched it for a few minutes. Nothing moved in or around the camp. Courtland was right. Like any animal, they had to sleep, and since they seemed to fight and hunt at night, it made perfect sense that they would rest during the day.
Dagen pulled his eye from the scope mounted to the top of the Remington 700 bolt-action rifle Courtland had given him. It seemed an interesting coincidence that it was the same style of rifle Dagen used in the marines. Given this familiarity, the rifle felt like an extension of himself. After a quick test fire back at the station and a few minor adjustments to the glass, he felt confident that anythi
ng that landed in his sights was as good as dead. From his position, he observed everyone and everything from above much like a bird of prey, as he used his wool blanket to brace himself from the cold turf beneath him.
He caught a slight movement in his peripheral vision near the base of the hill before it registered as Courtland’s massive frame, crouched among the foliage. The image of the giant attempting to hide, like an elephant behind a flowerpot, brought a smirk to Dagen’s face. He keyed up his radio and listened for the transmit tone.
“Dagen to Courtland. Do you copy?”
“I copy,” came the muffled reply in his earpiece.
“You look ridiculous trying to hide behind that bush.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Have you got a decent line of sight?”
“Yeah,” answered Dagen. “The camp is just ahead of you in the seat of the valley, approximately thirty yards up the embankment. I see mud huts, at least a hundred of them, each able to accommodate maybe four or five of those things. It all looks fresh, like they just settled there, possibly because of the conflict with us.”
“Okay. What else? What’s our best approach?”
“Straight up from where you are now, there’s a path. It zigzags some through the structures, but it goes straight to the center of camp. Follow it and you hit an open area. Keep your radio on, and I’ll try to call out strays and threats. Copy?”
“Yeah. What then?”
“There’s a big dwelling, significantly bigger than the others. No question that’s the head honcho’s place. I’d bet anything you’ll find him inside. Just be careful and move quickly. Once you’re in, they’ll probably start to surround you and cut off avenues of escape.”
“We’ll get in there and take him down. Any idea how we get back out?”
“That’s the hard part.” Dagen sighed. “I’d start by hoping Jenna was right.”
TWENTY-FOUR
The warrior boy and his beast watched from their place of concealment as the sky began to lighten and the small Native American camp on the edge of Palo Duro Canyon sprang to life. He was sure of it now. These were Grandfather’s people. Tynuk gave Azolja a few final rubbings on the snout and looked him in the face.