by Dennis Elder
Mark recognized Jake was ready to shoot the guy, so he jumped up and headed off Jake before he could pull the trigger. Mark put a hand on Jake’s shoulder and whispered into his ear.
“You can have him in a few minutes. But first we need to find out if he’s got other people with him. In case there are more ambushes ahead.”
Jake slowly calmed down and put his own Beretta back into his hip holster. Then Mark turned back to Shane and pointed his Beretta at Shane’s knee again.
“Now, where were we?” asked Mark.
Junior played along and chimed in, “You were going put a bullet in his knee unless he told us about his other buddies.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Mark, as he pushed his handgun directly against Shane’s kneecap.
“Wait!” screamed Shane. “I can’t,” began Shane, this time he was beginning to cry.
“If I say anything they’ll kill me.”
“Who will kill you?” asked Mark. But Shane went quiet again. So, Mark knelt down and dug the barrel of his Beretta into Shane’s knee. The motion made Shane instantly alert.
“The brethren,” shouted Shane through gritted teeth.
“Who are the brethren?” asked Mark.
“White supremacists dudes,” whimpered Shane.
“How many supremacists dudes are we talking about?” questioned Mark.
“Maybe twenty, twenty five, and couple of women too,” said Shane.
“They armed like you and your bro over there?” asked Shane as he nodded in the dead man’s direction.
“Lots of weapons,” said Shane. “Taught us how to shoot up at the farm. Took us in and fed us.”
“Where’s this farm located,” asked Junior, as he reached into his utility pants pocket and pulled out a local map.
“Up in miller basin, just west of Kraemer Blvd,” continued Shane. “Got a lake nearby, took over a few homes, plenty to eat. All we had to do was listen to their propaganda crap.”
Junior showed Mark and Tyrone the mapped area that Shane talked about.
“Why are you so far away from Miller Basin?” asked Mark.
“Protecting our territory,” replied Shane. “We staked claim to everything five miles North, South, East and West of the Riverside and Orange Freeways crossing. Me and Henry there had south boundary guard duty.”
“When’s the next watch due,” asked Mark. “When’s your replacement coming?”
But Shane had slipped into unconsciousness. Mark gave him a good hard slap but the guy was unresponsive.
For now, that was all they were going to get out Shane. But they had enough Intel to either attack the supremacists or evade.
Mark turned to Jake and said, “Keep an eye on him.”
By now the Susan, Doc and Randy had caught up with the rest of the group and stood next to Mark, Junior and Tyrone. They had lots of questions in their eyes.
“How’s the shoulder?” asked Tyrone as Randy approached.
“Just a scratch,” replied Randy.
“More than a scratch,” added Doc. “I’ll need a secure place to clean and stitch the wound.”
“Think you could ride another five miles or so?” asked Mark as he looked at Randy.
“No problemo,” responded Randy.
“Good,” said Mark, as he turned to Junior. “You, Tyrone and Sam go back and pick up the three other bikes and bring them forward – double time.” Junior and the other two took off immediately.
Doc looked over at Shane on the ground and said, “You want me to treat this guy or not?”
“Not,” replied Mark.
“Not?” questioned Susan. She wasn’t completely sure what had been going on, but she didn’t understand why they wouldn’t help the guy on the ground.
Mark didn’t acknowledge Susan’s protest but turned to the group and said, “That’s the guy who was one of two shooters that put a bullet into Jake and then tried to kill the rest of us. That’s the good news. The bad news is he is not alone. He and his buddy were assigned guard duty.
“Guard duty?” questioned Doc.
“Seems they belong to a White supremacist’s group of about twenty, who are parked north of here and have staked claim to an area approximately twenty five miles square. That claim lies directly in front of us.”
“So, we either challenge them or go around them,” said Randy.
“Exactly,” replied Mark.
“What about the guy still alive on the ground over there?” asked Susan.
“You don’t need to worry about him,” said Mark.
“You gonna execute him?” asked Susan.
“Absolutely,” replied Randy.
“Why kill him now,” objected Susan. “He can’t do any more harm.”
Doc, Randy and Mark all looked at each other momentarily. They had been in this position several times. Mark turned to Randy and said, “Remember that winter patrol we were on in 2009 when we let that kid go? Why don’t you explain it to Susan.”
Mark then turned toward Shane and Jake and walked away.
But Susan’s Christian ethics kicked in and she couldn’t keep quiet.
“How can you kill a man in cold blood?” shouted Susan as Mark walked away.
“Susan,” said Randy, trying to get her attention.
“I know I promised to follow your Military orders out here, but I can’t condone murdering a defenseless human being, no matter what he may have done.”
But Mark wasn’t listening.
“Susan!” shouted Randy, again trying to get her attention.
“What?” responded Susan.
“In 2009 Mark lead a twenty men team on a covert mission into the Northern Mountains of Kandahar. Very dangerous country,” began Randy. But Susan was only half listening. She still had her eyes fixed on Mark and Jake as they stood over Shane’s body.
“We’d been ordered to check out a small town off a dry riverbed. No American soldier had ever been in the area,” continued Randy. “We were to travel only at night and stay completely off radar. On the third day we were about to hike back toward base when two young boys stumbled into our campsite. The boys were terrified. I can still remember the looks on their faces. We tried to talk to them but the panicked and ran. At that time our orders were to capture or eliminate anyone who spotted us. The area was supposed to be crawling with Al Qaeda fighters. Mark was the closest to the two boys as they ran away from us. I watched Mark raise his rifle to shoot the two boys. However, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He just couldn’t kill those boys in cold blood.”
“Yea. So, what?” asked Susan as she continued to watch Mark and Jake talk to one another while pointing down toward Shane. Then, suddenly, Mark bent down over Shane and placed a finger on this throat.
“We packed up and headed back toward base as fast as we could run. Odds were they boys would alert the locals.”
“And,” said Susan.
“On the fourth day they caught up to us - about a hundred and fifty Al Qaeda. They flanked us, surrounded us on a rocky hill and after an hour long firefight, most of our team men were dead. Ten minutes later we finally got air support. After it was over Mark and I were the only two men that could walk.”
Susan didn’t respond. She just kept her eyes on Mark as he slowly stood up.
“Mark is only thinking about our survival, Susan. He’s always thinking about our survival,” added Randy.
I’m not so sure I want to survive in a world devoid of mercy,” said Susan.
“Mercy is a good thing,” responded Randy. “Mark showed it to those two Afghan boys in 2009. But his decision cost the lives of thirteen men. There is a time a place for mercy. But just not today.”
Tyrone, Junior and Sam finally made it back with the three bikes. They set them down next to others and walked over to where Doc and Randy stood. Mark noticed their return and began walking back toward the group. Jake just stood there over Shane.
As Mark approached Susan she said, “I can’t let you kill that boy.”
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“It’s not an issue any more,” replied Mark as he walked back to the other men.
Susan began walking with Mark. “What’s not an issue?” she asked.
“The kid is dead,” replied Mark. That stopped Susan in her tracks. She had no reply.
“Jake get over here,” barked Mark. “You too Susan.
Once everyone was together, Mark began.
“Our shooter told us there are at least twenty heavily armed men and women camped north of us, directly along this freeway. If we go forward, we’re sure to engage them.”
“What do you want to do boss?” asked Randy.
“We evade. We go around them. No need to get into fight if we can avoid it,” said Mark.
“Roger that,” said Tyrone.
“Jake and Doc. You two clear the bodies. We need to make this place look like our shooters abandoned their post. Hopefully their replacements will buy that,” offered Mark.
“Boon. Let’s see the street map.” commanded Mark.
Boon pulled his map and placed it on the asphalt.
“We need to travel at least six miles west on this road until we can find a cross street that will take us at least twelve miles north,” continued Mark.
Boon put his compass on the map and did a quick calculation.
“We could take this road to Euclid. It’s a little over six miles. Euclid will take us North at least 12 miles,” said Boon. “You thinking about cutting back there and rejoining the freeway?”
“Sounds about right,” said Mark, as he stood back up. “OK, while Doc and Jake clear the overpass, the rest of us will move our bikes west of here until we can find a safe place to eat lunch. Doc and Jake will follow on their bikes. After some chow, we’ll head to Euclid and then North.”
Everybody had their orders and the team moved out, except for Susan. She was still looking over at Shane’s body. She watched as Doc and Jake picked him up and carried him down the overpass toward a street level building.
Mark noticed Susan and walked up next to her.
“I’m sorry, Susan. If we were under other circumstances….” offered Mark.
Susan didn’t respond immediately. She was struggling with her emotions.
“It’s just hard to give up on… our humanity,” whispered Susan.
Mark didn’t respond immediately either. He was searching for the right words.
“We’ll have a chance to get our humanity back one day,” said Mark.
“But not today,” offered Susan.
“No, not today,” added Mark.
With that Mark turned to retrieve his own bike. Susan stood a second longer and then turned to her bike as well.
The group moved quickly and coasted down the overpass, heading west on Lincoln Ave. They would look for a safe place where they could eat lunch.
Jake and Doc hid both bodies inside the doors of a manufacturing company at the base of the off ramp. They also poured several bottles of water on the ground where blood had pooled under both men’s bodies. It washed away most of the red marks. The shooter’s guns and shell casings were tossed down an alleyway.
As Doc and Jake got on their own bikes, Jake raised a handheld radio to his mouth and said, “Overpass clear, were following now.”
From Jake’s speaker he heard Mark’s response, “Roger that. Once we’re settled we’ll put someone on the road and watch for you.”
“10-4,” replied Jake.
Doc looked back over his shoulder. The overpass looked pretty good. Once the water dried it would be hard to tell what had happened.
But it really didn’t matter. From the top of a building about 200 yards east of the overpass two men with long and unkempt hair had been watching the team for the last five minutes. They had binoculars. More importantly they had white supremacist tattoos on their left shoulders.
Chapter 34: A Nasty Place
It had been six days since Dr. Kevin Phillips and Marylin Stanza narrowly escaped the sun’s deadly gamma ray burst by hiding in the sub-basement of NOAAs Space Weather Prediction Center. As far as they knew, they were probably the only people alive in the entire western United States. They hadn’t seen a live person since the event.
After the first night they spent their days scrounging for food in the apartment complex they slept in, and in the other nine houses and single convenience store spread around the town of Nipton, California.
Just as Kevin had predicted, all pressurized water quite on the third day. Since then they had existed off bottled water and canned food. But the little town of Nipton didn’t have that much bottled water on hand and so they soon found themselves forced to leave in search of a more stable water and food source.
They now stood at the corner of Nipton Avenue and Interstate 15, trying to decide whether to make their way to Las Vegas or back toward Los Angeles. Nothing moved on the long freeway in either direction as far as the eye could see.
To the right a sign read, “Las Vegas, 41 miles.”
Kevin looked back to his left, toward LA.
“It’s probably seventy or eighty miles back to any good-sized town that way,” Kevin said, as he pointed toward Los Angeles. “It’s certainly a shorter walk to Vegas. I think we’d have a better chance if we head there.”
Marylin and Kevin stood together. They both had small backpacks over their shoulders. Most of the weight came from the last of the town’s water bottles. They carried makeshift bedrolls under their arms. Marylin looked toward Los Angeles first, and then back toward Las Vegas.
“I don’t like Las Vegas,” said Marylin, as he raised her hands to shield her eyes from the piercing Mojave Desert sun.
“You know babe, I’m not particularly fond of Vegas myself,” said Kevin. Since the Gamma Ray burst, Kevin and Marylin had grown pretty close. Kevin found himself calling her babe more and more. “But it’s a lot closer than anything that way.”
“I don’t know,” offered Marylin.
“I figure we could make the outskirts of Vegas in about two days. If we go toward Barstow and Los Angeles, I think it would take us more like four days,” said Kevin. “I don’t think we have enough water to last four days.”
Marylin understood, but she didn’t like it. Something told her to stay away from Las Vegas. But they only had so much water. She looked back to the North and took a deep breath.
“Then Vegas it is,” said Marylin.
With that the couple from Nipton California turned to their right and started walking toward Sin City. Both of them tugged at their heavy packs in an effort to get them a little more comfortable. After 30 seconds Kevin offered, “I mean it’s not like we’re going to run into anybody no matter which way we go.”
“Probably not,” thought Marylin to herself.
Chapter 35: Loaded for Bear
The two men that watched Jake Oliver and Doc Martin dump the dead bodies inside a warehouse were named Jed and Seymour. They were good ole boys and fiercely loyal to their White Supremacists chapter house, The House of Usher. They would have attacked Mark’s group right there on that bridge, but there were too many of them and they were all well-armed. While Seymour followed Mark’s team from a distance, Jeb headed back to their base camp to warn the others.
It took Jeb just under 15 minutes to make it all the way back to Miller Basin. If he had run it on foot it would have taken him about an hour. But the House of Usher had been well prepared for the recent apocalypse. The House of Usher had horses, more than one for every one of their 26 men.
Jed rode into the compound at a full gallop and jumped from his saddle before his big mare could come to a complete halt. He headed straight to the compound central building and home of Big Jim Jacobson. Big Jim was the group’s leader and California’s most faithful disciple of White Supremacy doctrine and practice. Jed barged through Big Jim’s front door without even knocking.
“We got trouble,” barked Jed, as he spotted Big Jim and walked from the home’s entryway toward the large man. Jim was sitting comforta
bly behind a wide oak office desk. The desk fit nicely in his living room. It was his office now
Big Jim calmly took a stub of a cigar from his mouth and asked, “What kind of trouble?”
“Just came from the South watch - at Lincoln and the Orange freeway. We were supposed to relieve Shane and Henry. They’d been there for five days, “said Jed.