Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2)

by R. E. McDermott

  The privacy fence shielded him until just past the tollbooths. From the end of the fence, it was a dash across a half-empty parking lot to the pedestrian walkway along the side of the bridge, separated from the roadway by a waist-high concrete wall. If he could make it to the wall without being spotted, he could stay below it and crawl onto the bridge without being spotted.

  He peeked around the fence toward the tollbooth and said a silent prayer of thanks for the NV gear. Unlike the daytime operation, the night guards seemed unconcerned about being seen at a distance and leaned side by side against the stone wall of the tollbooth, chatting and smoking. He nodded to himself and planned his route to the shelter of the pedestrian walkway.

  He took a zigzag course, from car to scattered car, and five minutes later huddled against the low wall of the walkway, the guards less than thirty feet away on the opposite side. He could hear them plainly and was terrified they might hear his labored breathing.

  He checked his watch: fifteen minutes until Tex arrived, and the long crawl coupled with the need to do it silently was going to take time. He set out, the rough antislip coating of the walkway biting into his hands and knees. As he passed the stone building, he heard muffled music through the thick walls, punctuated by what sounded like a scream. He ignored it and crawled. Terrible things were happening in the world, and he couldn’t fix them all.

  The next challenge was location; Wiggins had no idea how far out the bridge sentry was or whether he was facing back over the bridge or toward the tollbooth. In the end, Wiggins decided the man wouldn’t be too far out, so he’d crawl until he was sure he was past, then count on Tex’s approach to draw the man’s attention toward the tollbooth.

  The plan was for Tex to come in slowly with only her parking lights on, as if she were using the minimal lights necessary to see. She’d quickly kill the lights when she saw the situation at the tollbooth, then stop like she was surprised and evaluating the situation. At that point, she was to play it by ear, doing whatever was necessary to hold the tollbooth guards’ attention while Wiggins took them from the rear. They figured the bridge sentry would know something was going on, but counted on him not being able to see enough to matter until it was too late. They’d been wrong there, but Wiggins now planned to use Tex’s arrival as a distraction.

  He crawled cautiously, gauging progress by the vertical stanchions of the handrail to his right. He’d just passed a hundred and fifty feet when he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke from over the low wall. Thank God for bad habits.

  He moved another thirty feet to make sure he was past the sentry, then risked a peek over the wall, moving very slowly to keep from attracting attention. He saw the glowing end of a cigarette in the drivers’ side window of an SUV forty feet back toward the tollbooth. He could see the tollbooth guards clearly as well, and a chill shot through him as he realized if either of them took a few steps to the side and looked in his direction, they now had an angle to see him clearly as well. He slowly sank back behind the wall and hoped Tex arrived before one of the guards decided to stretch his legs.

  The clock now slowed to a crawl, and Wiggins hugged the low wall and sweated until he saw the dim parking lights of the Honda turn into the entrance ramp. Across the wall and back toward the roadblock, he heard the squeak of an opening car door and pulled himself up cautiously to peep over the wall.

  The bridge sentry was standing behind the open door of a late model SUV, watching the toll booth. Wiggins crawled over the waist-high wall silently and moved forward, pulling the rebar from his belt as he approached. He’d closed half the distance when he kicked a pebble. It skittered along the roadway as the bridge sentry turned.

  Wiggins dropped the rebar down beside his leg and sped up. He needed to disorient the man before he yelled or got a shot off.

  “Atwood! It’s me, Baker,” Wiggins said as the man completed his turn, facing Wiggins ten feet away, looking insect-like in the green glow of Wiggins’ NV goggles. Wiggins knew his NV gear made him look the same to the man and hoped Baker’s voice wasn’t distinctive.

  “Baker! What the hell? What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to …”

  Atwood connected the dots far too quickly and reached for his sidearm when Wiggins was still five feet away. Wiggins leaped the last few feet, bringing the rebar up as he charged, driving the end into Atwood’s throat with all his weight behind it. The rough rod tore through the carotid artery and punched out the back of the man’s neck. Atwood’s cry died on his lips, and blood sprayed on Wiggins’ stolen camo shirt. The man clutched the open car door and sank to the pavement.

  Wiggins disarmed him and threw his pistol over the side of the bridge, then dragged the still-gasping man well away from the vehicle. He looked back toward the tollbooth. Tex had stopped as agreed with her lights off, but the two guards had moved only a short distance toward her and stood staring at the Honda.

  He looked back down. Atwood wasn’t dead, but he soon would be and was no longer a threat. Wiggins started for the tollbooth, then thought better of it and came back to collect the rebar. He grasped the end firmly and put a foot on Atwood’s chest, trying to ignore the pitiful sounds as he reclaimed his most effective silent weapon.

  Bear Mountain Bridge

  Toll Booth

  “What do you make of that?” Stanfield asked.

  “I think Baker’s screwing off,” Hargraves replied. “He should have that shotgun stuck in the driver’s face by now. I bet the son of a bitch is sacked out again.”

  “What should we do?”

  “How the hell should I know what we should—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of an opening car door as the driver exited the vehicle, followed by a seductive feminine voice.

  “Evening, boys. I just want to cross without any trouble. I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

  “You alone?” Stanfield yelled.

  “Yep. Just a poor girl trying to get home the best way she can.”

  “Step away from the car with your hands in the air, then turn in a full circle, real slow,” Stanfield said.

  The men watched as the woman complied.

  “She’s a looker, even in these NV glasses. I like the little ones. What do you think, Stanfield?” Hargraves asked quietly.

  “I think she seems willing, and we can have a nice little party through the night takin’ turns in one of the cars. Atwood won’t care if we let him go first. We won’t even have to tie her up until she figures out we’re not gonna let her leave.”

  “What if it’s a trap or something?”

  Stanfield snorted. “Look at her. She’s maybe five feet tall and weighs a hundred and nothing. She’s got no visible weapons, and we won’t let her go back to the car to get any. I say we put her in one of those cars and have ourselves a party. I’m going to go search her. You stay back and keep your eyes open and cover me. Then you keep an eye on the girl and I’ll holler at that dumb ass Baker to get his butt out here and help me make sure there aren’t any unpleasant surprises in the car.”

  “Roger that,” Hargrave said, and Stanfield started toward the woman, pistol in hand.

  ***

  Wiggins’ heart pounded as he crouched behind the tollbooth pillar and watched the scene unfold. He’d heard Tex’s shouted inducement and watched as the two men discussed it, too low for him to hear what they were saying. They were only partially turned away from him, and he didn’t think he could close on them before one of them saw him.

  He could challenge them with his Sig or the M4, but what if they called his bluff? They were much more likely to do so at a distance than they were at point-blank range. He needed them both to focus fully on Tex so he could get closer. His heart sank as they separated.

  One of the men started toward Tex, pistol drawn, and the other stayed behind, both with their backs to him now. He covered the distance to the closest in long silent strides and raised the rebar to deliver a crushing blow to the back of the man’s head. Wiggins
was inured to the violence now. It would haunt him later, but not now, not with Tex’s life on the line.

  Wiggins grabbed the man as he fell, almost toppling from the weight before stabilizing himself and easing the man to the ground. The second man continued towards Tex, oblivious to the action behind him. Wiggins had almost overtaken him when the man heard him and spun, pistol leveled.

  “Don’t shoot! It’s Baker,” Wiggins tried for a repeat.

  But the dead man lying on the pavement behind Wiggins gave lie to the claim, and the guard fired without hesitation, but missed. Wiggins flung the rebar underhand with all his might, knocking the man’s NV goggles askew as Wiggins jogged left.

  Sightless now, the man fired repeatedly at where Wiggins had been, until Wiggins drew his own Sig and shot the man three times, center mass. The man fell, and Wiggins stood trembling, his heart pounding.

  “Bill?”

  “Here, Tex,” Wiggins said. A flashlight came on.

  “TURN THAT OFF!” Wiggins said.

  Tex complied. “But how—”

  “Wait there,” Wiggins said, stooping to strip the NV gear off the dead guard. He pulled his own glasses off and looked through the guard’s. Dead. Optics didn’t like being smacked by rebar. He dropped the damaged gear and hurried to the first guard he’d dropped, to find his NV gear working. He hurried back to Tex with it.

  “NV gear. Put it on and grab one of these guys’ M4s. We’ll divide their extra mags. The guys in the house will likely be out here any minute.”

  “Let’s just crash the bridge,” Tex said. “The guy further out is probably confused. We can get past them if you drive and I lay down suppressing fire.”

  “The guy on the bridge isn’t a problem,” Wiggins said. “Creeping through that obstacle course they’ve set up is. We’ll never make it through in time, and if they catch us in transit, they’ll just hunker down behind the concrete wall of the pedestrian walkway and shoot us to pieces at point-blank range. It’ll be a friggin’ shooting gallery.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Tex said, pointing toward the stone house, where flashlights bobbed. “They’re coming.”

  Wiggins studied the bobbing flashlights. “They traded off the NV gear during the watch change, and they wouldn’t be using flashlights if they had any more. Now we have it and they don’t.”

  Shouts now accompanied the bobbing flashlights.

  “Uhh … I think maybe we should curb their enthusiasm while we figure this out,” Tex said.

  “All right. Grab a gun and let’s separate a bit and both fire a short burst toward the lights to send them to cover, then move in case they return fire at the muzzle flashes. On three?” Wiggins asked.

  Tex stooped to pick up the fallen guard’s rifle and nodded, and she walked away a few paces. Wiggins counted down, and they both fired a three-round burst, then scrambled thirty feet to the right. Sure enough, the pavement where they’d been standing erupted in sparks.

  “What now?” Wiggins asked.

  Tex shrugged. “You’ve been right so far about what they’d do, so why not turn this into OUR shooting gallery.”

  Bear Mountain Bridge

  Pedestrian Walkway Near Toll Booth

  “Who the hell’s out there, and where are our guys?” Saunders asked.

  “How should I know?” Hollingsworth said. “The chickenshits likely ran off. I never did trust that Atwood.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  “I can tell you what we AIN’T gonna do. We ain’t gonna move from behind this wall until we know what we’re facing,” Hollingsworth said.

  An engine started to their left, somewhere along the entrance ramp to the toll plaza. It seemed to move toward them as they listened.

  “Now that’s more like it. The dumb ass is gonna try to shoot through our little obstacle course.” Hollingsworth grinned. “We’ll chew him up. Lay those three big flashlights on the wall, pointing toward the obstacle course, but everybody pick out a firing position at least ten feet away from the lights in case they draw fire. When I hear him stuck in the obstacle course, I’ll give the word to light him up; then you guys turn on your lights and jump back to your firing positions. After that, it’s just a turkey shoot.”

  ***

  Tex stared at the backs of the four men lined up along the wall, oblivious to her presence. Gaining her present advantageous position had been no more difficult than walking through the pitch-black night down the middle of the paved driveway to the parking lot.

  She thought about what she was about to do. It was murder, really. Or was it? No, murder was what was done to her parents and many good people like them by scumbags like the four in front of her. This was an execution, and a just one. Wiggins had volunteered, but someone needed to create a diversion to keep all of their opponents focused on the same place, and Bill had done more than his share of killing.

  Tex felt a flash of remorse at what they’d become. Mild-mannered Bill Wiggins, well liked on the ship for his quick smile and even temper, a man who seldom raised his voice much less his hand to anyone. A man who just killed four human beings without hesitation. They weren’t the same people they were just a few short weeks ago; their ‘old selves’ couldn’t survive in this new world. And she would survive. Tex pushed her misgivings to the back of her mind and studied the men in front of her.

  She heard the Honda and watched the men prepare their trap. She could hear them clearly, and their laughter and apparent enthusiasm for the task erased any lingering doubts. It was over in four three-round bursts, and she walked over and pointed one of the large flashlights skyward so as not to blind Wiggins. She flashed a signal in the air and watched through the NV glasses as the SUV approached the roadblock and zigzagged through the obstacle course.

  She turned and looked east, over the bridge. They were lucky this time, again. She wondered where their luck would run out.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bear Mountain Bridge

  Hudson River—West Bank

  Day 33, 00:55 a.m.

  They found the women locked in a storeroom, beaten and thoroughly traumatized. Tex comforted them as Wiggins checked out the stone building, originally some sort of local museum.

  One room was crammed with guns and ammunition of all types, and another held canned goods, MREs, and other nonperishables—all undoubtedly looted from refugees. A carport held the greatest treasure, two rows of red plastic gas cans of various sizes, all full. Here was the fuel to get home—all the way home.

  He returned to find Tex sitting with the women in the glow of a Coleman lantern, drinking instant coffee she’d found and prepared on a nearby camp stove. Wiggins shot her a questioning look. She gave a hesitant nod and he moved to a couch across from the women.

  “Bill, this is Fran and her daughter, Carly,” Tex said.

  Wiggins nodded. “Nice to meet you ladies.”

  Fran nodded, but Carly just stared at the floor. The silence grew.

  “I … uh … I’m sorry about your husband,” Bill said.

  The woman shook her head. “We only met John three weeks ago, at our hotel in Scranton. We all live near here and he was helping us get home. He’s a … I mean he was a good man. Did you find … I mean is his …” She trailed off, unable to finish.

  Wiggins shook his head. “I’m sorry. His body’s not there. They probably dragged it into the woods, and I’m afraid we don’t have time to search. We need to be far away when the sun comes up. More bad guys might turn up at any time.”

  The girl whimpered and moved into her mother’s arms. Tex glared at Wiggins and he gave a helpless shrug.

  “We can’t ride the bikes in the dark,” Fran said. “But we live near Lake Carmel—only about twenty-five miles. Tex said … I mean I thought maybe … can you take us there?” Her plea was heartbreaking.

  Except Wiggins couldn’t afford a broken heart. He shook his head. “No, but there’s plenty of gas, and I’m sure I can get one of the cars in the parking lot running
for you. We’ll gas it up, give you food and guns for protection, and you can go on your own.”

  “But Tex said you were following the Appalachian Trail,” Fran said, “and it crosses Route 52 not three miles from our house. So it’s not really out of your way. And you could rest at our house a bit and sleep in real beds. And—”

  Wiggins raised his hand to cut the woman off and glared at Tex. “See you outside a minute, Tex?”

  He started for the door without waiting. Tex found him pacing in the dark, ready to explode.

  She didn’t give him a chance. “Look, Bill. Those women have been through a lot. I thought we could—”

  “YOU thought. No, actually, you DIDN’T think. She doesn’t just want a ride, she wants us for protection against the unknown, can’t you see that? What happens if their house is burned down or full of gangbangers or subject to any one of a hundred horrible, screwed-up conditions now common in our new Mad Max world. What then? Do we just say ‘see ya’ and drop them in the bad guys’ laps? Do we take them with us? Or do we get guilt-tripped into taking them to a friend or relative’s house, which will further delay us?”

  Wiggins blew out an exasperated sigh. “Look, Tex. I’m glad we saved them, but we can’t keep saving them. I’m worried about my OWN family. If they can’t make it twenty-five miles on their own with guns, a car, and a full tank of gas, they sure won’t be able to cope with whatever disaster they find when they get there. I can’t be responsible for that. I WON’T be responsible for that. My family comes first. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

  Silence grew. Finally Tex nodded.

  “I didn’t think it through,” she said. “It’s just they’re so traumatized, I wanted to offer comfort. I let my heart overrule my brain, and in this world, that’s a recipe for disaster.” She paused. “That said, it’s done and we are going in the same direction. I think we can help them without getting further entangled.”