Baxter’s War

by A. L. Roberts

  Erik considered the plan. “Can you get close?”

  “Watch me.”

  43

  Moraine maintained her shotgun seat while watching the sunrise. Warm rays poured against her face. Since the attack on Highway 680, Robert pulled over once for a nap.

  He drove on, slowed by abandoned cars, collapsed overpasses, and forty to fifty foot earthen fissures. The occasional refugee wanting a ride caused Robert to ease off the gas.

  “Don’t stop,” Moraine said as a woman and child clamored over a guardrail to reach the fast moving trucks. The kid hugged a stuffed bear against his thin frame. The mother's lips contorted in agony as she shook both hands above her head to slow the convoy.

  Robert passed the pair. “We should have given them something, Moraine.”

  “The last time we stopped we got attacked. So drive.” Moraine glanced at the passenger side mirror to see the woman wave again at the Ram truck. After a moment the ten-year-old threw up a middle finger as the remaining vehicle raced by them.

  “The college kids are ok?”

  “Yup,” Moraine said and climbed up into the gunner’s hatch. She glimpsed Jenny curled on the floor asleep. From there she unlocked the latch and raised her body half out to greet the new day redolent with the perfume of garlic.

  Moraine studied their path littered with empty cars and pondered where the owners vanished. The stranded cars created a narrow alley, affording space for one vehicle to travel through at a time.

  Green dew jeweled hills undulated in the east. A city rested in silence to her right. Random dogs slinked along deserted streets, their dark gazes locked on the trucks headed south.

  On the northbound freeway she counted seven cars traveling the road, and she wondered if they knew San Francisco sat underneath ocean water.

  “We're a quarter tank low, Moraine,” Robert shouted up to her.

  Moraine stared hard into the east. She wished telepathy existed so her, Erik, and Casey could talk. “Okay.”

  “And, I need to eat.”

  Moraine swiveled the crows nest and caught the Ram swerve. Pete rubbed his weary eyes as Moraine wagged a warning finger at him. Moraine cared less for the added responsibility.

  “Pull over at the exit ramp, Robert,” she said and slid into the cabin, closing the hatch. “Wake up, Jenny. You're on the clock.”

  Jenny stirred upright and glared at Moraine with red swollen eyes. She armed saliva from her mouth. “Why are you so loud this morning?”

  “I’m always loud.” Moraine squatted before the doctor. “How you feeling, Jenny?”

  Jenny nodded. “Better. Where are we?”

  “Gilroy, smell the garlic? I hate missing the festival this year.”

  Robert pointed. “Ok, I’m exiting.”

  Moraine moved up front. She scrutinized the derelict cars lining the shoulder. “Be careful, Robert.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Two gas stations. Straight ahead or on my right?”

  “To the right.” Moraine retrieved her rifle as Robert reached the station and parked. “Keep the engine running until I clear this place.”

  Moraine and Jenny, both armed, stepped outside.

  Moraine watched Pete arrive with a trailing pickup. He parked beside a pump and jumped out. “Why you leave us?”

  “Is that a thank you for being alive and not roasting with your pals,” Jenny said to the fresh-faced student.

  Pete lowered his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Where’s your weapon?”

  Moraine turned to Pete. “Yea, get your gun. I’m not rescuing anyone else today. I’ve met my quotas.”

  Pete returned to the truck, grabbing a twenty-two rifle. “I’m ready.”

  Jenny gestured and closed in on the station kiosk. Through the thick bulletproof glass they spotted an attendant staring back at them.

  Moraine advanced on the teller. “Are you open?”

  The man looked at Moraine’s rifle and at Jenny’s. “Yes. But for gas only.”

  Moraine neared a pump. She pressed a button and discovered the pumps didn’t work. “They’re not working.”

  “You must pay first,” he said through the money slot.

  Pete frowned. “How much for the gas?”

  “Two hundred, for each truck.”

  “Bullshit,” Moraine called. She clenched her teeth, a habit Erik hated. She removed her combat knife, unhooked a nozzle, and sliced the hose.

  The man inside the store waved his arms in a frantic gesture. “Stop, I’ll activate the pumps.”

  Moraine tossed the cut hose aside. “Don’t hustle me, I want them on, now.”

  The clerk flipped a switch beyond their view and in seconds the price amounts flashed on a pump. “Ok.”

  “Turn off the truck, Robert. Jenny, pump the gas, the expensive stuff.” Moraine strode a few yards from the group as Jenny did as ordered.

  Moraine circled the surrounding buildings, looking for dogs, or people. Satisfied no one else roamed the property, she placed herself on guard duty.

  Pete’s girlfriend pumped gas as Pete produced a wallet. He gave a few crumpled bills from the wallet to the attendant. The other students emerged with somber faces. One filled up their Chevy as the others knelt in prayer.

  Moraine refused to fail again. She recalled Afghanistan, and the general’s face as Alek entered the home bearing tea. His hazel eyes remained calm, no fear, no anger, or regrets filled them. To Moraine it seemed as if he knew death approached him. He smiled at Moraine before the boy exploded.

  “Moraine.”

  Moraine spun to the sharp voice. Robert appeared, eyes wide behind his glasses reflecting sunlight. “What's wrong, Robert?”

  “I found them.”

  “You found who?”

  Robert lifted his smartphone. “The canines are five miles from here.”

  Jenny reset the nozzle. “Are you tracking the dogs?”

  Moraine experienced a sudden urge to shoot Robert. Whatever remorse she held for the scientist evaporated. She rushed up to him. Her moves came quick and natural. Manipulating her strapped rifle she swung up the butt, cracking the hardened plastic against his jaw.

  Robert’s head snapped back, and he collapsed. His hands though, did a dance to save the phone from crashing to the ground.

  Moraine snatched the device from his feeble grip and searched the screen. “Jenny, can you understand this?”

  Jenny stood next to Moraine. “Those two dots, Moraine. Black and White.”

  Pete walked over and helped Robert to his feet. “You are short tempered, Moraine. Violence is not the Christian way.”

  Moraine pocketed the tracker, ignoring Pete. “You tracked them, Robert? You never told us.”

  Robert spat blood, accompanied by a few teeth. “Someone activated the destruct mechanism within the chips.”

  “I did, traitor, and they'll die,” Jenny said.

  “Jenny, if they die the other dogs will kill the slaves and captives.”

  Moraine regretted her hasty blow. Apologies might come later. She boarded the Unimog and Jenny joined her before Moraine jammed on the gas and tore towards the foothills.

  44

  Moraine slalomed the armored truck between abandoned vehicles. Not concerned with safe driving, she slammed the Unimog’s pig iron push bar into a Volkswagen Beetle. The car’s trunk shredded in shards of fiberglass.

  “Where are they,” she said, handing Jenny the tracker.

  Jenny poked the gorilla glass. “Just four miles further. But the dogs are not together.”

  Moraine’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “What does that mean?”

  “It means drive, Moraine,” Jenny said.

  Moraine shoved the pedal to the floorboard. The big truck heaved, engines roaring as she sped east. She raced by a shopping center and advanced on a cluster of hills.

  “Easy, Moraine. They’ll hear the truck and run.”

  Moraine sucked in a breath, her arms shook as she eased off the
gas and pumped the brakes, pulling the Unimog to a stop. “How far?”

  “One mile,” Jenny said.

  Moraine crawled into the Unimog’s rear compartment. She grabbed the Barrett Adder and stuffed two magazines loaded with fifty-caliber rounds into her cargo pockets before stepping outside.

  She surveyed the road and woods before retrieving her M4 from the driver’s side. She slung it on, motivated for the fight. “Lock the door, Jenny.”

  Pete drove up and rolled down the driver's window. “Can I help?”

  “Stay,” Moraine ordered and hustled for the hills with Jenny. She focused on details as they neared a wall of knotted branches and vines. Soon oaks and eucalyptus trees joined by a rising slope clotted their view.

  “White is close,” Jenny said out of breath. Her rifle clacked against her belt buckle as her steps quickened to not lose Moraine.

  Moraine halted. She lowered herself, hefting up the Barrett Adder to peer through the Leopold scope. Small green numbers floated on the optical lens, denoting time, weather, and wind speed. She counted to twenty, calming her mind as she hunted for her target.

  She ventured further in, nostrils flaring, sniffing for any hint of musk.

  “How close,” Moraine whispered.

  Jenny swiped sweat from her forehead. “Up front, Moraine.”

  Moraine strained her vision to find movement. “Wait, Jenny.”

  She proceeded unhampered without the additional worry of Jenny. Quails fluttered up from a bush, squirrels scampered from her path. She paused, sniffed, and cocked her head, hoping to catch any stray sound or scent.

  She attempted to shut out the ambient noises. However, crows cawed in the distance, bees droned, honeysuckle reached her nose and a child’s cry, thin and distant, brushed against her ear.

  Something huge burst through the overgrown foliage, startling a brace of doves hiding amongst the green bramble.

  “Jenny,” Moraine said.

  Jenny crashed through the vegetation. “There, Moraine. There.”

  Moraine handed the light Barrett to Jenny, her heart pounding in her chest. With stealth forgotten, she unstrapped her M4 and plowed into the bushes.

  The veteran soldier propelled herself, taking the hill fast and sure. She spotted a hairy thing trundling into the leaves and high grass. Three more followed the leader. She reminded herself how the dogs exercised reasoning and the noise might be a trap.

  Moraine discovered the trail where the weeds laid flat as if bodies moved in clumsy haste. The dogs never ran from anyone. They outnumbered her. She pushed ahead. Sunlight splashed a glade, catching four large furry lumps in its glow.

  One owned an extra dirty white patch covered in gray powder and dark brown stains. She rested her finger against the trigger, aimed.

  “Hey.” Her voice boomed. The four humps stopped. “You understand me. Turn around you morons.”

  The four dogs pivoted slow. The one with a thicker coat resembled a larger breed. Its eyes glittered with unhinged madness.

  Moraine’s mouth dried. She made out White propped on the back of a Saint Bernard. “White,” Moraine said.

  White snarled, licked his bloody muzzle and displayed wicked fangs at Moraine.

  “Where’s my family,” she said. “Get me my family you ugly sonofabitch.”

  A Saint Bernard charged Moraine and got within eight feet.

  Moraine squeezed the trigger. A crisp pop filled the glade and the dog’s skull shattered with a spray of crimson and brain matter. The beast dropped, kicking its legs while dying.

  “My family, White.” Moraine wrestled with her rage as a wash of heat reddened her from scalp to cheeks. “Where are they?”

  Jenny arrived with Robert and Pete. "Moraine?"

  “Why are you guys here?”

  Jenny hefted the sniper rifle’s special titanium barrel at the dogs. “We heard a gunshot,” she said while gazing at the bloody mess once a Saint Bernard.

  Moraine leaped with surprising speed and snatched White by the scruff. Her digging fingers popped a tick while burying deep into his fur. She pulled him off the Saint Bernard’s back, pointing her weapon at the other three, holding them in check. She fired off another shot, a second Saint Bernard fell.

  “Moraine, wait,” Robert said.

  “Not happening, Robert.” She continued dragging White. The dog’s forepaws and hind legs dug against the earth slick with morning dew.

  Moraine pointed her rifle at White’s head. One Saint Bernard ascended the hill waddling, the other sat, observing the scene.

  Moraine passed her tongue over her lips as the other dog melted into the tangle of plant life. She held White in an unforgiving clasp. Her fist pressed against his neck thick with crusted blood. His right eye glared at her with hate as growls rumbled from his throat.

  Jenny squatted besides White. “He’s injured. I wonder what happened?”

  “He will be dead if they don’t bring my family.”

  White snapped at Moraine, yellow teeth flashed along his black gums.

  Moraine inhaled the wet dog funk purling off the animal. She caught her quarry, and the adrenalin she experienced trembled her body with excitement. She gazed at Jenny.

  “Mission accomplished, Doctor Chow,” Moraine said.

  Crashes erupted from the brush above the group. Black emerged surrounded by several other Canines.

  Moraine maintained her hold, pressing her knuckles into White. She recognized Molly the terrier who wore a pink collar with the letter M dangling at her throat, one pit bull, a gorgeous Golden retriever, a Rottweiler, Doberman, German shepherd, Chihuahua, a black Lab and in the middle a black Belgian collie with blood speckled fur.

  Moraine forced her percolating fright away. “Black. I want my family. So let’s talk.”

  Moraine wanted her Erik and Casey before proceeding with more blood letting. She locked eyes with Black perched on the grassy knoll resembling an emperor. The dogs next to him remained still, waiting for their master’s word.

  “What’s the answer, Black?”

  Black lifted his imperious gaze at the other humans standing behind Moraine. He pawed the ground, turned his shaggy head to Molly and barked once. The quick-legged terrier fled to complete her task.

  Moraine strove to pry an emotion from Black, but he kept his face neutral. He didn’t growl or whimper or pant as the others. He studied her with a clinical stare, an object trapped in a Petri dish.

  Molly returned and trailing the tiny dog came a skinny teenager with frizzy shoulder length hair, almond shaped eyes. Molly retook her place in the line.

  “Hello,” the girl said.

  “Well.” Moraine swallowed, panic tried to flitter up from her stomach. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Akiko, and you wish to speak with us?”

  “No, the mutt on your left.”

  Jenny leaned towards Moraine. “Be careful, Moraine.”

  Moraine nodded, struggling to contain her disquiet. “My name is Moraine Baxter. I want my husband Erik and my daughter Casey.”

  “First release White.”

  Moraine grinned as the dog struggled beneath her. “No. Family first, darling.”

  “We're not negotiating.”

  Jenny stepped forward, hands up. “These two dogs must remain alive to be an affective team. We kill White, and Black is useless. His power diminished.”

  “I hope you’re right, Jenny,” Moraine said low.

  “I am right. Remember who created these assholes?”

  Black set off a series of casual barks. Molly spun on her little feet and vanished.

  “Good, I’m glad you got the idea,” Moraine said. She hated standoffs, and her muscles burned and cramped from kneeling at such an awkward angle.

  45

  Erik looked up from his feeding ritual with Casey. He held an open pouch in one hand while prodding a Spork filled with meat, potatoes, and brown sauce towards Casey's parted lips with the other hand.

  “Eat, baby.�
��

  Casey glanced at the spork loaded with the dark jell. “Nasty, daddy.”

  “Not nasty, Casey. Tasty. See.” Erik slid the food into his mouth and chewed. “Hmmmmm.”

  “Nasty,” Casey said with a tone meant to end the argument. She shook her head and fed her toy rabbit a stalk of grass she plucked from the ground. “Nasty, nasty.”

  Erik rolled his eyes at Casey playing with the stuffed rabbit. He ate Casey’s breakfast one Sporkful at a time.

  Gladys arrived with her own MRE. “She eating, Erik?”

  Erik frowned as his heart ached for Moraine. “No, Gladys. Not a bite.”

  “Can I?”

  “Yea, sure.” He gave Gladys the package of beef stew.

  Gladys seized the bag, inhaled the contents and shivered. “Ew, Erik.”

  Erik smirked in mock annoyance. “You supposed to be helping me here.”

  Casey giggled. “Nasty.”

  “Yes, baby, nasty is the perfect word.” Gladys opened her bag and removed a plastic container of Mac and Cheese. “Do you eat Mac and Cheese, Casey?”

  “Yea.”

  “Yes,” Erik said, lifting his eyebrows at Casey.

  “Yes,” Casey said giving Erik an infectious smile.

  Gladys prepared her meal, dipped in her Spork, and scooped out a spoonful of noodles drowning in a yellow liquid disguised as cheese. “Try this.”

  Casey leaned forward and slurped up the grub.

  "Manners," Erik warned Casey.

  “Good girl,” Gladys said.

  Casey clapped, swallowed and formed her lips into an O, eager for more.

  A sharp pop echoed from the woods where the Saint Bernards carried off White. Everyone paused and rubbernecked at the sound. A Saint Bernard rushed into camp and presented himself to Black with a bow. Low barks and growls rose as members of the Cadre gathered.

  More gunfire crashed. Black and the Cadre raced into the trees and scrub, vanishing from sight.

  Erik flinched. “Moraine.”

  Gladys shifted. “What next? Lord, keep us safe.”