Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4]

by Smith, Nicholas Sansbury

  Raven hugged the ground as he scanned the woods down the slope. He could hear two voices and more snapping twigs somewhere to the southeast.

  He slung his bow over his back and pulled out his Glock. Then he slipped around another tree and moved his finger from the outside of the trigger guard. Creek was somewhere out there and moving into position.

  The woman in the flannel shirt and the man in the red poncho emerged in the dense trees below. Lindsey was walking between the two, but where the hell was the guy with the Old Navy sweatshirt?

  Raven swung his Glock toward a flash of motion to the southeast. He ducked just as the boom of the shotgun sounded. The blast slammed into the tree behind him, and splintering wood rained down onto his head. It was the second time he had almost lost his brains in the past hour. He wouldn’t get so lucky a third time.

  He dropped to his stomach and squeezed off two shots at the center of the Old Navy logo. Both rounds went wide, punching into the bark of an aspen tree to the man’s right.

  Another shot kicked up dirt to Raven’s left. He rolled away and pulled the trigger as soon as he had the sights lined up. This time the round hit the man’s shotgun. He stumbled backward, crazed eyes looking down at his weapon. The shock quickly passed and he brought it back up to fire.

  Gunfire cracked to the southwest—not handguns, but rifles. The shots distracted the man long enough for Creek to attack. A ball of fur slammed into his side and knocked him to the ground. The bastard screamed and jerked his arm as Creek tore at his sleeve.

  “Good boy,” Raven said with a grin. He pushed himself up and looked to the southwest, where Colton and Don were moving in with their AR-15s shouldered.

  The man in the red poncho got off a single shot with Lindsey’s pistol before a volley of 5.56mm rounds tore through his chest. He slammed into a tree and slid down the trunk, blood streaking down the bark in a sheet.

  The woman screeched in a primal voice and took off running for Colton. Lindsey stuck out her foot and tripped her. She landed on the ground face first, her flannel shirt a mess of mud and pine needles.

  Don strode forward with his rifle aimed at her head.

  “Stay down!” he shouted.

  Colton went to check the man in the red poncho. He had slumped to the dirt, unmoving. Colton kicked the gun away and then walked back over to Lindsey and un-cuffed her. The detective rubbed her chafed wrists, scowling at the woman on the ground.

  “You’re lucky they showed up!” Lindsey shouted, kicking at the dirt. “I would have killed you.”

  “Detective Plymouth, go pick up your weapon,” Colton ordered. She hesitated and Colton arched his brows. That got Lindsey moving. She walked away from the woman, who was now crying while Don cuffed her.

  Satisfied that they had the situation under control, Raven jogged over to Creek and the third kidnapper. The Akita stood over him, snarling, with a chunk of the man’s shirt in his maw.

  “Call him off,” the man begged. “Please!”

  Raven grabbed the shotgun off the ground and waited a few more satisfying seconds before ordering Creek to stop. By the time the dog obeyed, Don had the woman cuffed and Colton was running over toward Raven with Lindsey.

  “You okay, Raven?” Colton asked.

  Lindsey grunted. “So much for having my back.”

  “What?” Raven said. “I just saved your ass. I mean, these guys helped, but it was mostly me.”

  “Cut the shit. Both of you. All that matters is everyone’s okay and that we got these sons of bitches,” Colton said. “Detective, you’re lucky to be alive at all.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “They were using me as a hostage, but I have no doubt they would have killed me if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

  Creek let out a low whine and brushed up against Raven. He reached down and the dog proudly presented him with the ripped cloth from the man’s sweatshirt.

  “It’s okay, boy, you did good. You did really good.”

  The soft fur of his best friend usually helped calm Raven’s nerves, but his pulse continued to throb across his scratched, bruised body.

  “Thanks, Raven,” Lindsey said like she actually meant it. She bent down to pet Creek. “And thanks to you, too, handsome boy.”

  Raven had to chuckle. Even his dog had better luck with the ladies than he did.

  ***

  Colton opened the back door of the Jeep outside the rear entrance to the police station.

  “Get out,” he snarled.

  Milo Todd and his sister, Cindy, scooted across the seat and out onto the pavement with their hands cuffed behind their backs. Colton could smell their body odor from where he stood. They were both filthy, and Cindy was bleeding from her shoulder.

  “I need a doctor,” she said.

  Lindsey laughed. “Get in line. There are plenty of people in need of medical attention right now that haven’t killed police officers.”

  Don parked Jake’s pickup truck in the stall to the right of the Jeep, giving Colton a view of the corpse in the back. Eric Thornton, a friend of Milo and Cindy, lay in the back of the truck. The man’s red poncho was soaked with blood from the bullet wounds that had ended his life.

  Colton refrained from spitting on the body. He needed to be a role model in front of his officers, but it was hard to stay professional. These people had killed a good man, not out of self-preservation or some misguided cause, but simply to feed their addiction.

  He grabbed Milo under the arm and pulled him away from the Jeep. “Let’s go, asshole.”

  “Hey!” Milo protested.

  “Shut up,” Colton growled.

  Officer Matthew directed Cindy toward the building. Nathan, Lindsey, Raven, and Creek stood watching them lead the prisoners across the parking lot. Behind them, a small crowd of citizens had gathered on the street outside Bond Park.

  “Keep them back!” Colton shouted.

  Detective Tim Ryburn and Officer Sam Hines hurried over to the park.

  “Take them inside, Don,” Colton said.

  As soon as the door shut behind them, Colton stalked through the parking lot away from Bond Park. He needed a moment to breathe and a moment to think alone. He passed the H1 Hummer and moved around the side of the station, where he had a view of Prospect Mountain. What he really wanted was a cigarette, but he’d smoked the last one when they were putting the spare tire on Jake’s pickup truck. With the nation’s infrastructure broken, there wouldn’t be any more cigarettes delivered. Maybe it was just as well.

  “Chief? Can I have a word?”

  He sighed. Colton should have known better than to think he would have a moment of peace and quiet. Nathan limped around the corner, holding his cast with his good hand.

  “I’m sorry about Officer Nelson,” Nathan said. “I wish I’d been able to stop what happened that afternoon.”

  “Me too,” Colton said. “It’s time I start realizing that evil doesn’t give you a second chance.”

  Colton eyed the aerial tramway at the top of the mountain. He still hadn’t fully dealt with the events that had occurred there, and he wasn’t sure if he would anytime soon. Throughout the day, he found himself wanting to ask Jake’s opinion or share a joke, and then he’d remember all over again that his best friend was dead.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask of you, Chief,” Nathan said.

  Colton stiffened and faced Nathan. “What’s that?”

  “Remember that gear you promised me?”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly.

  “I’m going to need it. Some soldiers took my nephew before the Marines got to the Easterseals camp.”

  “What do you mean they took him?”

  “Apparently some soldiers showed up, shot two camp counselors, and went off with a bunch of the kids.”

  Colton wiped his forehead with a sleeve. He was so goddamned tired. It was hard to think. “Why would they…unless…do you think they knew who your nephew is?”

  “I highly doubt that, but it’s possi
ble. Either way, I’m heading out to track Ty down.”

  Colton’s day kept getting worse. They were already stretched thin on resources, but Nathan had risked his life to help him catch Brown Feather and Turtle. He couldn’t let the pilot down now.

  “Hold here a minute,” Colton said. He walked back to the corner and looked around the side of town hall. Raven and Creek were still outside the back entrance to the police station with Lindsey.

  “Raven, come here a second,” Colton called out.

  Raven trotted over with Creek in tow. “What’s up, Chief?”

  “I’ve got another mission for you and Creek.”

  — 6 —

  After years of being poked and prodded by doctors in hospitals, the sight of needles no longer bothered Ty. He watched Dr. Rollins insert the needle into his upper arm without even flinching.

  “Tetanus shot,” Dr. Rollins said. “Just to be safe. The General wants to make sure you’re as healthy as a horse.”

  A bank of lights overhead illuminated Ty’s skinny legs dangling over the elevated bed. His skin was so pale he could see his veins. Sometimes his legs didn’t feel like a part of him, and other times he could almost feel them. Today was one of those days. He willed them to work, to stand up and run away from this man.

  Dr. Rollins forced a smile full of yellow teeth. “Almost done,” he said.

  Ty looked out the open door into the main medical facility. Several of the other kids were there sitting in chairs, waiting to be treated. Micah and Emma, the two kids from the road, were shivering together on a bench. He shared a room with them now. There were also Tim, Jack, Shana, and Rhonda from the Easterseals camp. The other children were being held in a different room than Ty, and the men wouldn’t let him talk to them.

  For some reason, the General wanted Ty to be looked at first. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten special treatment because of his mom, but he never felt good about it.

  “Help them,” Ty insisted, pointing at the siblings. Emma had already thrown up twice since they got to the Castle. “They need it, I don’t.”

  “Soon, I promise.” He shifted his glasses up to look at the other kids and then shut the door, sealing them inside the small room with a click.

  Ty wanted to believe that Dr. Rollins was a good person. He didn’t have tattoos or a shaved head like the soldiers. He decided to take a chance and ask some questions.

  “What is this place?” Ty asked.

  “Med ward,” the doctor said, distracted by writing something down on a pad.

  “No, I mean what’s the Castle?”

  Dr. Rollins looked at the window at the top of the metal door and then crossed to a glass cabinet. He pulled out several pill bottles, set them down, and looked over his shoulder at the window again.

  “Your mom is really Senator Montgomery?”

  Ty nodded. He waited for a response, but Dr. Rollins continued working. He counted out some pills onto a tray, grabbed a bottle of water, and returned to the exam table.

  “Take these,” he said.

  “No,” Ty said. “Not until you answer my questions.”

  Dr. Rollins glanced at the window again. A tattooed man with a sharp nose strode by the room and stopped just outside the door. Rollins turned back to Ty and held the pills out.

  “Please, just take them,” he said. There was fear and sadness in the old man’s eyes. Ty knew then he wasn’t bad like the other soldiers.

  “I’ll take them if you answer my questions,” Ty whispered. “I promise not to tell anyone we talked.”

  Dr. Rollins waited for the man outside to walk away. “You’re going to get me into trouble.”

  “I promise I won’t tell. What is this place, and why am I here? I want to go home.”

  The doctor checked the window a third time. “You don’t tell anyone this. Okay? I mean anyone.”

  Ty nodded firmly, and Dr. Rollins continued in a hushed voice. “The Castle is the Sons of Liberty’s home base. General Fenix started building it and stockpiling supplies here years ago for his army.”

  “Army?” Ty asked. “So what do they need me for? I can’t fight.”

  Dr. Rollins frowned. “You’re not going to fight for his army, son. You’re going to help him build it.”

  ***

  Charlize sat in the troop hold of a Seahawk helicopter, tucked between a team of Navy SEALs and Albert. They had just taken off from the roof of a hospital in Palm Beach after being diverted earlier that day. The pilots were taking them to a secure location President Diego had picked after the evacuation from the USS John Stennis.

  On the horizon was the aircraft carrier. Clint’s body was still on board, and they hadn’t been able to hold a remembrance ceremony for him. Leaving without saying goodbye broke her heart—not that there was much of it left intact to break.

  “That’s not Clint down there anymore. His soul is in a better place, and if you have anything to say to him, he can still hear you,” Albert said, as if he could read her mind. He put his massive hand over hers. “Try not to worry about Ty, either. I bet this is all just a misunderstanding and he’ll be home soon.”

  “Hard not to worry, but thank you,” Charlize said. She doubted Albert was right, but she had to hold onto hope that maybe this was some sort of mistake. Maybe it had been the Colorado National Guard or another unit who had picked up the kids. She could get a call any minute explaining the mix up.

  Charlize reached up and dabbed her burned forehead with the medicated gel she kept in her pocket. The pulsing pain was really starting to bother her, resulting in a headache that had settled behind her eyes. The constant rattle from the rotors overhead didn’t help. She should have taken her medicine before leaving the ship.

  Albert watched her from the side, concerned but keeping quiet. He had severe burns too, and had never complained once. He had lost his entire family—his wife, two daughters, brother, and mother-in-law—in the blast that leveled D.C., and he had hardly said a word about it since. She could see he was hurting deep down, beneath the layers of muscle and grit.

  “How are you doing, Big Al?” she asked.

  He managed a smile. “I’m all right, ma’am.”

  “I’m so sorry about your family.”

  “Not your fault, ma’am.”

  “If you ever want to talk to me—”

  “I know,” Albert interrupted. It was his way of saying not now. He looked away to scan the interior of the troop hold. He was easily the biggest man there, but he wasn’t a trained killer like the Navy SEALs. The men, in turn, all averted their gaze from Charlize and Albert. They were either anxious at the presence of the Secretary of Defense or else their minds were simply elsewhere. She had a feeling it was the latter. Her own mind was racing like the F-18 Hornets still peeling off the deck of the USS John Stennis.

  Every head turned to watch the fighters scream away, one at a time, from the aircraft carrier. One squadron fanned out to sea while the other tore off to Palm Beach. The Seahawk was following a dozen other helicopters in the same direction.

  Charlize eyed the Osprey carrying President Diego, which was sandwiched between the small fleet of choppers. The other birds buzzed around it like wasps protecting their queen. She cupped her hands over her headset as the F-18s roared past them.

  “Aren’t those Hornets going the wrong way?” Charlize shouted over the thump of the rotors.

  Senior Chief Petty Officer Fernandez, a handsome Latino man with a graying mustache, looked in her direction with the hardened, non-judgmental gaze of a career warrior who had seen action all over the world.

  “They’re heading toward the line, Madame Secretary,” he said.

  “What line is that, Chief?” Albert asked.

  “The line separating paradise from hell,” Fernandez said without emotion.

  “Florida has been cut in half by an invisible border just south of Orlando. The grid north of it is down,” Charlize explained.

  Fernandez nodded. “That line is a m
oving target. We’ve already had to fall back in several areas. We’re headed to Highway 4 after we drop you off at Constellation.”

  “It seems to me they need men of your caliber for more important missions than holding security on a highway,” Charlize said, frowning.

  “There are a hundred thousand refugees pouring in from the north, Madame Secretary. We’re needed to help coordinate the units there,” he said.

  Charlize could feel Albert looking over at her, but he remained silent, too. He went back to tapping his burned Air Jordans, and Charlize lost herself in her thoughts.

  The number of refugees was staggering, and it would only get worse. It was hard to picture when she looked at the city below. While the streets were busy, vehicles were still moving and the grid was still working. There was no sign of looting or riots, no sign of people suffering from radiation poisoning.

  It won’t last, she thought. The refugees would kill to get down here. It was all about self-preservation now.

  Charlize shook her head. The country was collapsing after less than a week.

  To the east, the North Korean submarines were watching it all unfold. They were hiding in their subs, but they would have to surface for fuel eventually, and when they did, she would nail them with the HSM squadrons.

  But even with the North Korean threat eradicated, the country would still be tearing itself apart. Her job as Secretary of Defense was to try and hold it all together, and do it while she was losing her mind with worry.

  “Madame Secretary,” one of the pilots said over the comms. “Lieutenant Marco is on the line requesting to speak with you.”

  “Patch her through,” Charlize replied. She pushed the mini-mic to her lips and tried to remain calm. The XO of the USS John Stennis was her lifeline to Nathan and Dupree now that she didn’t have access to a radio.

  “Ma’am,” Marco said. “I have a SITREP for you. Lieutenant Dupree is heading southwest over Interstate 70. There’s still no sign of Falcon. The pilots have about an hour of fuel left. Then they’ll need to fly east to refuel and drop that sick boy off at Buckley Air Force Base.”