“That will be all, Hacker. I’ll take over now,” the man said.
With a nod, Hacker moved out of his boss’s way.
“I’ve met Hacker, so what the fuck is your nickname? Crazy Horse?” Fenix asked.
Hacker stepped forward, drawing a buck knife, but the well-dressed man held up a hand. “Hacker’s been instrumental in collecting many debts over the years for me. I really don’t think you want to see how good he is with his tools.”
“Yeah, I get the point, but that’s a pretty stupid name if you ask me,” Fenix said.
Hacker twirled the knife and said, “Please give me a few minutes with this asshole, sir.”
The man in the suit raised a hand to silence his subordinate. Hacker backed off immediately, and Fenix felt the first trickle of fear. Whoever this guy was, even the knife-toting psycho respected him.
“So who the hell are you?” Fenix asked with furrowed brows.
Tightening his tie, the man directed his cold, bottomless gaze at Fenix. “You can call me Mr. Redford.”
***
Sandra sat on the swing on Raven’s porch. His land was on the edge of Rocky Mountain National Park. Aspen and ponderosa trees formed a natural fence around the yard. A creek meandered along the foothills. She listened to the trickle of water and the whispering wind as it worked its way through the canopy of trees.
Allie giggled as she chased Creek across the yard. The dog left tracks behind in the thin carpet of snow. It was getting colder by the day, and soon Sandra would be getting out her winter jacket and gloves. The thought of winter made her shiver, and she folded her arms across her fleece jacket.
A creaking sounded behind her as the front door swung open. Raven stepped out holding a jar of tea and a plate of crackers and elk jerky. He placed them both on the table within reach of the porch swing and then took a seat next to Sandra, letting out a relaxed sigh. She tried not to look at his battered hands. Sandra suspected that he’d busted his knuckles open interrogating the man who’d shot him. Still, the nurse in her reached out to check them.
“What am I going to do with you, Sam?” she asked.
Raven pulled his hand back and brought his fingers up to his sheared-off ear.
“Don’t touch it,” Sandra said. “If you get an infection, you’re going to lose the entire thing. Listen to my advice for once in your life.”
He lowered his hand. “I never ignore your advice. I just choose to go my own path.”
Sandra wagged her head and reached across Raven and plucked a couple of crackers off the plate. She popped one into her mouth. They were stale, but she didn’t care. They couldn’t afford to be picky about food these days.
“You’re going to get yourself killed, and then what are Allie and I going to do?”
“I’ve proven I can take care of myself,” he said.
“You’ve proven you’re tough as hell, but a man can only sustain so many broken bones and bruises before he ends up in a grave. How are your ribs, by the way?”
He patted his chest gently and shrugged. Then he hollered at Allie and Creek.
“You guys want something to eat?”
Sandra tried not to let her frustration bleed through, but every time her brother went on a scouting mission, she wondered if it was the last time she would see him. Now, more than ever, they needed to stick together. That’s what families did when times got tough.
Allie and Creek joined them on the porch, and for the first time in days, they sat sharing a meal and listening to the sounds of nature. Sandra decided to give up on talking to Raven about his Rambo antics and just enjoy the moment.
The sense of peace didn’t last.
A memory of the conversation with Teddy and Allie back in the hospital surfaced in her mind. She felt helpless to protect Allie from the death surrounding them. The wave of violence heading their way wasn’t going to stop, and Raven couldn’t protect them forever.
“Can we go play more?” Allie asked after a few minutes.
Sandra nodded. Grabbing a few more pieces of jerky, Allie then ran back out into the yard with Creek. Sandra and Raven sat in silence, watching the little girl and the dog, impossibly gentle no matter what Allie did.
“What do you plan to do next?” she asked after a while.
Raven rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn.
“I’m going to head up to Storm Mountain with Lindsey to see if we can get John Kirkus and his boys to form some sort of alliance or something.”
“And then what?” Sandra asked.
Raven glanced over at her. “We identify our weak points, secure our borders, make some friends, and prepare for what comes next.”
“Which is what?”
“War,” he said. “We have enemies on all sides. Estes Park is doing well, relatively speaking, and there’s a lot of people faring way worse than our town. I’m surprised we haven’t seen more refugees, to be honest.”
Sandra zipped her fleece jacket up to her chin, suddenly freezing. Her final question was the one she had been dreading to ask, but she had to know.
“Do you still plan on going after Nile Redford and that Nazi asshole?”
Raven leaned back on the swing, the wood creaking.
“My priority is to keep you and Allie safe.”
Sandra smiled at his response. Maybe she could even convince Raven to give up his quest to kill Redford and Fenix. She hated Fenix for killing Nathan, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her brother too.
Her heart broke all over again when she thought of the pilot. They’d never had a chance to find out whether they had a future together. He’d been a good man—one of the best she’d ever met. And Fenix had taken him from her, just like Brown Feather had tried to take her daughter and Redford had taken the town’s supplies. There were too many men out there who took what they wanted without regard to the damage they did. If Raven kept going after them, he would end up dead, just like Nathan.
“What’s wrong?” Raven asked, sensing her sadness.
“Nothing, I was just thinking.”
Raven studied her for a moment, and then stood to stretch his back and arms. He stepped over to the porch stairs and looked back at her. “Now I have a question for you, sis.”
“What’s that?”
Raven pulled the Glock out of his waistband and held it up. “Which one of us is going to teach Allie to protect herself?”
— 13 —
Albert slowed to look at their reflection in a Radio Shack window as he passed by with Sergeant Flint, Corporal Van Dyke, and their new sidekick, Dave. Aside from the weapons the men carried, Albert and Flint looked like they were about to go on a Caribbean cruise. They were dressed in tight button-down shirts sporting palm trees and umbrellas. The only things missing were flip-flops and sunglasses. They were the only clothes Albert had found that actually fit him and the sergeant, and “fit” was not exactly the proper way to describe these jeans.
Albert loosened the belt another notch, but that didn’t help the fact the jeans were still several inches too short and far too tight in the legs, more like women’s Capri pants than anything. At least the shirt covered his body armor.
Thankfully Van Dyke had found something that didn’t look ridiculous. He wore an Under Armor shirt and cargo pants, and his backpack was stuffed full of their night vision goggles and extra magazines.
They were an odd-looking bunch, and Albert was starting to wonder if they wouldn’t have been better off wearing their fatigues or simply staying put until nightfall. Sergeant Flint however, had been adamant about getting back to the SC as soon as possible.
The group cut through alleyways, avoiding the roads on their way to the apartment building where Albert hoped to find his sister. He looked up at the gray sky, wondering what time it was. The team had already wasted time looking for more clothes and then another two hours avoiding the groups of civilians prowling through the streets. They’d had to stop several times to change Flint’s dressings. His wound wa
s still bleeding, and the threat of infection had Albert worried.
A gunshot cracked in the distance, but none of the group, not even Dave, stopped to take cover. They were all used to the noise now.
“When do I get a gun?” Dave asked.
“Frodo had a sword, not a gun,” Albert replied. Dave had already decided he was the Hobbit hero of the group, since he was the shortest.
“Okay, then I want a sword.”
Flint and Van Dyke both chuckled, but Albert stopped and turned to Dave. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his tactical knife. Dave’s eyes widened and his lips curled into a grin that showed off his missing teeth.
“Can I have it? Does it glow when bad guys are around?” Dave asked.
“No, it doesn’t glow,” Albert said when he realized Dave was serious. “Don’t take it out of the sheath unless I tell you.”
Dave picked up the knife, holding it aloft in both hands reverently, like it was a holy relic. “Thank you, Mr. Big Al.”
“Come on,” Flint said.
They continued onward, walking casually but cautiously. Flint and Van Dyke avoided flashing hand signals or talking in military lingo. Instead, the sergeant and corporal played the part of lost tourists trying to make their way out of the city, something they had discussed before leaving the apartment earlier.
So far it was working.
The people on the street paid them little attention. The only thing that could possibly give them away was their rifles, but pretty much everyone was armed out here. Only a few civilians looked in their direction. From the conversations they overheard, it seemed like the majority of people were heading toward the SC or out of the city.
“They were giving out food last night,” Albert heard a woman say as they passed her. The dark-skinned woman had two small children with her, a boy and a girl, their hands gripped tightly in hers. “They might do it again today, so we’ve got to go see.”
“But we have to wait for daddy,” the girl said.
The woman didn’t respond as she hurried down the sidewalk away from Albert and his team. He considered warning her against going to the SC, but they were so close to his sister’s apartment and he had his hands full with Dave. The kid had stopped to look at a pile of trash on the side of the street, bending down to examine something while the soldiers continued down the sidewalk.
“Let’s go,” Albert said.
Dave looked up with his fingers clamped on his nose. “It smells out here.”
“So stop sniffing everything like a dog,” Flint said. He waved them toward the street corner that Van Dyke was already approaching.
Two Caucasian men and a woman were hanging out on the patio at the abandoned Starbucks. Albert, in police mode, scanned them for weapons, but he didn’t see any on them or in the bags they had stowed under the metal tables. The trio looked in his direction briefly, but then went back to talking.
A skirt of glass surrounded the front entrance where someone had thrown a chair through the window. From a quick glance, Albert could see the coffee shop had been raided weeks earlier. Another group of civilians caught his attention across the street. The man leading the group held a shotgun, and one of the women had a pistol tucked in her waistband. The man dipped his head at Albert, and Albert returned the respectful but wary gesture.
In some ways, trekking through Charlotte was like being in the Wild West, where everyone was packing heat and no one knew who they could trust.
Albert looked back at the people sitting outside Starbucks. He gripped his own carbine tighter and looked for weapons again, even more suspicious now that he didn’t see any. One of them was smoking a joint, filling the air with the scent of marijuana.
Dave skipped alongside them, clutching the sheathed blade in both hands, oblivious to all the possible threats around them. He no longer seemed to care that Albert and the soldiers had taken his dad’s clothing. He’d retreated into his own little fantasy world and seemed to be enjoying his role as an adventurer for now. But the kid was going to crash eventually, especially when it sank in that his parents weren’t coming home.
“We’re hobbits, Mr. Big Al,” Dave was saying. “Hobbits need a second breakfast, and I’m hungry. Can we stop for some taters?”
Flint glared over his shoulder. “Shut up, kid. You’re driving me crazy.”
“Yes, sir,” Dave said, halting to throw up a salute.
Flint pointed to the set of old apartment buildings at the end of the next block. They were at least five decades older than the more modern construction around the area. Albert’s twin sister had always enjoyed older things—books, architecture, hot rods…men.
“That’s our target,” Flint said.
“Just a little bit farther until we’re home,” said the corporal loudly, playing the part of civilians in case anyone was listening.
Dave stopped next to Albert and looked up at him. “We’re adding your sister to the fellowship now?” he asked curiously.
“I sure hope so, buddy.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dave said, his brown eyes lighting up with excitement. “Lady Big Al needs rescuing!”
Albert smiled. He was really starting to like Dave.
They continued down the sidewalk, approaching the intersection.
“Those are some nice machine guns,” said one of the men sitting on the Starbucks patio.
Flint and Van Dyke stopped in the intersection while Albert hung back with Dave on the sidewalk. The two men and the woman stood and blocked the path in front of them, but their attention was on Van Dyke and Flint.
“What’s in the bags?” asked the woman. He guessed she was in her twenties, but too much tanning and substance abuse had added an extra ten years to her appearance.
“None of your business,” Flint said.
The two men grinned. Albert scanned them again, but they wore long sleeves and pants that hid any potential gang tattoos. The guy on the left had a black stocking cap on, and the one on the right wore a Panthers hat.
“Those automatic rifles?” asked the guy with the stocking cap.
“Sure looks like ’em, Johnny,” said Panthers hat.
“Military-issue M4s with suppressors,” Johnny said. “Where’d y’all get those, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I said it’s none of your business,” Flint said. He waved at Albert. “Come on, man.”
The two men and their female friend turned to look at Albert and Dave.
“Oh, you got one of them fancy guns, too,” the woman said.
Van Dyke and Flint both raised their rifles, and Flint jerked his chin at Albert, a sign that said, Get your ass moving.
“Stay behind me,” Albert whispered to Dave.
Instead of keeping back and silent, Dave waved and held up his knife in the other hand. “Do you like my sword? I’m gonna use it to slay Orcs!”
The trio blocking the sidewalk all burst out laughing. Flint shook his head and shot Albert a glare, but Albert’s focus flitted to the woman, who was reaching for something in her backpack. Van Dyke saw it at the same moment.
“Don’t fucking move!” yelled the corporal.
She slowly withdrew her hand and said, “You’re them soldiers the Latin Kings are looking for, aren’t ya?”
Flint and Van Dyke trained their guns on her.
“Step away from your bag, ma’am,” Flint said.
“You sound like a soldier or a cop,” she replied. “We don’t like either.”
Her two companions both took a step forward, and Albert moved his finger to the trigger guard of his rifle. He quickly searched the area. The African-American man with a shotgun that they had passed earlier was looking in their direction.
Potential combatants on all sides, Albert thought.
There were more civilians down the street, and several of them were armed. Only a block separated him from the building where he hoped to find his sister, and he had a feeling all hell was about to break loose.
&nbs
p; “Those guys you killed have powerful friends, and they put a nice price tag on your heads,” said the guy with the Panthers hat.
The woman snickered. “They’re going to skin you alive when they find you. Then they’re going to hang you.”
Johnny wagged his finger twice. “Or burn you alive.”
Van Dyke backpedaled, trying to put distance between himself and the trio. Flint motioned for Albert with one hand, but kept his other on his carbine.
“We didn’t kill anyone,” Van Dyke said. “We’re just trying to get home.”
“Right,” replied the woman. “Well, you better be on your way then.”
Johnny clicked his tongue like a handler would to a horse. “Go on and get outta here.”
Van Dyke and Flint continued to move away slowly, but as soon as Flint turned, Panthers hat suddenly reached behind his back, earning himself a three-round burst to the chest from Van Dyke’s rifle that sent the guy crashing into the metal tables.
“No!” the woman screamed. She pulled a knife from her bag and lunged at Flint, who dropped her with a single shot to the skull. Johnny managed to pull out a Glock before Albert took him down with a burst to the chest.
He fell to his knees, gasping for air, his eyes locked on Albert.
“You…” he wheezed.
Albert didn’t let him finish the sentence. He squeezed the trigger again, firing a round into the center of his stocking cap that sent him crashing backward. The shock of seeing his brains on the ground made Albert freeze.
Dave stood paralyzed too, mouth agape. A stream of piss trickled down his jeans. Somehow, he’d kept hold of the knife, but it hung loosely by his side.
“Move it, Randall!” Flint shouted.
Albert snapped out of the trance, grabbed the boy, and pulled him past the carnage. The other soldiers ran from the intersection with their rifles shouldered. Shouts and screams rang out from all directions as they bolted around stalled cars.
Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4] Page 68