The boy stopped near the shelter, panting from his sprint. Ray slipped the backpack off and set it back inside his tent, and then turned to Kelsey with a steady expression.
“What’s up, little man?” Ray asked.
“The bastards took Dave,” Kelsey spat. Dave was Kelsey’s only family, although he couldn’t remember whether he was a cousin or brother.
“Damn. Any idea why?”
“The lead one was jabbering something about the other Chinese.”
Ray showed no sign of surprise. “What did he say?”
“He kept asking where they were.”
“Was that the one with the pistol?”
Kelsey nodded. “Right. He wanted to know what happened to them, but nobody knows.”
“What does Dave have to do with any of that?”
The urchin shrugged. “Beats me. But after nobody answered his question, the soldiers grabbed anyone that looked strong, I guess. He was just in the wrong place…”
“They didn’t say why?”
“The one with the pistol said they were our new masters, and we had to work to keep them happy. Then he screamed about the other Chinese until he was blue in the face.”
Ray’s expression darkened. “Work? How?”
“He didn’t explain.” Kelsey twisted at the ragged bottom of a T-shirt that was more holes than fabric. “We’ve got to do something, Ray.”
“If they want workers, they probably aren’t going to hurt them. That would make no sense.”
Kelsey only looked slightly less worried. Ray reached into his pocket, retrieved a 9mm round, and held it out for the little boy to take. Kelsey moved fast as a striking snake and the bullet vanished from Ray’s hand. The beginning of a smile played across Ray’s face and froze at the sound of a dozen rifles firing from within the town.
Kelsey’s prematurely aged face hardened. “They’re killing ’em.”
“Could be one made a run for it or something.”
Kelsey shook his head, unconvinced. “No. They’re murderers.”
“Sure are. But right now we’d do best not to antagonize them, Kelsey. Keep your head down, and let me know what else you hear, okay?”
“We should have left yesterday. We talked about it, but Dave thought we might be able to get work from them.” Kelsey hesitated. “He called that one wrong.”
“Stay out of sight, and don’t mouth off if you run across any of them, do you hear?”
“I’m never going to see Dave again, am I?” the urchin asked, with the stoic fatalism of one for whom atrocities were an everyday occurrence.
“Too early to say, little man. Remember – if you hear anything else you think I would want to know, stuff like patrol schedules, or if anyone sees anything suspicious, there are more bullets where that one came from.”
Kelsey nodded, but didn’t say anything. He trudged away, his body language conveying defeat, broken by the loss of Dave and with no hope of evening the score. Ray sympathized, but there was nothing he could do, so he headed for the shelter of his tent to attempt to rest some more, his mind churning at the sudden unpleasant development.
Chapter 15
Jeb and Lucas watched the shallow rapids frothing white over submerged rocks, trying to gauge the current. The sun had been reluctant to burn off the cloud cover, and the water was a churning morass swollen by the storm’s passage. The surge would be treacherous if they picked their crossing point poorly. Lucas raised his binoculars and studied the far bank, taking his time, allowing his gaze to roam until he could see no further, reassuring himself that they weren’t going to be picked off by any hostiles while exposed midstream.
“What do you think?” Jeb murmured from beside Lucas.
Lucas had grown increasingly worried about Jeb as the day wore on. He’d caught the big man mumbling to himself several times and didn’t like the wild light in his eyes. He supposed the one-sided dialog could have been prayer, but Lucas disliked wild cards, and Jeb was shaping up to be a significant one. He’d reminded Jeb that he wasn’t to do anything stupid, but something about Jeb’s agreement sounded hollow, although Lucas couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Now, after spending the better part of the morning following the river, they were moving farther from their goal, not closer, and Lucas’s patience was wearing thin.
“Looks iffy. No telling how deep that is in the middle.” Lucas paused. “You sure this is the best spot?”
Jeb shrugged. “I told you it’s been forever since I fished it. And the storm’s got it overflowing.”
Lucas didn’t reply, seeing no reason to agree with the obvious.
They had stayed well clear of the road that traced the river’s route and, other than the occasional husk of a home in ruins, seen nothing but brush, hills, and the occasional bird or rabbit. But Lucas’s compass was warning that they couldn’t continue along the easterly running river forever; each mile took them further from Astoria in country that wouldn’t be an easy trek.
The horses were holding up well, their pace barely above an amble, but Lucas didn’t want Tango worn out if he needed to do some hard riding, and traversing the hilly terrain in the hopes of finding a better crossing point was a challenge the animals didn’t need.
“Well, about half the day’s over, and we’re running in circles,” Lucas said. “Might as well try our luck here.”
“Doesn’t look too bad,” Jeb said, but his tone betrayed uncertainty. “You want to go first, or should I?”
“Guess it doesn’t much matter. If your horse gets away from you, make for me. I’ll do the same.” Lucas spit to the side and adjusted his hat, pushing the brim down low on his forehead. “Here goes nothing.”
Lucas pressed Tango to the water’s edge and, after a final look around, urged him into the flow, the reins tight in his gloved hand, his M4 in the other. The big stallion began moving across to what to Lucas looked like the most promising point, but was quickly up to his belly in rushing current, obviously struggling to remain upright. Lucas allowed him to find more secure footing, relying on the horse’s instinct to make it to the far side, the only sounds the sucking of the water as it pulled at Tango and the caw of a raven wheeling overhead.
After two near misses where Tango almost slipped, they were ascending the bank on the other side, and it was Jeb’s turn to navigate the current. Lucas waited astride Tango, alternating watching Jeb and scanning the surroundings to ensure they weren’t bushwhacked. In spite of a harrying stumble midstream, the big man emerged from the water unharmed, although his horse looked as resentful at the chilly forced baptism as Ruby’s mule Jax.
“What now?” Jeb asked as Lucas consulted his compass.
“Now we try to make up for a lot of lost time.”
“We can risk the road now that we’re across,” Jeb suggested. “Shouldn’t be anyone on it this close to town.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not a good idea. We do this the hard way.”
“Why?” Jeb pressed. “Anybody who wanted to follow the townspeople would have tried by now, wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe,” Lucas allowed. “But there are still plenty of black hats who would take us both out for our horses and weapons. We do this my way, even if it means we’re on the trail longer.”
“Sure,” Jeb said bitterly. “What’s the hurry? It’s not your wife and girl.”
Lucas didn’t honor the outburst with a comment and instead drove Tango toward the trees, indifferent to his travel companion’s displeasure. The man was under substantial stress, and Lucas saw no reason to make it any worse with a confrontation. If fate favored him, the blind anger would burn itself out as Jeb tired from the trip, but so far that hadn’t happened, and Lucas was wary of the big man’s angry tone, which could foreshadow instability at a critical time.
The afternoon wind sliced through them both, drying their pants with bracing cold as Lucas followed the compass needle. The sky darkened from another bank of storm clouds just as they arrived at a small access road th
at ran north, and Lucas relented on his commitment to stay off all paved surfaces as the hour grew later.
When the drizzle started, it was icy, and Lucas was glad for the warmth of his flak jacket and the long trail coat he wore over it. The clomp of the horses’ hooves on the asphalt drummed a contretemps to the patter of rain, and Lucas had to fight the urge to check his watch every few minutes.
By Lucas’s reckoning, they were nearing the final stretch on their approach to Astoria as the road flattened. They skirted the rusting chassis of a flatbed truck, rounded a bend, and found themselves facing a patrol of six heavily armed Chinese on foot a hundred yards away, assault rifles in hand.
“Lucas–” Jeb warned, and Lucas cut him off with a hand gesture.
“Get ready to ride hard,” Lucas warned, wanting to see whether the patrol let them pass or behaved aggressively.
He got his answer when the lead man pointed at them through the drizzle and the soldiers raised their rifles.
“This way,” Lucas hissed, and spurred Tango hard right while ducking down against him, making for a more difficult target. Jeb followed just as shots rang out, shredding the leaves around them, and then they were in the forest, away from the hostile fire.
Lucas pressed Tango hard and only slowed after a few minutes. The shooting had stopped within moments of their bolting from the road and quiet had returned, only the steady splash of drops around them marring the silence. Lucas looked over his shoulder at Jeb to confirm that he was unhurt, and then drew to a stop.
“Almost got us,” Jeb said.
Lucas nodded and noted Jeb’s arm, where a round had burned through his upper sleeve. “Looks like they winged you.”
Jeb inspected the bullet hole and shrugged. “Didn’t even feel it. Missed my arm.”
“Lucky.”
“Or blessed.”
Lucas frowned. “You just saw one of the reasons to stay off the road.”
“That answers any questions about whether they’re going to allow us to live in peace, though, doesn’t it?”
“I never had that question.”
“Which makes Mary and Rosemary’s situation that much worse.”
“Lot of assumptions there. They might be fine. Could have made it out before the Chinese arrived, and had some kind of issue.”
“Like what?”
“Problem getting to the horses, for one. Maybe one of them got hurt. Could be anything.” Lucas sighed and flipped his compass from his jacket pocket. “I wouldn’t assume the worst.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Lucas regarded him. “Ruby is like family to me, Jeb. Might want to tone down the anger a few notches. I’m not the enemy. I’m just saying that we have to be smart about how we approach whatever we find. And it’s hard to think clearly if you’re panicking.”
“I’m not panicked.”
Lucas nodded again. “See that you stay that way. Judging by the warm welcome we just got from the Chinese, you’re going to need your wits about you.”
“The only thing that saved us was the rain.”
“That’s right.”
“You think they have a radio?”
“I’m sure of it. How much effort they’ll put into tracking us is a different story. We’re just a couple of trail bums, as far as they can tell.”
“And they’re on foot.”
“In the rain. But I want to get to Astoria before nightfall, so best to keep riding.”
“How much farther you reckon it is?”
“Five miles, maybe six.”
“It took us most of the day to make it fifteen.”
“It is what it is.”
Jeb looked around with a resigned expression and felt his coat sleeve absently. “Which way?”
Lucas slipped the compass back into his pocket and pointed to their left. “Over there.”
Chapter 16
Ten miles south of Salem, Oregon
A tall man in his early forties, his face dusted with three days’ growth of a dark beard tinged with silver, peered through one of the firing slots in the perimeter wall of the compound he was responsible for protecting and regarded the spectacle on the other side. At least a hundred members of the Portland biker gang encircled the collection of buildings where he and his fellows lived in peace; their survivalist backgrounds had bonded them in the post-collapse apocalypse, their like-minded focus on preparation and self-reliance differentiating them from the folks who’d stayed in Salem.
“What do you think, Moon?” the man beside him asked.
“They look like they’re loaded for bear, Gil.”
Moon made a fist, his eyes never leaving the assembled horde. “Why pick on us? We’re nobody.”
“I heard tell they locked down Salem,” Gil said. “They probably want to crush any potential trouble spots.”
“Either that or they’re just mean shits who want power for the hell of it,” Moon growled. He shook his head. “They’re going to find out they bit off more than they can chew.”
“There’s a lot more of them than there are of us,” Gil observed.
“Doesn’t matter. A thirty-round clip will make short work of them.”
“And when they send more?”
Moon looked at his companion. “You scared?”
“Not me. Just curious what we do when five hundred of ’em show up in the dead of night.”
“That won’t happen if we make this painful enough.”
“Maybe. Or maybe they’ll view it as a challenge to their power. Something they need to make an example out of.” Gil hesitated. “We’ve heard the stories.”
Moon shrugged. “We’re fortified. We have our own water and food. Fighters who know what they’re doing. It would take an army to break us.”
“Not arguing with you. Just saying.”
A hirsute man with a long black beard and a faded green bandana tied over his head stepped from the mass of bikers and walked toward the compound, his flak vest lending him the appearance of a bear in a suit jacket. When he was within shouting distance, he stopped and glared at the walls as though he could see through reinforced concrete.
“You in there! You have five minutes to throw out your weapons and open the gates. After that, everyone inside’s dead.”
Moon swallowed hard, handed Gil his rifle, and leaned forward into the firing slit.
“Got the wrong place, buddy,” he yelled. “I can take the top of your head off before you make it back to your homies.”
The man grinned as though the idea of being killed were amusing.
“Do that and everyone dies. No five minutes,” he shouted back. “Women, children, everybody. Scorched earth.”
“Big talk for a guy with twenty guns trained on him.”
The biker made an elaborate show of looking at his watch. “Now down to four minutes, forty seconds.”
Gil leaned into Moon. “Take him out?”
Moon shook his head. “He’s too confident.” Moon studied the bikers, and when he called out again, there was steel in his voice. “We haven’t done anything to you. Leave us alone unless today’s the day you want to die.”
“That’s not an option. We’ve taken over Salem. You’re part of the area. You now have four minutes and thirty seconds.”
“Then you have about that long to live,” Moon shouted back. “Make your peace.”
“You don’t open the gate and toss your weapons, we lob a hundred grenades in there and keep lobbing them until there’s nothing left. Then we come through the gate and kill anyone who might have hidden in a cellar. Nobody lives. That’s choice B.”
Moon and Gil exchanged a glance. “He’s bluffing,” Moon said.
“Maybe not,” Gil said, motioning at the periphery of the bikers.
Moon peered at them and the color drained from his face. “Crap.”
Gil swore under his breath. “What are we going to do?”
Both men recognized the grenade launcher tubes affixed to the assault rifles the bi
kers brandished. If they had those, they probably also had antitank rockets taken from the same armory – military issue to the National Guard.
“If we surrender, we’re as good as dead,” Moon said. The bikers were famous for abusing their slave labor.
“Versus actually being dead. Not sure I’m willing to trade whatever time I have left for a sure thing today,” Gil said in a quiet voice.
Moon frowned, indecision playing across his face. He closed his eyes for a long moment and sighed before opening them and calling back to the biker, “What assurances do we have that you won’t kill us?”
“Why would we? We need manpower. Lot of our people are sick. You’re not.”
“That’s not a guarantee.”
“I can guarantee that in three minutes you’ll all be dead. That’s my guarantee.”
“I should shoot him,” Gil whispered.
Moon shook his head. “No. Get Steve. This is his call.”
Gil looked as though he were ready to protest, but a glance at Moon’s face changed his mind. He handed Moon back his AK and took off at a dead run for one of the bunkers. When he returned at a sprint, he was accompanied by an older man with eyes the color of flint.
Moon gave the newcomer a short report and raised a brow when he finished. “What do you want to do, Steve?”
The leader of the enclave studied the biker through the slot. The man seemed as untroubled as a preacher at a Sunday picnic, his bearing relaxed as he studied his watch. Emotions played across Steve’s face, and then his mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Can they really hit us from there?”
“Probably. Even if half the first salvo falls short, the second won’t.”
“You see any way out?” Steve demanded.
“Not alive,” Moon said. “Either way, we’ve had a good run.”
“Damn,” Steve grumbled. “They have us, don’t they?”
Moon nodded. He knew the decision was the hardest Steve would ever make. He had a three-year-old son he doted on, and if he decided to go down fighting, he was signing his child’s death warrant.
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