by Angela White
Lightning flashed, bright enough to illuminate the tent, and then there was only darkness again and the heavy patter of the rain again. Kenn started to drift off while waiting for the inevitable crack of thunder.
Crunch.
Baamm!
Kenn’s eyes snapped open, moving to the scared teenager’s face in the darkness. Someone is out there!
Snap. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
There was an alarm for each breach, telling the Marine how many ambushers they had.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The two males reacted instantly, following the plan worked out before leaving the base ten days ago. Kenn slit a long gash in the tent wall and in the thick, black tarp over the MRAP. The boy immediately slid their things inside the vehicle, staying low in case gunfire broke out.
Footsteps came and the Marine inside took over, evaluating the threat and picking the proper action in seconds. Not rushing, but sneaking. If the intruders were unaware of breaking a perimeter alarm, then they weren’t professionals….
Snap!
Moving fast instead of carefully, the soft murmur of voices instead of the silence of hand signals…Kenn’s lip curled. Boots. They still had a chance.
Kenn waved the boy onto the truck’s floorboard and quickly got in behind him, adrenaline flowing in thick waves. Charlie started the engine without being told, and Kenn brought his M16 out as bright red lightning flashed in the far distance.
“They still have the truck!”
“Move in!”
“Get the boy! He’s what we want! Take the boy!”
Recognition came, and Kenn grinned coolly, kneeling in the seat. The tail from Fort Defiance he’d thought they had lost a week ago–seven moving targets in the darkness.
“You’ll have to take lead instead!” Kenn said as he rose up, throwing off the tarp. He fired twice, following their steps with his well-trained ears.
Charlie held the brake down with his palm and shifted them smoothly into drive, sticking to the set plan.
Men grunted and fired in the wet, cold darkness, and the Marine slid down.
Charlie hit the gas. The truck’s tires spun, fishtailing on a patch of ice as it lunged forward, spraying mud and clumps of locoweed.
“Get the bikes! We need his blood!”
“Shoot him!”
All of the men’s eyes were vivid in the dark and not right when the lightning and gun flash illuminated them, and their actions were jerky. Desperation made them reckless and they openly charged the truck.
“Now, boy!”
Charlie slammed both hands onto the brake.
As they slid to a wet, muddy stop, Kenn used the enemy’s noises to pinpoint their locations, now that they’d been drawn out.
The Marine fired five more deadly shots in the darkness, and then there was only the quiet engine and the damp, cold wind howling by them and the adobe buildings in the distance.
“Boo-yah, baby!”
“Are they dead?”
The boy’s tone wasn’t exactly calm, but Kenn was impressed with the control he had shown during the assault–the boy’s first. The Marine put the truck in park as the teenager shifted into the passenger seat.
“Give us some light and we’ll find out,” Kenn said, knowing they were. Each of them was a kill shot, but he was eager for even the boy’s approval since there was no one else around. He was alone with the sullen teenager, protecting them both without the attention and respect he craved. He would take what he could get.
Charlie used one of the umbrella torches they’d made before leaving the base, the glass tops giving each of the three small candles on the thin wooden board a small shelter from the elements. The boy held it high, taking it all in.
Kenn scanned their surroundings. Shrubs, junipers, patches of mud, tire-busters that he would be careful to avoid, and darkness–more of that than anything else.
Charlie gawked in shocked respect, feeling a bit sick. He surveyed the battlefield, warring emotions of comfort and guilt evident on his face. The seven bodies lay in two half circles, each one a clean shot into dirty camouflage uniforms and black ski masks. Considering the darkness Kenn had been shooting through, it was amazing to Charlie. Not one miss.
After a moment, Kenn sat down on the wet, hard seat, motioning for the boy to put out the light.
“We takin’ their stuff?”
“No. They’re sick. We’ll hit the redline for a click or two, then doze for a bit.”
“They wanted me? That’s why they’ve been following us?”
Kenn saw no reason to lie, and he pulled up his hood, indicating that the child do the same. Both males heard a distant dog barking miserably, but ignored it as another starving pet still chained in someone’s yard.
“Yes. Probably thought your blood would heal them. Crazy shit happens now, and women and kids are big targets. Stay close. It’ll get worse.”
2
The drab truck ran out of gas an hour later, and Kenn was sorry to leave it. He knew they’d been lucky to discover it at all. He still wasn’t sure why the EMPs hadn’t knocked it out too, but he assumed it had something to do with where it had been parked. The pulses didn’t seem to have traveled well through lead.
Kenn steered the coasting vehicle deep into a thicket of piñons, glad the sky was beginning to lighten. The rain fell steadily, the woods only dark, twisted shapes alongside the faint gray path of concrete as they loaded their things.
“All right, like we talked about–never more than three feet away in any direction. Got it?”
Charlie nodded distractedly, still thinking about the battle that Kenn’s military mind had no doubt already forgotten. The boy was having doubts, but kept his mouth shut. Kenn wouldn’t understand.
As they entered the city limits of Williamsburg, New Mexico, the sky lightened, and the two males had too much time to dwell on each horribly vivid detail of the landscape. There had never been a time for either of them (or the rest of the country) when even a single dead body had been left to decay on a sidewalk or street. Now there were hundreds, thousands, amid horrifically gruesome Christmas decorations, and if not for the constant gusts of wind, the smells would have been unbearable, even during winter.
It seemed that every business and home they passed had been destroyed or damaged, most with doors that had been kicked in. Almost nothing they passed was safe to use for shelter. That was another lesson they’d learned after Charlie had almost been stung by a scorpion when they’d stayed in an abandoned house and he’d picked up his canteen for a metallic-tasting drink of piss-warm water. They now examined the ground around their shelters for marks in the dust. The indents implied snakes, scorpions, or spiders had taken over another of man’s abandoned houses. Most of these places would remain theirs forever. There weren’t enough people left to drive them away.
Relying on their training, the two males had been making camp with no fire and with whatever was handy; wearing gloves and hats, along with extra pants and coats under their uniforms. Going easy with their water, on the fourth day of being AWOL, they had gotten lucky and had found a store that was damaged (that kicked-in door again) but not cleaned out.
Kenn had been relieved, but the feeling hadn’t lasted long. They only had a week’s worth of food and water, maybe two if they rationed, and the Marine had a feeling they might have to. The lack of rebuilding was a big sign of more bad things to come. They hadn’t viewed a single person for the last three days, until tonight, and the rare flashes of light in the darkness never lasted long enough to track. Hard times were here.
The two males pulled their hoods tighter as drizzle started to sprinkle them. Kenn was glad that it wasn’t the burning kind. Acid Rain. That was something he’d heard about but scoffed at until he had a drop land in his nose. Then there was chemical rain, which they were getting now. Almost warm, it was flammable–a puddle would sometimes catch fire from a thrown cigarette.
The weather wasn’t the worst part of traveling now,
but it had definitely slowed them down. They had only come seventy miles since ramming the dead fence to get out of the abandoned military installation, and they had made many “Let-this-storm-roll-out” stops. The fury of nature came suddenly now, steady downpours of hot drops that made them itch, or full of little black flakes that resembled snow. Then, there would be brilliant, flashing lightning with loud, drumming thunder that promised damage and then nothing but silence–all in the same hour. The only true constant was the wind, and it blew sand and grit into everything.
As the thin, shadowy sun rose in the east, barely visible in the sky, Kenn finally sought shelter, exhaustion insisting. He stopped to scan their environment, wincing at a loud crunch of gravel under the boy’s feet.
“There’s our camp for tonight.”
They were almost out of the city limits now, back to Spanish pueblos and the Rocky Mountains that shadowed deep canyons full of sharp cliffs and rugged mesas. They would need some things before venturing any farther into that wilderness. First on the list was transportation.
Scanning the chaotic lanes of traffic on the hill across from them, Kenn sat on the bottom step of his chosen house’s neat front porch as Charlie began dropping gear. Surely, there was juice in one of those batteries in the cars on the hill. It wouldn’t be any fun to clear the other vehicles out of the way, but they could be on the road by tomorrow afternoon–maybe even reach NORAD by the end of next week.
“Door’s unlocked.” Charlie’s tone was unsure.
Kenn yawned, rubbing at his stubbly, black goatee. He drew his weapon as he strode across the porch, ready to take over any occupants if it was necessary.
The door opened easily to reveal new paint, walls and floors without marks or imprints, no appliances, and most importantly, no footprints in the layer of dust that coated everything. He pointed these things out to the boy, teaching him.
Kenn stepped back and held the 9mm out to the surprised cadet, who usually only touched a gun in class or competition. “Secure the perimeter.”
The thin child took it eagerly but with respect, snapping off a quick salute before disappearing inside.
Kenn broke into a reluctant smile at the careful copy of his own movements when they made camp each night. He didn’t follow, listening to the doors open and shut. A minute later, the tall, thin teenager was back, returning the gun with longing on his face.
“All clear, sir.”
Charlie stepped out into the damp smell of smoke and rot to bring in their things, not waiting to be told. It was the way he had been raised (trained), but it was also to keep Kenny from detecting how much he had thought about pulling the trigger instead. He hated the Marine almost as much as his mom did. One day, when he was older, Kenny would pay for every hit he’d ever delivered.
They climbed the muddy hillside to the interstate a short time later, being careful not to slip or stare inside the cars unless they had to. Most were empty of their owners, but some were not, and Kenn thought he could tell which ones had someone in them by the types of automobiles they were. The newer, classier vehicles tended to be occupied. Running out of gas hadn’t been enough to make those materialistic people abandon their expensive autos. How long had they waited for help to come? A day? A week? In some cases, forever.
“What are we hunting for?”
Kenn stomped thick, reddish-brown earth from his boots as he looked over the endless lanes of wrecked, sideways, and mud-splattered vehicles. “We need new wheels, but beans, bags, and blankets are on the list too.”
The boy proceeded to a nearby car as Kenn checked a beaten-up Dodge truck for power. He registered bullet holes and suitcases still shoved haphazardly into seats, and stored the information. Kenn found a lot of clothes and personal items, along with a six-pack of bottled water that he was glad to have, but the rest of the search went badly.
It had been less than a month since the war came, and he hadn’t expected car batteries to be dead out here too, but each one that he checked was. There was gas and useless keys in the ignitions of most. Doors left hanging open, as well as rusting bullet casings, made him revise his theory. These people had left in a hurry.
“What about a dirt bike?” Charlie asked from a few vehicles away, voice echoing in the unnatural stillness.
Kenn moved his way. “Yes.”
“It’s new. Still has a sticker.”
The Honda’s key was in the ignition–as if someone had tried to take it but didn’t have time–and when Kenn flipped the key backwards, the lights came on and the gas gauge swung to full.
Kenn pulled the keys out, sliding them into his pocket. “We won’t be on foot come...”
He stopped, listening hard. Had he heard something?
Yes. Engines. Still a mile, maybe more, and the Marine inside knew they meant bad news. “Get to the house!”
Kenn grabbed the boy’s arm, keeping a tight grip as they ran down the slick, muddy embankment. He wasn’t being careful now, just moving.
They hurried across the yard to the porch, and as Charlie began to step up, Kenn roughly pulled him back. “We’re muddy. We’ll leave prints.”
He sat on the bottom step, fingers flying over the laces of his boots, and Charlie jerked his own boots off as the sound of engines grew louder, closer.
“What’s going on?”
“Stay below the windows and get your boots back on!” Kenn ordered distractedly as they moved inside and shut the door. The Marine was already putting on his, and he frowned when the boy only stared at him questioningly.
“But, what’s…”
“Now!”
It was an order, and Charlie did as he was told, face hardening.
“Put our things in that closet and leave room for yourself behind them.”
Kenn turned to the window, hoping none of those vehicles were coming here, to this town, to this house. Gunshots rang out, and he stayed low as the group came over the hill and into sight.
A muddy jeep with three clearly armed men rolled into view first, leading two rusty pickup trucks flying a foreign flag. The men in the pickup trucks held rifles and bottles. Behind them was a blue station wagon with women and children. Next, a U-Haul truck, a used Mustang, two long, filthy white passenger vans, a very nice, gold-flecked convertible, and then bikes–more of those than anything else.
There were roughly a hundred armed men, and Kenn studied them as they rolled closer, adrenaline flying. His well-trained gaze picked out details most people would miss. Foreigners– Mexican–jeeps of armed men, only that one wagon of women…and what was it about those white vans that bothered him so much?
Had there been a flash of blond and silver? Hair and handcuffs? Kenn felt his gut tighten. Slavers. That’s why his stomach was a ball of liquid heat. They had been in the path of these invaders. If the vehicle hadn’t run out of gas, they would probably be in plain sight now. On this desolate stretch and against so many, with no wheels of their own, there wasn’t even a chance. Death had missed them by a quarter tank of fuel.
The large group drove erratically, forcing each other to swerve and fishtail, bumping into one another but easily avoiding the swampy area to the left of the interstate. That made Kenn worry they might be familiar with the area. He could only hope none of them would notice the new vehicle in the woods, or any of the deep footprints in the hillside.
Suddenly sure these men were responsible for the destruction in this area, Kenn kept his hand by his gun, thinking he would save the last slugs for–
“Why don’t we tell them we’re here? Maybe they’ll offer a ride.”
The teenager’s tone was rebellious, and Kenn frowned, watching the drunken, careless men fire at trees, signs, cars, windows, and anything else that caught their attention–including the sparse houses. Bullets slammed into the home, shattering glass.
Kenn dropped to the dusty floor. “That’s the enemy, boy. Get down!”
Not as experienced as the Marine, now that it had been pointed out, Charlie could fee
l them for what they were–evil. His affection for Kenn grew despite the anger inside. He needed the short-tempered Marine. He didn’t have to like him.
Kenn marked the slavers’ passage and kept watching, even after they were out of sight and the sounds of their engines were gone. He was still observing when Charlie began dozing against the bullet-riddled wall.
Kenn was worried. There was no way he could challenge or defend against a group of killers that large. He had to hope they would be able to sneak through in the next couple of days without drawing any attention, though they would be on a loud dirt bike. Worried was an understatement.
However, he was also furious. A part of him was protesting letting the foreign army continue their rampage. They didn’t belong here. They were an affront to everything America had stood for. If he had half a dozen men from his base, he might risk his life and try to kill them all.
Better yet, give me two grunts and Marc Brady, Kenn thought, lighting a cigarette. Brady had been team leader for the last few years and a pain in his ass, but when it came to high-casualty ambushes, there was no one better.
Kenn blew out smoke rings, thinking they would go northwest when they left here, and then circle around to NORAD. It would add a lot of miles but get them away from these men quickly. He didn’t want to think the slavers had been following their back trail, but if they were, they would have to come to where they’d lost it–here. Kenn’s smile was icy. Maybe he could leave a surprise. He wouldn’t know if he killed any of them, but it was still worth doing.
For the next few hours, Kenn worked with the explosives he’d taken from the base, listening hard for the group of dangerous men to return. If that happened, they would all go up together in one big blaze of glory.
The government compound was waiting for them. He’d been going that direction each day. It was the most logical thing to do, but Kenn wasn’t sure if he was ready to be back under the rule of the government that had destroyed the world–and then left him behind to die in it–after all the years he had served them, killed for them. He still loved the Corps, would always believe in what it stood for. He just no longer trusted those in charge.