Apocalypse Trails: Episode 2

by Joe Nobody

  “She kept her part of the deal,” he explained to the empty road. “The multiple attempted homicides were just a misunderstanding. Shit happens. We got over it.”

  Jack had a devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other, both harping on and on about the right thing to do. “You got no dog in that fight,” the red Jack argued. “If you go and get yourself killed, what will happen to Archie?”

  “Those are your fellow human beings down there,” the white, angelic Jack countered. “You are an officer and gentleman in the United States Navy … a global force for good. Those are American citizens in that town. You must warn them.”

  Returning to his bike, Jack inhaled a chest full of air and made up his mind. If he didn’t go back, he would always wonder what had become of the tiny, struggling hamlet. Toni, alive or dead, would believe that a commander in the US Navy had indeed been a scout for the Lumberjacks. It would be too coincidental that the men from the mountain would choose to attack the day after she’d been disabled.

  He was only a few miles outside of town, the distance passing quickly as his legs pumped the pedals. Compelled to deliver his information and be on his way, he needed to find the warning’s recipient quickly or risk being caught in the fray. Unfortunately, the sky was still black, and it was difficult to locate Toni’s street. “Everything looks different in the darkness,” he said, worried for a bit that he’d taken a wrong turn.

  Finally, a flicker of recognition reassured Jack that he was in the right area. He spotted the same driveway and garage where he’d held the woman hostage for several hours. He stopped the bicycle with a squeeze of the brake levers, hopping off before the wheels had stopped turning.

  The sentry on the front porch didn’t wake up until Jack was on the third step. Before the man could raise his weapon, Jack’s hand was holding the barrel, the commander’s eyes boring into the sleepy man’s frightened gaze. “Wake up Toni. Right now! The Lumberjacks are heading down the mountain.”

  “How many?” the sentry probed, trying to make sense of what was going on.

  “All of them!” Jack snapped, letting loose of the barrel and moving to bang on the door.

  A minute later, Toni’s disheveled head of blonde hair poked through the opening. “What the hell is all the racket about? Jack? Commander Cisco? What are you doing he –….”

  “Looks like the Lumberjacks are heading into town,” he interrupted, knowing there was no time for social amenities. “A lot of them. I spotted their torches as I was breaking camp. I doubt they are coming for coffee and a bagel.”

  “Where did you see them?” she asked, a hint of fear crossing her eyes.

  “That’s the problem. They’re coming from the south. They circled around and are sneaking up the valley,” Jack reported. He then continued, describing the where, when, and how of his discovery.

  By the time he’d finished, she was fully alert. Turning to the sentry, she ordered, “Go! Wake everybody up! Now! Send them to the old cemetery. We’ll meet them there.”

  The guard, however, didn’t move. “But Toni, there’s no way I can get around to everybody before they are on us.”

  Jack understood the man’s dilemma. “I could ride my bike up and down the streets,” he offered. “The problem is, nobody knows who I am, and they might not listen to me,” he paused to consider the option further. “Hell, they might even shoot my ass,” he continued, rambling as he thought aloud. “Plus, I don’t know where exactly to go. It’s a small town, but….”

  “Let me use your bike,” the guard suggested.

  The commander didn’t like the idea. Not one bit. Toni, like any good leader, sensed his doubts. “You have my word. We’ll give you the bicycle back in one piece.”

  “Fine,” Jack snapped, now having second thoughts about the entire episode. “Let me get my spare mags out of my bag.”

  A minute later, the sentry was pedaling into the grey light of the breaking dawn. The commander watched as his bike’s new master stopped three houses down and shouted, “George! George! Code red. The old cemetery. Hurry!”

  A candle’s spark glimmered inside the home, and then the guard was off, speeding toward the next dwelling.

  Jack sensed Toni beside him again, the woman hobbling around on a crutch. A long-barreled, bolt-action rifle was on her shoulder. “Can you help me get down to the graveyard? I need to be there.”

  “Sure. Give me your weapon. You can move faster without the weight.”

  It was Toni’s turn to hesitate, the town’s leader not wanting to surrender her long gun. “Hey,” Jack countered with a sly grin. “I gave you my bike. Trusting me with your weapon is only fair play. You’re not going to let a little flesh wound come between us, are you?” Jack attempt at humor fell flat as evidenced by her less-than-welcoming expression.

  “Too soon,” the blonde grumpily replied. While old friends might tease about a firing mishap somewhere down the line, it was way too early for the dashing commander to expect her to give him a break. “And I wouldn’t classify this as a ‘little flesh wound,’ either,” she retorted.

  For a moment, Jack considered that he may have made a mistake in coming back. But after briefly considering her options, Toni nodded and passed him the gun. The determined woman pushed away from the doorway, and the two of them moved as fast as possible down the sidewalk. “It’s only four blocks,” she announced, pointing toward the west. “Maybe five. If those raiders get into the streets, we’ll never ferret them out. We have to stop them before they get into town.”

  She was trying to move, Jack noted, but she was also clearly in pain. Estimating how much time had passed, Jack was afraid they weren’t going to make it. Toni reached the same conclusion. “Go on ahead. See if you can slow them down,” she huffed. “There will be 30 men here in 10 minutes.”

  “Where?” he asked. “Where would I go?”

  “That lane up there. It trails off to the right. Look for the church’s steeple. The graveyard is behind the old church. All of the paths from the valley end up there. It’s the only flat land for a mile in any direction.”

  “See you in a bit,” he replied, handing her back the deer rifle. “And please hurry!”

  Jack began running, the heavy load vest and body armor making his stride difficult. Again, the naval officer asked himself how anyone fought battles wearing so much gear.

  He spied the lane ahead, and as directed, cut right. Ten steps later, the white cross of the old church became visible through the trees. The commander’s eyes began sweeping the ground ahead, sure that at any moment, a horde of pillagers would appear ahead of him.

  He darted to the corner of the old building, peeking his head around to scout the cemetery. Nothing moved, the rows of headstones appearing spooky and foreboding in the grey ash and dawning light. He pushed off, making for the first row of plots.

  Again, the commander anticipated the surrounding woods to erupt with muzzle flashes and screaming lead. None came his way.

  He chanced two rows, and then another two, gradually working his way in the direction where he was sure the mountain men would appear.

  He had almost made his way through the boneyard when he detected movement in the trees beyond. Jack dropped to the ground, taking cover behind a thick, marble headstone. He clicked off the carbine’s safety and centered the spot in his optic.

  There were almost 50 meters of open space between the last row of tombstones and the dense line of foliage beyond. Even though the overgrown vegetation showed no signs of life, Jack found it difficult to see much between the tangled maze of branches and brown leaves.

  A man appeared at the edge of the clearing, stopping to study the boneyard with a quick sweep of his eyes. He turned and whispered something, and then another fellow moved to his side.

  The second arrival mimicked the first, his cold stare sweeping over the tombstones and toward the church.

  Jack judged the head Lumberjack to be in his late 30s or early 40s. He sported a full beard with dirt
y, long hair and wore a soiled baseball cap. Both of the men in the optic’s view carried long guns; both wore leather belts crisscrossing their chests to carry some sort of equipment. Cisco guessed they were carrying extra ammunition.

  The leader turned and waved his hand in the air, motioning his comrades forward. They were a rough-looking bunch, popping through the lifeless undergrowth all along one side of the cemetery. Many were wearing hardhats and work gloves that had seen better days. Some had jackets, others stepping out into the open with blankets tied across their shoulders. Jack centered his sights on the guy who appeared to be in charge, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  He couldn’t do it.

  This one shot might turn the whole affair around, and he knew that. Countless lives on both sides might be saved if he put this clown down. Yet, he couldn’t squeeze off the round. How do you know these are the bad guys? he thought. How do you know you’re not preparing to kill the wrong people? Who are you to be judge, jury, and executioner?

  Jack raised his red dot six inches over the man’s head and fired.

  The shot made the entire line of men jump, some hitting the dirt while others merely dropped into a crouch and raised their weapons. Jack ducked back behind his headstone fortress, now completely out of their sight.

  He hadn’t been exactly sure what to expect when he’d squeezed off the warning shot. Some small voice inside had perhaps hoped for a conversation, or maybe his lone bullet would scare them off.

  Two seconds after the first shot, Jack heard orders being issued, “Find him. Jake, Brian, Hoss – flank right. You over there, head up that south row. Find him!”

  “Shit!” Jack hissed under his breath. “So much for Mr. Nice Guy.”

  He rolled out from behind his marble cover and centered on the first man who appeared in his optic’s view. Jack fired the shot and then began peppering the wood line with lead.

  Men were scrambling now, shadows and shapes moving all directions. It seemed like there were voices bellowing desperate words from every angle. Jack kept his finger busy, working his aim up and down the line, praying he was hitting something.

  They knew where he was now, the first few shots coming Jack’s way much faster than his racing mind had believed possible. A geyser of ash erupted next to the commander’s head at the same moment that a heavy caliber bullet slammed into the tombstone, sending a shower of rock splinters flying into his face.

  Rolling hard to get out of the lead highway’s fast lane, Jack kept going and emerged on the other side of the grave’s marker. Again, he sprayed several shots where he envisioned the enemy to be taking cover.

  More and more incoming fire clawed at the ground and air surrounding the commander, forcing him back behind the headstone before he’d managed five shots.

  Wave after wave of incoming death now slammed into the stone marker, the volume of impacting rounds so intense, Jack could feel the heavy headstone vibrating against his cheek.

  “They’re trying to pin me down,” he whispered, wondering where in the hell Toni and the town’s defenders were. “They’re probably going to send people right and left to surround me.”

  Flipping the M4’s selector to full automatic, he pivoted neither right nor left, but rose straight up and began spraying where his hyperactive brain judged the shooters to be.

  At over 600 rounds per minute, it took Jack’s carbine less than two seconds to empty the remaining rounds in his magazine. He hit the earth just as a blizzard of return fire roared from the foliage.

  Now certain they were trying to maneuver against him, Jack decided to crawl backward in retreat. If he stayed low, he prayed the numerous grave markers would make it difficult to get a clear shot.

  Staying on his belly, Jack began sliding backward toward the next row of tombstones. More hot lead rushed his way, but it was high. At one point, the rounds were so close he could feel their wake thrust against his ribs.

  He wanted to load a fresh magazine and return fire, but the idea of stopping long enough to reload seemed impossible. Besides, he wasn’t sure his arms and hands would work well enough to accomplish the task. To complicate matters, his backup weapon, his pistol … was snugly secured in his pack – back on the bike.

  Finally, he sensed the sturdy granite base of a marker located against the sole of his boot. Rolling hard to his left, Jack scrambled behind a sizeable gravestone. He’d managed to retreat a whole 10 feet. “I suppose this is as good a place as any to meet my maker,” he mumbled, trying to force oxygen into his lungs. “At least they won’t have to carry me very far.”

  Prone against the earth and the etched marble memorial, Jack briefly wondered if Toni was actually going to rescue him. How long had it been? Where in the hell was she? he pondered.

  It then occurred to him that she probably wouldn’t come charging in like the cavalry in an old Western movie. Why would she? If their roles were reversed, wouldn’t the smart thing be to let the Lumberjacks spend their ammo and energy killing the outsider? He was nothing to her … worse than nothing. He’d put a bullet in her hide.

  “Never trust a woman that you’ve shot, Commander,” he mumbled to himself as he reached for more ammo. With shaking hands, he managed a fresh magazine on the second try. He charged the M4 with a quick motion and then rolled out.

  Jack snap-fired four quick shots there, another two further down, and then hightailed it back to the safety of the dead. He observed men moving to his right and left, advancing through the tombstones preparing to hit him from three sides at once. He knew immediately that there was no way he could survive the assault.

  That didn’t mean Jack was going to go down without a fight. Anger began to burn across his shoulders, the injustice of his impending demise fueling his fury. “There are so few of us left,” he growled, further enraged by the stupidity of killing each other.

  He picked the right side, popped over the top of the marker, and poured rounds in that direction as fast as he could squeeze the trigger.

  He stayed exposed for too long, the incoming bullets so close they seemed to be parting his hair. Commander Cisco was beyond caring, his lust for battle and revenge having exceeded any call for self-preservation.

  At that moment, a chorus of voices sounded from behind the beleaguered officer, a host of screaming, shouting men rounding the church in a mob. They began firing into the advancing Lumberjacks, dozens of weapons joining Jack’s side of the fray.

  Jack spied Toni, waving her men forward with one eager arm while the other grasped her crutch. “Go! Go! Go!” she was shouting. “Kill them all! No mercy!”

  The men pursuing Jack were too tightly bunched and out of position. They had been focused on trying to roll up the graveyard’s sole defender, and that left them exposed. A wall of lead slammed into their position, the volley catching several attackers out in the open. Men began to fall, some keeling over dead, others withering on the ground in agony.

  Deciding he needed to keep up the pressure in the center, Jack rolled out from behind his cover and sprayed a long burst. He spied the opposition’s leader trying desperately to rally his men.

  Centering the red dot on the man’s chest, Jack didn’t hesitate a second time. The M4 pushed gently against his shoulders.

  Just that quickly, it was over. Seeing their leader fall, the attacking force broke ranks. First one, then a second, and finally all of them turned to run for their lives. The citizens of Pinemont continued firing, a few of the braver souls breaking into a sprint as if to pursue the fleeing mountain men onto the trail.

  “Stop. Come back!” Toni’s screamed over the sound of the gunfire. “Come back! It might be an ambush. Get back here!”

  Jack rolled over onto his back, drinking air into his lungs. He was saturated with perspiration, tingling with exhaustion, and feeling more elated than at any other moment in his life.

  He had survived. He was alive. He had entered the ultimate contest and emerged the victor. It was an experience unlike any he had ever f
elt or imagined. “This is how they do it,” he whispered to the overcast sky. “This is how warriors fight again, and again, and again.”

  It then occurred to Cisco that the euphoria he was feeling might actually be a dangerous thing. This is like a drug, he thought. This is probably a better buzz than heroin or cocaine. This could be addictive. Am I becoming an adrenaline junkie?

  Jack had no more time for introspection, Toni’s face appearing in his field of vision, the local honcho initially worried that he was wounded. “Are you okay?” she asked in a rush, her eyes going up and down his frame.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just trying to get my wind back.”

  “We won!” she announced, as if he hadn’t been there.

  “Yes, we did,” he responded, trying to stand despite being unsure if his legs would hold him.

  He spent the night celebrating with the people of Pinemont, the entire town coming out to enjoy the victory. Jack counted at least 70 hearty souls, one of them having figured out what every southern ridge runner already knew – how to make moonshine whiskey. It was terrible, nasty stuff, and Jack drank more than his fair share.

  Now he regretted the indulgence, his stomach flip-flopping at the mere thought of getting on his bicycle. Rather than mount up and ride, the commander decided to raid his own first aid kit. He remembered some small packets of pain relief capsules inside and just now wanted nothing more than to stop the pounding in his head.

  “Drink more water,” his internal voice of reason chided as he swallowed the medicine.

  Toni appeared on the front porch, the victorious, lady general looking no better than Jack felt. “I was hoping to catch you before you left,” she announced in a low tone. “I wanted to thank you again for saving our town.”

  Jack shrugged, “I was just trying to make good for shooting you in the leg.”

  She chuckled, then grimaced in pain. “I drank too much.”

  “Me, too. Now I have to get back on this two-wheeled, rolling, torture device and ride all day. I should’ve known better,” he responded, rubbing his temples.