Trackers 2: The Hunted (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Creek jumped up in the bed of the pickup and barked at Allen’s Golden Retriever. Raven rolled down his window and told Creek to be quiet.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Dixon,” Lindsey called out.

  Allen strode over to the vehicle and pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt, revealing a weathered, bearded face.

  “Afternoon, Officer Plymouth and...I’m afraid I don’t know your name, son.”

  “Raven Spears, sir.” He stuck his hand out the window to shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” Allen said. “What brings you this way?”

  “We’re looking for three people who assaulted an officer,” Raven said.

  “Two men and a woman,” Lindsey said. “Guys were both around forty years old and between five-ten and six feet tall. The larger man was wearing an Old Navy sweatshirt, and the thinner man had on a red poncho. The woman is probably five-five or shorter and about one hundred pounds. She had on a flannel shirt when she was last seen.”

  “They’re all tweakers,” Raven added.

  “Tweakers?” Allen asked.

  “Addicts,” Lindsey corrected.

  Raven nodded. “Yeah, addicts would be the fancy terminology. You seen anyone like that?”

  Allen scanned the road like he was looking for them. As he turned, Raven spotted the grip of a pistol holstered under his sweatshirt.

  “I heard about them, but I haven’t seen anyone matching that description,” Allen said. “Do you think they came this way?”

  “Possibly,” Lindsey replied. “We’re encouraging everyone to use caution. Don’t approach these people yourself.”

  “I’ll walk into town if I hear or see anything,” Allen said. He patted the door. “Sorry to hear about Captain Englewood. He was a good man and an old friend.”

  Lindsey nodded. “We’re all taking it hard.”

  Allen started to walk away and then paused. “You know, I haven’t heard anything from the Whites for a few days. I thought it was odd, but figured they were just keeping to themselves after all that’s happened.”

  “Where do they live?” Raven asked.

  Lindsey looked through the windshield. “Just three houses up. Right, Allen?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll check it out. Stay safe out here,” she said with a smile.

  Creek barked at the Golden Retriever again as Lindsey pulled back onto the road. This time Raven let it go. He was fine with his Akita telling the other dogs who the boss was in Estes Park.

  “The Whites have one hell of a house,” Lindsey said. “Makes sense our suspects went there.”

  “Lots of these folks have nice houses.”

  “True, but the Whites’ is one of the biggest.”

  “Maybe we should go get some backup, like the Chief said...”

  Lindsey rolled her eyes. “Really?”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to follow the rules for the first time in my life.”

  She laughed at that. “I think we can handle this.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Don’t forget it.” Her dimpled smile was hard not to admire, but Raven forced his gaze back to the terrain.

  Lindsey steered around a brand-new Dodge Ram with oversized wheels stalled in the middle lane. The next hill provided a view of the valley for several miles. A stone fortress was tucked inside the forest, overlooking the magnificent panorama.

  “I’m assuming that’s the house?” Raven asked.

  “Yup. I’m going to drive past and park near the trees on the east side.”

  Raven pulled his Glock 22 and checked the ammo. He wasn’t taking any more chances, especially if he was going to be raiding houses. A crossbow against an armed chase in close quarters was not his idea of a fair fight.

  Lindsey tucked the truck behind a wall of ponderosas a quarter-mile from the border of the property. After killing the engine, she checked the magazine in her Beretta 92F and then tucked it back in the holster.

  “No shooting unless I give you the order,” Lindsey said.

  “All due respect, but I was fighting in Iraq when you were still in grade school.”

  She crinkled her freckled nose. “And all due respect to you, but I’m the police officer. You’re here to assist me.”

  Raven dipped his head and opened the door. Walking to the back of the truck, he grabbed his bow and then let the tailgate down for Creek to hop out.

  “You okay, boy?” Raven asked, crouching beside his dog.

  Creek wagged his tail and licked Raven’s face. He seemed just fine, despite being tossed into a tree the day before.

  Raven loaded a bolt in the groove of his bow and scanned the property while Creek relieved himself on a bush. The main house was two stories high with windows along the east side. A carriage house and a barn were positioned on the south side of the land.

  “You take Creek around back. I’ll take the front,” Lindsey said. “I’m going to do this the old-fashioned way and knock. You keep out of sight unless you see something, got it?”

  “Hold up,” Raven said. “What do you know about the Whites? Does Mrs. White sit at home and knit while Mr. White reads? Or are they card-carrying members of the NRA who would have no problem taking a pot shot at a handsome American Indian?”

  Lindsey shook her head and smirked. “Laurel and Steve are both retired lawyers from Denver. They’re quiet and keep to themselves. I don’t think you need to worry about getting shot, especially if you stay out of sight.” She paused and added, “That’s what you did in the Marines, right?”

  “Very funny,” Raven said. He tucked his pistol into the holster at his back. This time he wasn’t carrying his hatchets. One of them was still jammed in Brown Feather’s head up on Prospect Mountain, and the other was in his gear bag.

  “Come here, boy,” Raven said. He bent down to give Creek a sniff of a hat one of the suspects had dropped when fleeing the Safeway parking lot. The dog took in the smell and sat on his haunches, tail wagging, ready to hunt.

  “Good luck,” Lindsey said.

  “You too.”

  Raven followed Creek through the woods on the eastern edge of the property. He cradled his crossbow comfortably as he crept over the beds of fallen pine needles. Through the gaps in the trees, he watched Lindsey approach the circular drive. When she was halfway there, he emerged from the protection of the woods and ran toward the house. He stayed low, keeping out of view from the windows.

  Creek followed him, sniffing the air. The dog took off for the backyard, but Raven didn’t call after him. His furry best friend was smart enough not to walk into a trap.

  Raven hugged the side of the house and crept under the large windows. A crow cawed in the distance, but otherwise it was quiet.

  In the Marines, he had been connected to his squad by a comm link and a variety of other modes of communication. That had all changed after the EMP attack. Raven had gone back to what he learned growing up on the Rez. That meant trusting nobody but Creek, and relying on nothing but his own senses.

  The rap of Lindsey’s hand on the front door sounded far too loud in the silence.

  Raven stopped and waited for voices, but there was only Lindsey’s as she asked, “Mr. White, Mrs. White. Is anyone home?”

  Overhead, the sun peeked out of the clouds, illuminating the meticulously groomed backyard. There were stone paths, a fire pit and a fountain, and shrubs pruned into the shapes of animals. It put Raven’s humble abode to shame, but he still liked his house better.

  He took another moment to listen and then peered around the back corner at a pair of French doors. Drapes blocked his view of the inside. A staircase led up to the deck on the back of the house. There was another set of doors at the top. Creek was already there, sitting on his haunches.

  Raven scanned the sprawling backyard one more time before heading up the steps. Although his dog thought the coast was clear, Raven still kept his finger along the trigger guard of his bow.

  At the top of the stairs, he slung th
e weapon over his back and drew his pistol. He waved Creek away from the door and approached slowly, careful not to make too much noise on the creaky decking. Past the gauzy drapes, he could just make out the kitchen. The surfaces were all clean of dirty dishes and food, which told Raven his chases likely hadn’t been here. Drug addicts weren’t exactly known for cleaning up after themselves.

  He readied his Glock with one hand and grabbed the sliding glass door with his other hand. The door was unlocked. While it was possible the Whites would leave their expensive house unlocked, it wasn’t likely. Raven listened for Lindsey’s voice, but heard nothing. The silence was disturbing. Where the hell was she?

  He kept to the side of the door, out of sight, as he waited for her to come to the backyard, but the minutes ticked by. Eventually, he decided to move.

  Raising his gun, he swept the muzzle over one of the biggest kitchens he had ever seen and slowly crossed the room with Creek by his side. The space opened into a living area with vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace, and oak bookshelves lining the walls between the large windows.

  The white couches and carpet were all immaculate‌—‌no sign of squatters here. To his right, French doors led to a study. Inside, he found a gun cabinet. His heart hammered when he saw the shattered glass forming a skirt around the base.

  The weapons were gone.

  Raven slowly stepped back into the living room to look for Lindsey. Something was wrong. She should have showed up by now.

  He motioned for Creek to follow him toward the front door. Halfway there, a gunshot cracked outside the house. The sound sent his heart hammering even harder against his ribs.

  Lindsey!

  He rushed over to the front door, swung it open, and raised his Glock. A flurry of movement in the woods caught his attention. He holstered his gun and pulled his crossbow instead. As he brought the scope up, the red Chevy pickup screeched out onto the road. The truck backfired with another crack.

  The noise he had heard inside wasn’t a gunshot after all‌—‌it was just the damn muffler. He stood there staring, shocked that Lindsey would leave him. Then he saw she wasn’t driving. She was in the bed of the truck, flanked by two men who were holding her down.

  There was only one thing Raven could do. He aimed his bow at one of the tires and let a bolt fly.

  Dressed in a CBRN suit, Colton sat in the back of Raven’s Jeep Cherokee, pressing down on the dressing covering the woman’s gunshot wound while Don raced toward the hospital. The wound wasn’t fresh, but blood still seeped out.

  “Hang in there, ma’am,” Colton whispered. Her head was on his lap with her knees up against the other side of the Jeep. She squinted up at him like she was trying to see his face. She hadn’t said a word since Don had picked Colton up at the barrier on Highway 7.

  She moaned, and the whites of her eyes showed as they rolled up into her skull.

  “Stay with me,” Colton said.

  The woman was about his age, with strands of silver in her hair and crow’s feet around her eyes. Plastic garbage bags held together by tape covered her clothing, but he’d removed her scarf and goggles now that they were inside the safe zone. The bags had apparently saved her from the radiation, but dehydration and blood loss were slowly killing her.

  “Where did you find her?” Colton asked.

  “About thirty-two miles south. I almost ran her over, for Christ’s sake. She was crawling down the road.” Don looked up in the rearview mirror. “She’s not the only one out there, Chief. You know that, right?”

  Colton knitted his brows. “I thought you said you didn’t find any other survivors.”

  “I didn’t, but there were more gunshot victims. You’ve heard about the violence on Highway 34 over the radio. That’s going to hit us eventually. We can’t save everyone.”

  “I’m not leaving people to die out there if we can help them. I won’t do it.”

  Don grunted and turned his attention back to the road. “She’s probably contaminated, so we just risked the integrity of the vehicle by bringing her back.”

  “I’ll have it hosed down and scrubbed.” Colton touched her wrist to feel for a pulse. It was weak and irregular.

  “Faster,” Colton said. “She’s hanging on by a thread.”

  The engine hummed as Don raced toward Estes Park, passing the lake and the first of the hotels that surrounded the town. He honked the horn at several teenagers walking in the middle of the road. One of them threw a pop can at the Jeep.

  “Damn kids,” Don muttered.

  “Help,” croaked the woman.

  Colton glanced back down at her. “We’re going to help you, ma’am. Just hold on.”

  “Where...where am I?” she said in a strangled voice.

  “Estes Park. You’re on the way to our medical center.”

  Don squealed down another street, jarring Colton so that his hand slipped off the dressing. The woman grabbed his arm tightly and mumbled something incoherent. He had to keep her talking before she slipped back unconscious.

  “Ma’am, my name is Marcus Colton, and I’m the chief of police. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Doc‌—‌” She gave up and wheezed before she could get any more out.

  Colton shook her gently. Maybe having her talk was a bad idea.

  “Stay with me,” he repeated. The medical center was just around the corner, and he would be damned if she died in his arms before they got her there.

  She choked again and coughed up a mixture of blood and saliva that ran in a sheet down her chin. She choked, wheezed, and struggled for air. Her eyelids fluttered and then closed. A moment later she went limp in his grip.

  “Ma’am,” Colton said. He waited for her next breath, but it never came.

  “Don, hurry up!”

  Don’s eyes flitted up in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t reply.

  Colton took off his helmet and leaned down, preparing to give her CPR.

  “Chief, you could get contaminated!” Don protested.

  Colton ignored him and pumped her chest, then breathed into her mouth.

  No response.

  “Come on,” he said. He pushed harder, gave her air, and continued the process.

  The vehicle jolted to a stop outside of the medical center.

  “Go get help!” Colton said between breaths.

  On the next compression, he pushed so hard he heard a pop. When he went down for another breath, her eyelids snapped open and she drew in a gasp.

  Colton moved back to give her some space. Her eyes widened at him and she squirmed away. The movement set off another coughing fit.

  “It’s okay, ma’am. Don’t try to move,” he said. “You’re okay.”

  Despite his assurances, she still reared back in fear. She held up an arm to shield her face.

  “Ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Stay back,” she said. “Get away from me!”

  Colton held up his hands and scooted off the seat. He opened the door and moved out onto the pavement. Doctor Duffy was already rushing outside with a nurse named Julie. Don followed them outside.

  “Make sure you’re careful with her. She’s been exposed to radiation,” Don called after them. He took his helmet off and set it on the concrete.

  Colton couldn’t believe it when he saw Don shove tobacco into his mouth. If he was so scared of contamination, why would he...

  “Stay away,” the woman said. Inside the Jeep, she was breathing heavily with her back to the opposite door. She tried to open it, but the door was locked.

  “Calm down, ma’am,” Colton said. He moved out of the way for the medical team.

  “I’m a doctor and I’m going to help you, okay?” Duffy said, seemingly undeterred by the threat of contamination.

  The woman slowly lowered her hands, but her eyes continued roving from face to face, stopping on Colton. She glared at him like he was the devil in the flesh. As the adrenaline faded from her body, she slowly began to relax, her eyelids
drooping. Julie and Duffy reached into the Jeep and helped move her onto a stretcher. Don joined Colton near the sidewalk while they moved her.

  “You brought her back, Chief. Pretty impressive, but I don’t see how delaying the inevitable is a good strategy moving forward,” Don said. He spat a glob of tobacco onto the sidewalk.

  Colton pivoted to face Don and poked him hard in the chest. “If you ever pull that shit again, we’re going to have major problems. I’m the chief of police. Don’t you forget that.”

  Sandra Spears was still rattled to her core from the events on Prospect Mountain. The return of Brown Feather and his brother, Turtle, had reopened wounds that had never quite healed. She thought that being cut off from the rest of the world in Estes Park would protect her from men like Brown Feather and her ex-husband, Mark, but not even the end of the world had kept her family safe.

  It seemed like nowhere was safe anymore.

  The people who had cracked Officer Nelson’s head were on the loose while he crashed on the table in the emergency room. The swelling in his brain was getting worse, and without the help of life support equipment, it was almost impossible to stabilize him.

  “Sandra!” Newton shouted. “Get in here. We’re losing him.”

  She slipped on her gloves and pulled up her facemask. Despite everything that had happened, and as much as Sandra wanted to crawl into her bed and cuddle Allie, she was needed at the medical center.

  “Heart rate is increasing,” Doctor Newton said. “We’re at one hundred and thirty.”

  “Blood pressure is seventy-six over fifty,” Jen, one of the other nurses, said.

  Newton bent down to examine the tube that was draining fluid from one of the burr holes he’d drilled into the patient’s head.

  “It’s not draining at all now.” Newton looked over his shoulder. “Where the hell is Duffy? We’re going to have to drill another hole.”

  “I think he’s with Teddy,” Sandra said.

  “I thought Jen was in charge of Teddy,” Newton snapped.

  Jen shook her head. “Doctor Duffy rushed outside to help a gunshot victim and told me to come in here.”