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

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

“Could be, but our suits will protect us,” McCabe said. He craned his helmet toward Dupree. “Right, sir?”

  The comm link fired before Dupree could reply.

  “Sir, I’ve got movement inside the cafeteria,” Snider reported. “Looks like we have a survivor!”

  “On our way,” Dupree said. He jerked his chin, and his men quickly fell in behind him. They fanned out, moving slower than normal in the downpour. An armada of angry storm clouds had rolled in from the west. They bulged like overflowing garbage bags, swollen with ash and smoke from the forest fires.

  He flashed hand signals to his men as they approached the main lodge, running through the camp layout he’d memorized during the long flight. There was a cafeteria and several community rooms inside this building, but nothing to indicate a shelter or basement.

  “Sergeant McCabe, on me,” Dupree said. “Sharps, you and Emerson hold security outside.”

  Dupree made his way up the wide stairs to the front doors. He strode into the main seating area, which looked like it had seen a stampede, not an evacuation. Chairs were upturned, and rotting food had splattered on the ground. He stepped around a paper plate cemented to the floor by what looked like mashed potatoes.

  “Sir,” McCabe said, pointing toward the center of the room.

  Dupree moved around a long table to find another dead camp counselor. He was curled up in a fetal position, his hands gripping his stomach, which told Dupree he had died of radiation poisoning.

  McCabe approached slowly, looking up every few feet to scan the entrances to the other community rooms for contacts.

  “Snider,” Dupree said. “Did you see the body in the cafeteria? Bearded guy, red hat?”

  “Yes, sir. I thought I reported it already.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Dupree said.

  “Holy shit,” McCabe said as he bent down next to the body. “This guy was shot.”

  “Shot?” Snider asked over the comm.

  Dupree moved around the side of a table and saw the small pool of blood under the corpse that he hadn’t noticed before.

  “Shit,” Dupree said, bending down. A sloppy grouping of three rounds to the chest had taken this man out. He stood and raised his rifle at the crack of shattering dishes in the kitchen. A flash of motion came from the entrance, and a figure limped into the mess hall. Dupree lowered his muzzle when he saw it was just a boy.

  “Stop!” Snider shouted. He ran out into the mess with Runge right behind. The kid halted in the middle of the room as the Marines closed in around him. His eyes darted back and forth like an animal being surrounded by wolves.

  “Stay back,” the child said. He tried to escape, but only staggered a few feet before Snider tackled him to the ground.

  “Get off!” the boy screamed.

  Runge bent down to hold his legs.

  “Kid, stop fighting,” Snider said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “Liar!” the boy yelled. He bit at Snider’s suit and clamped down on the sleeve. Snider brought a hand up to smack the kid, but Dupree caught his wrist in mid-air.

  The boy, suddenly silent and lying on his back, glanced up at Dupree. Black hair matted his forehead and rashes marked his cheeks and chin. He reached up with a curled right hand.

  “Get off him,” Dupree said.

  Snider and Runge loosened their grips. Dupree slung the strap of his rifle over his back. He bent down, forcing a smile that the boy returned with a scowl. It wasn’t all that much different from the look Dupree’s sons gave him when he would show up late to a birthday party or sporting event‌—‌if he showed up at all.

  “We’re here to help you,” Dupree said.

  The boy scooted backward across the floor. “That’s what the other soldiers said.”

  “Soldiers?” McCabe asked. “What other soldiers?”

  Dupree waited for the boy to respond, but the kid averted his gaze.

  “We’re the good guys,” Dupree said. He reached into his vest and pulled out a sealed bag containing a chocolate bar. He had brought it along just in case they found survivors and needed bait to get them to leave the camp.

  The boy licked his cracked lips and held out a hand, suddenly not so scared. “I’m really hungry, but they told us not to eat anything because of the rad nation.”

  “Radiation,” McCabe corrected, chuckling.

  Dupree shot the sergeant a look that told him to back off.

  The boy reached for the bag again, but Dupree held it just out of his reach.

  “What’s your name?” Dupree asked.

  “Alex Stephens.”

  “My name is Lieutenant Jeff Dupree, and I’m going to help you, but first you need to tell me what happened here. Who took your friends and where did they go?”

  Alex swiped the sweaty black hair from his forehead. “The soldiers said they were going to take us somewhere safe, but I could tell they were bad men so I ran. I ran and I hid.”

  “Did they say where that safe place is?” Dupree asked.

  Alex shook his head, and Dupree finally handed him the bag. The boy unsealed it and wolfed the chocolate bar down, eyes flitting from face to face like he still wasn’t sure if he could trust them.

  “Call in our ride, Sergeant,” Dupree ordered. He helped Alex to his feet, but the boy was having a hard time walking. He was weak and sick, but it was more than that. The boy appeared to have cerebral palsy or something like it. As they crossed the room, Alex stumbled, and Dupree reached out to help.

  “No touching!” Alex shrieked. Dupree quickly took his hands away from the boy.

  By the time the group moved out of the building, the Black Hawk was flying over a bluff to the north. It set down in a soccer field on the edge of the camp. Sheets of rain fell across the path to the helicopter.

  “Go get Alex a suit,” Dupree said.

  McCabe ran to the Black Hawk while Dupree took a knee next to Alex.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened? Did you see Ty Montgomery?” Dupree asked. “He would have been in a wheelchair.”

  Alex lowered the bottled water they’d given him after he’d finished the chocolate. “Ty’s my best...” He staggered slightly from side to side, like he couldn’t find his balance.

  Dupree reached out to grab him, but held back at the last moment. The kid did not like to be touched, and he reminded himself to be patient.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” he said helplessly. As bad as he was at talking to kids, he was even worse at lying to them.

  “I’m really sick, aren’t I?” His teeth chattered as he looked at Dupree.

  “We’re going to give you medicine to make you feel better.”

  Alex shivered and lifted his curled hand to his face.

  “I know it’s hard, but can you please tell me what else you saw? Ty is counting on you, buddy,” Dupree said.

  “They put him and the other kids into trucks and drove off. I wanted to help Ty, but I couldn’t...” Alex whimpered. “I couldn’t help him.”

  “It’s okay, we’re going to help him,” Dupree said. “But I need to know where they went.”

  Alex shivered violently. He reached up and pointed to the south with a shaky hand. “They went that way.”

  “Where’s that suit?” Dupree shouted. He glanced over his shoulder and saw McCabe running back toward the building. In the split second that it took for Dupree to turn, Alex collapsed. This time, Dupree reached out and caught the boy in his arms.

  THE SOUND OF violence echoed through Estes Park. Colton rushed out of the station to listen, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source of the gunshots. Don stood on the sidewalk next to Officer Tom Matthew. Both men had their hands on the grips of their holstered weapons like they were preparing for a shootout.

  “I don’t hear anything else,” Colton said. He walked over to the other officers and stood in front of them. “Did you‌—‌”

  Pop. Pop.

  Colton heard that. The sound was distant but unmistakable.
“Where the hell are those shots coming from?”

  “Devils Gulch Road, maybe,” Matthew replied. “You think it’s someone out hunting?”

  “You’d have to be pretty stupid to try to bring down an elk with a 9mm,” came a rough voice. Nathan was limping toward them through Bond Park, wearing his rucksack. He had been sitting there waiting for his ride, but the Marines still hadn’t shown up to evacuate him.

  More distant pops echoed west of town. Colton looked in that direction, past the restaurants, t-shirt shops, and ice cream parlors. He fully expected citizens to be outside hunting for food, but Nathan was right. This was small arms fire, and it was coming from the direction he had sent Detective Plymouth and...

  “Raven,” he muttered.

  “You think they ran into trouble?” Don asked.

  “Sure as hell sounds like it,” Colton said. He faced his men with a scowl. “Matthew, get the Jeep. Don, grab our rifles.”

  Both officers took off running in opposite directions.

  “Goddammit, I should have given Lindsey my walkie-talkie to stay in touch with Margaret,” Colton said. “If Raven is shooting it out with another damned debt collector, so help me….”

  Nathan remained silent, his bruised face turned toward the mountains.

  Another flurry of gunshots rang out, followed by the boom of a shotgun. The popping of a pistol quickly replied.

  “Sounds like a battle,” Nathan said.

  Colton paced the sidewalk. Every passing second was one closer to losing control of the situation. He couldn’t‌—‌wouldn’t‌—‌see any more of his people hurt.

  Squealing tires sounded from the other side of town hall. Matthew sped out of the side parking lot in the Jeep, the sides still dripping wet from being hosed down earlier. He brought it to a halt in front of the sidewalk. Don hurried over with a pair of Colt AR-15s and ammunition.

  “Let’s go,” Colton said.

  Nathan moved to follow, but Colton blocked his way. “Not you, Major. You need to stay here with the radio in case those Marines come to get you. I’ve got this.”

  The pilot hesitated and then held out a hand. “If I leave before you get back, good luck.”

  “Likewise,” Colton said. He shook Nathan’s hand and then jumped into the Jeep with Don. Matthew stomped the gas pedal as soon as they were buckled in. He tore away from town hall and turned onto the street leading up to Devils Gulch Road. People on the sidewalks turned to watch the Jeep fly by at fifty miles an hour.

  Colton didn’t bother telling Matthew to slow down.

  “Are you all wearing your vests?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Don said.

  Matthew didn’t answer.

  “Officer Matthew?” Colton asked.

  “I took mine off earlier,” Matthew said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Sorry, sir.”

  No matter how many times Colton harped on his officers about wearing ballistic vests, someone always decided not to bother.

  “Jesus,” Colton said. “My vest saved my life yesterday. When are you guys going to start listening to me?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry. I usually ‌—‌”

  “Just stay low,” Colton said. “I have a feeling we’re about to walk into a firefight.”

  Matthew nodded, and Colton turned to watch the trees race by on the side of the road. With the windows down, it wasn’t hard to pick up on the distant pop of gunfire. Each shot made Colton tense. The cool breeze carried the familiar, calming scent of cedar, but it did little to settle his nerves.

  Constant violence was the new normal. Colton would have to deal with it, just like he had in Afghanistan. He pulled out his revolver and snapped open the empty cylinder. Then he plucked rounds from his father’s old duty belt and loaded his weapon. Would one of these bullets end a life today?

  “That gunfire stopped,” Don said.

  Colton looked up from his pistol, trying to listen past the wind rushing into the vehicle. All was quiet again. He cursed under his breath.

  Matthew turned the Jeep onto Devils Gulch Road. He eased off the pedal as they approached a big truck blocking the center lane. The Jeep rolled up and over a hill that provided a rolling view of the terrain beyond. Several houses were nestled along the south side of the street. A natural border of rocky bluffs protruded over the trees to the north.

  “Where the hell are they?” Colton muttered.

  Matthew pointed down the road. “Is that Jake’s truck?”

  Colton leaned forward, squinting at the red vehicle parked in the grass on the right shoulder about a quarter mile down the road from the White estate. The passenger door was wide open, like someone had jumped out in a hurry. The back right tire was pancaked.

  “Looks like someone shot an arrow into that tire,” Matthew said.

  “Not just someone. Raven and his damn crossbow,” Don said. “But why?”

  “Maybe he was trying to stop someone from taking the truck,” Colton said. He shook his head. He didn’t have time to make sense of the scene.

  “Slow down and park over there,” he said, pointing to the shoulder right outside the White estate.

  Matthew eased off the gas and brought the vehicle to a stop. Colton ordered everyone to take up position behind the Jeep and then unclipped his walkie-talkie. He took a knee behind the bumper and scanned the road with the radio to his lips.

  “Margaret, do you copy? Over.”

  Her prompt reply crackled from the speaker. “I’m here, Chief.”

  Colton turned the volume down and checked the truck and woods to the south.

  “Anyone have eyes?” he asked.

  “Negative,” Matthew replied.

  Don shook his head. “They must have taken off into the forest.”

  Colton brought the radio back up. “Looks like Detective Plymouth and Raven Spears ran into some trouble outside of Steve and Laurel White’s house. There’s no sign of either of them, but it looks like they may have fled into the woods to the southeast of the White property. Over.”

  “Roger that, Chief. I just heard‌—‌”

  Static crackled from the speakers.

  “Round up any available officers and send them this way,” Colton said. “I’m heading out to find Raven and Lindsey.” He glanced over at Matthew. “You stay here and wait.”

  “But‌—‌” Matthew began to say.

  “That’s an order, Officer Matthew.”

  The radio sputtered again. “Chief, there’s something else you should know.”

  Colton stood and began to move around the side of the Jeep, raising his AR-15 with his right hand and keeping the radio close to his lips.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “I have some bad news about Officer Nelson.”

  The world seemed to slow. Static buzzed from the speakers as he watched the wind sway the branches of ponderosas under a sky full of clouds that looked like bullets.

  “Rick passed away about thirty minutes ago,” Margaret said. “I just got word from the hospital. I’m sorry, Chief.”

  Colton drew in a long breath, grief washing over him. He tucked the radio in his vest and gripped his rifle with both hands. Two officers had died in the past twenty-four hours. He refused to lose another.

  “Where are we?” Ty asked. His voice seemed to go on and on like they were in some sort of tunnel. It was warmer here than the last place the Sons of Liberty had taken them, and it smelled damp, like a basement. They still hadn’t removed Ty’s blindfold, although they had taken his mask off. The air didn’t taste burned anymore, which was good, but his back hurt and he felt like he might throw up. Someone had pushed his wheelchair up a rocky path for a while, every bump rattling his teeth and making his tummy feel queasy, before moving him and the other kids into this building.

  “You’re safe,” Tommy said.

  Carson grunted and spat on the floor. “I don’t get why the General wanted us to grab these cripples.”

  Tommy didn’t reply, but Ty snapped at the word.<
br />
  “I’m not a cripple. You’re going to be sorry you said that. My mom is coming to get me, and when she does‌—‌”

  “Shut up, kid,” Carson replied. “Your mommy isn’t coming.”

  Raised voices sounded in the distance, reverberating off the walls. Ty’s heart was racing, partly from anger, and partly from fear. What if Carson was right?

  She won’t give up, he told himself. She’s the bravest, toughest mom in the whole world, and she will find you and beat these guys up.

  And if his mom couldn’t find him for some reason, his uncle would. Uncle Nathan was probably in his fighter jet right now, looking for him. The idea made him feel better, but he was still mad. Hadn’t anybody ever taught these men it was rude to call someone names?

  “Stay quiet, kid,” Tommy said. He brought the wheelchair to a stop, and Ty heard the smooth, deep voice of the General issuing orders.

  “Max, I want these kids sprayed down and evaluated by Doc Rollins as soon as possible,” he said.

  “Sir, what should I tell Rollins if these kids have severe radiation poisoning? He’ll want to know if he’s authorized to treat them.”

  The approaching footfalls abruptly stopped not far from Ty.

  “I’ve already told the old man not to waste medical resources,” said the General.

  The rap of boots hitting the ground continued onward. Ty gritted his teeth and waited. When the footfalls sounded like they were about to pass, he did exactly what Tommy had told him not to do.

  “Hey, over here. You see me?” Ty tried to wave his bound hands. “My mom is going to come here and she’s going to put you all in prison.”

  Laughs rang out from all directions.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” Ty said. He was used to being teased, but his mom had taught him to draw strength from it instead of shame. Ty had survived just about the worst things that could happen to a kid, and he was still strong. Nobody could take that away from him with stupid, mocking laughter. “You’ll be sorry when my mom gets here. She’s friends with the president. He’ll have you all arrested.”

  A finger snapped, silencing the chuckles like a switch being flipped. A single pair of boots tapped the ground and stopped directly in front of his chair.