The Battle - The Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: No Sanctuary Series - Book 6

by Mike Kraus

  A pair of rounds had passed through and through his right shoulder while the third had nicked the top of it. The damage wasn’t bad but the bleeding was still heavy and she worked with gauze and bandages, stuffing them into and around the wound to slow the bleeding. When she had thoroughly packed the bullet holes she wrapped the bandages in tape and Jackson opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

  “How bad is it, Rollins?”

  “You’re going to hurt like the dickens for a while. But you’ll live.”

  “What about Omar?”

  She turned to look over at Frank and the bodies that were next to his feet. “I’m pretty sure those three were distracting us while Omar got to his safe room.”

  “Safe room? You mean he’s trapped?”

  “Could be. Only one way to be sure, though.”

  “Linda.” Jackson reached out and grabbed her arm, shaking his head. “Wait till backup arrives. If he’s in there then he won’t be going anywhere.”

  Linda shook off Jackson’s grip. “Not happening, Jackson. I don’t know if he’s in there and we’re not going to stand around for who knows how long waiting for backup if there’s a chance he might escape. No, I’m blowing it open.”

  “Are… you mean with… you’ll take down half the house!”

  Linda shrugged. “Maybe. Still worth it.” She turned to Frank, ignoring Jackson’s protests. “Frank, I need you to get Jackson outside, okay? Get to the far side of the barn.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “That big steel box in there is a safe room. Omar’s inside and we’re going to crack it open like a can of tuna.”

  “Only if you open your tuna with a stick of dynamite!” Jackson protested, his voice weak and full of pain. “Rollins, come on, be reasonable!”

  Frank stared into Linda’s eyes for several seconds before nodding. “Fine. I’ll get him to a safe spot. Then I’m coming back in to help you.”

  “Frank, I don—”

  “Argue with me and I’ll shoot you in the knees and drag you out, too.” Frank growled at her. “You’re not doing this by yourself. Got it?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll get started, but you’d better hurry.”

  As Frank helped Jackson hobble back through the house, outside, past the bodies near the front door and over on the other side of the barn, the lieutenant spoke sparingly. “Have her cut down on the amount she uses. If she uses the whole block she’ll kill him if he’s inside. And make sure you watch that the timer’s set properly; they can be a little bit finicky. Also, target a weak spot or a corner, so it’ll crack open instead of just tearing and twisting the metal like it would if you hit it in the center. Look for the door and plant it there if—”

  “Holy cow, Jackson, just take a deep breath.” Frank lowered Jackson into a sitting position just at the edge of the barn and gave him his rifle. “She’s been after this guy for years. She won’t screw this up. I’m sure of it.”

  “Give ‘em hell, Frank. From all of us. Make sure she doesn’t kill him, though. He needs to answer for everything he’s done.”

  ***

  Inside, in front of the steel box, Linda whistled cheerfully as she worked with the pliable block of C-4. She cut into it with her knife, pulling off several large slices until it was small enough that she didn’t think it would kill Omar when it went off. As she placed it on the thick steel door built into the box she began humming to herself, stopping only when she heard footsteps in the next room. She stopped working and aimed her pistol at the doorway only to put it back away when Frank appeared.

  “How’s it going?” He walked into the room and stared in awe at the steel structure.

  “Nearly done.”

  “Jackson said to make sure—”

  “Jackson’s a great guy, Frank, but I’ve been doing this kind of thing a lot longer than he has, okay? Just relax.”

  “So what’s going to happen when you trigger the explosive?”

  “It’ll go off, hopefully blow the door here off and concuss the rat inside long enough for us to get back in and grab him before he dies from whatever injuries he might sustain.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Frank patted her on the shoulder and she looked up at him.

  “I’ve been chasing him for years, Frank. And now he’s finally here, trapped inside this room. I’m better than okay.” She grinned at him and stood up to admire her handiwork. “Good. We’re all set. You ready for this?”

  Chapter 16

  The explosion was more muffled than Frank had expected it to be, especially when compared with the one that had destroyed the truck earlier. That one had been massive, sending out a wave of sound and heat that could be heard and felt for a huge distance. The one inside the house was different, though. It was quieter, more subdued—as much as an explosion could be—and contrary to what he was expecting, it didn’t appear to do any damage to the house itself.

  Standing out in front of the house, Linda turned and charged inside as soon as the explosion went off, not even waiting to see if the structure would withstand the blast. Frank hesitated to go in after her and looked over at Jackson, who had pulled himself up and was leaning against the entrance to the barn.

  “Get in there!” Jackson shouted to Frank, who nodded and ran in through the front door after Linda. Smoke filled the entire house, growing thicker the farther they moved toward the back room, but Linda paid it no mind. She pushed forward with a purpose and moved past the stairs to see what the explosive had done to the safe room. The sound of someone coughing echoed against metal and Linda inched forward with Frank on her side.

  “Omar!” Linda roared, ignoring the stinging in her eyes and throat. “Farhad Omar!” She took a few more steps deeper into the smoke and dust, all but vanishing from Frank’s sight. Seven shots rang out, one after the other, and they were immediately followed by a burst of three rounds and a howling cry of pain.

  “Linda!” Frank rushed into the smoke after her, fearing the worst. In the thick of the smoke he made out a form standing tall over another lying on the ground. The standing one turned to him and he saw a flip of hair and he lowered his rifle, glad he had taken the extra second before shooting. “Are you all right?” He asked her as he stepped closer, dust still swirling in the air.”

  “Yep.” Linda held out her rifle to him and he accepted it, then she took a step forward and he heard another cry of pain in a language he didn’t understand. “He’s not doing so hot, though.”

  Frank squinted, peering through the smoke-laden air, and saw a figure lying on the ground with Linda’s boot on his chest. A red stain was spreading across the figure’s shoulder and leg and he began talking in Farsi. Linda leaned over and grabbed his injured arm, pulling him to his feet even as he screamed and bucked against her.

  “Get your filthy hands off me, shey’taan!” His injuries didn’t seem to matter much to him as he thrashed and kicked against Linda’s pull. She lashed out with a boot to his injured leg and he cried out again, nearly collapsing to the floor as she pulled him out of the safe room and into the living room, then outside just beyond the front door.

  Free of the smoke, dust and darkness of the house, Frank could see that the injured man was in rough shape. He was bleeding from a head injury sustained during the explosion, his breathing was ragged, his clothes were stained with dirt and blood and all he could do when Linda threw him to the ground was writhe around, unable to push himself even into a sitting position.

  Linda drew her pistol from her holster and stood over Omar, aiming it with a steady grip at his head. His defiance knew no limits and he spat at her, then groaned and coughed from the effort, trying to crawl away. She put her boot back on his chest and pressed down hard, leaning over to keep the pistol pointed at his forehead.

  “Farhad Omar. Nice to see you again.”

  “Bitch.” He wheezed out the word in between shallow breaths that were growing more painful as she dug her boot deeper into his chest.

&nb
sp; “Oh come on. Surely you can do better than that.” She put more weight on her foot, grunting with satisfaction as pain spread across his face and a faint cracking sound came from his chest. The pistol wavered ever so slightly in her grasp as rage began to build inside of her, borne of years’ worth of frustrations and fruitless pursuits. Her finger began to tighten around the trigger when a shout from behind made her turn.

  “Rollins!” Jackson came out of the front of the barn, rifle slung over his shoulder. “Don’t shoot him!”

  “Why the hell not?!” She turned back to look at Omar.

  “Backup’s just a few minutes out! We need to take him in, Rollins!” Frank hurried over to Jackson’s side and put an arm around the lieutenant, helping him walk over to Linda. “They have a radio setup in the barn and I used it to call the city.” He placed a hand on her back, but she made no motion to lower her weapon. “It’s over.”

  “Over?” She asked.

  “Yes, over. The last of the forces he sent failed. They’re all dead or on the run.” Jackson tried to reach for her arm but she pushed him away, keeping the gun aimed at Omar’s head.

  “You… think that means this is over? No. It’s never over. Not until he’s paid.” Tears of intense anger and sadness were beginning to form in her eyes.

  “It’s over, Linda.” Jackson spoke softly, trying to reason with her. “And now he needs to be taken in so we can get information from him and then put him on trial.”

  “Trial? What trial? The country’s in shambles, Jackson! It’ll be years—decades maybe—before we’re put back together enough to even function, much less have a trial for someone like him.” She looked down at Omar, adjusting the grip on her pistol. “No. We do this now and make sure he doesn’t get to see another sunrise.”

  “If we don’t uphold the law for men like him, then he wins. We are who we are because no matter how bad things get, we still hold to our principles.”

  “Ha.” Frank shook his head. “Been a long time since we acted like that, even before all this.”

  “But,” Jackson shot Frank a look, “we need to do it now. We have to uphold justice, even for him.”

  “Justice right now means a bullet through his head.” Linda growled. “Besides, what does justice matter when he’s already won?”

  “He hasn’t won. Not if you put the gun down.”

  “She’s right, you know. I did win.” Omar’s eyes fluttered open and a thin smile spread across his lips as he looked at Jackson. “I didn’t have to kill everyone. I just had to incite enough terror for you to tear yourselves apart at the seams. It’s been done before, just not to this degree. I didn’t create this apocalypse. You did. You were the fuel. I merely lit the match.”

  “Close your trap.” Linda pushed down harder on his chest and he spasmed, coughing violently under the pressure and pain. “He’s right, though, Jackson.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jackson still kept his voice level and calm. “You have a choice to do the right thing or the wrong thing right now.”

  “Years, Jackson!” Linda yelled, her voice carrying across the open fields. “I’ve been after him for years! My unit was slaughtered! He’s experimented on countless others and he brought us to our knees! And now you want me to let him live?” Her arm wavered more and the pistol swayed back and forth, still aiming in the general direction of Omar’s face.

  “When the darkness is at its thickest and the night has closed in around us… that’s when we need to be the strongest.” Jackson took his hand off of her arm and stared at her, silently pleading with his eyes.

  Linda’s jaw worked furiously as she clenched and unclenched it before finally sighing and looking over at Frank. He was tired—exhausted—but still standing, his rifle in one hand while he supported Jackson with the other. His face was one of concern. Not for himself, but for her. The stranger who had become her closest ally, following her blindly based solely on faith and devotion and a desire to make things right. Her friend who had stuck with her even when given every opportunity to leave. Someone who had supported her decisions even when they had been blindly made and was there to help pick up the pieces and keep pushing forward even when she had been unable to do so on her own.

  In the distance she could hear the sound of Humvees and helicopters closing in; the backup that Jackson had spoken of. Linda looked at Frank and felt her tension, fear, jitteriness and years of pent-up frustration disappear. The corners of her mouth began to curl as she remembered the first time she had seen him and wondered what his angle was and how he would try to take advantage of her and how, in the end, he had been one of her fiercest allies. She smiled at him as her arm suddenly steadied, the barrel still trained on the face of the man she had spent far too much of her life hunting down.

  “So, Frank. What do you think we should do?”

  Epilogue

  Life is fragile. Whether it’s human life or the complex machinations of a society that relies on complex interdependence, even the smallest things can turn it upside down. Life is also resilient. Call it the human spirit, the will to go on or whatever you want, but life is resilient. From the organisms that live at the bottom of the ocean as they feed off of volcanic vents to the child in a hospital who fights for survival, life is resilient and strong.

  “Got the ice machine working. It still needs some work, but this should cool you off.”

  Frank Richards pulled a checkered cloth from his back pocket and wiped it across his brow and short-cropped hair. He smiled as Linda walked up to him holding a pair of tall plastic cups that were already dripping with condensation. The weather was hot—brutally so—but it wouldn’t be long before it turned cold in the fall and winter.

  One more heave of the maul split another piece of future firewood and Frank dropped the tool to the ground as he gratefully accepted one of the drinks. The water was cold, with small ice cubes floating at the surface, something he hadn’t seen in many, many months. “I can’t believe you got it working.”

  “Took a bit of cannibalizing a few other things, but it was worth it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  They both drank in silence as they looked out across the fields and woods that had grown from a strange environment to one that was familiar, safe and comforting. The property was small, with a modest-sized home nestled in the trees and a fertile field large enough for farming out in front and another house far on the other side of the field. Out behind the house, near where the neatly trimmed grass turned into overgrown clumps at the edge of the woods, sat a small plot surrounded by a short fence. Two small slabs of stone sat inside the plot, and around each were the beginnings of a pair of rose plants that had been freshly watered and fertilized.

  A tractor slowly wove its way through the field, turning up soil for new plantings and a figure inside waved as he saw Frank and Linda watching. Linda raised her glass and pantomimed drinking with her other hand, and the figure shook his head in response. “Your dad still planning on doing the planting next week?”

  “Last I heard, yeah.” Frank crunched on the last of the cubes, delighting in the pain they caused his teeth. “I forgot to ask this morning but they’re going to come over and help out with the barn roof tomorrow so I’ll double check then.”

  “Thank goodness. It’ll be nice to store some things out there without the rain ruining it all.” Linda held out her hand, a narrow gold band on one finger, and Frank passed over his empty cup. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back with the trailer to start loading this all up.”

  “You got it. Take your time.” Frank smiled and wiped his brow again as Linda turned and walked away, her ponytail bouncing with each step. He watched her all the way back to the house where she took the steps up two at a time and went back inside. A sense of refreshment—and not just from the water—surged through him and he hefted the maul, stroking the edge of the blade before swinging it in a wide arc, letting the weight of the head do most of the work on the next piece of wood.

  **
*

  Two hours later, as the sun was growing high in the sky, the pair were still hard at work. Wide-brimmed hats were on their heads to shield them from the heat as they stacked the split wood onto a long trailer, ready to be transported into the barn for storage. A light breeze had manifested, offering both a welcome relief from the heat as well as a mask against the distant sound of an incoming aircraft.

  Twin blades spun in a flurry, pulling the silver V-22 Osprey through the air at over three hundred miles per hour. The craft soared low over the Texas plains and hills, banking to follow the curve of the ground. Inside, hunched over a map, a man dressed in Army ACUs shook his head as he spoke loudly into his headset.

  “Are you sure this is where they are?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” The woman answering him was dressed in a casual pantsuit and her eyebrow arched in amusement. “You having trouble there, Major?”

  “No ma’am, just… a little lost.”

  “Ma’am, is that it?” The pilot tilted the aircraft and pointed to a pair of houses below.

  “That’s it. Bring us around and set us down.” The woman allowed a slight smile to escape. “And make it look fancy, if you could. I’ve got an old friend down there who’ll appreciate it.”

  “You’ve got it, ma’am. Better strap in tight.”

  On the ground, Frank and Linda stopped loading firewood into the trailer and looked up to the sky, watching the craft circle loudly around the house. It came in low on the final turn and the rotors transformed, shifting to tilt the blades from a vertical position to a horizontal one, effectively turning the craft into a lumbering, twin-rotor helicopter. Finicky to control at best, the craft tried to buck and twist in every direction but the pilot was more than a professional and he controlled his craft with seasoned expertise, bringing it down just a few hundred feet from the house and letting it coast to a stop while the engines wound down.

  Clouds of dust swirled in the air as the dry ground surrendered in the face of the intensity of the blades, but Frank and Linda both walked toward the craft as it rolled to a halt, shielding their mouths and noses with cloths. “Who on earth is this?” Frank kept his eyes locked on the craft, resisting the urge to reach for the revolver he had strapped to his upper leg.