Defiance: Judgment Day (The Defending Home Series Book 3)

by William H. Weber

  In the distance, a Humvee armed with a .50 cal machine gun came into view at the head of a column of trucks. Keith slowed the cruiser near a row of waist-high shrubs.

  “Get out,” he told them, pulling to a stop.

  “What?” Caleb said in surprise.

  “Someone in that column is bound to spot you back there. Stay low along those hedges until you’re out of sight.”

  The convoy was getting closer. Keith angled the cruiser against the curb as Caleb swung open the door, trying to hide the panic gripping his heart.

  “There’s a Greyhound depot a mile north of here,” Keith told them.

  “I know the one,” Brooke said, scrambling out. She turned back, her hand on the door.

  “I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Now go.”

  She slammed the door. Ahead of her, Caleb was already shuffling on his hands and knees. She quickly followed suit, hoping they would make it out of sight before it was too late.

  •••

  Keith

  Keith kept the police cruiser idling as the lead Humvee drew even with him. Fernando emerged from the passenger side and approached his cruiser. In a holster on the cartel boss’ hip was a gold-plated Colt 1911. He leaned over with his forearms on the window ledge.

  “Everything all right, Mr. Ortega?” Keith asked with practiced deference, keenly aware of the pulse thumping in his neck. “I saw a pickup pass me filled with dead bodies.”

  Fernando studied him with an icy stare. “Were you aware our enemies had been taking refuge in the abandoned college?”

  Keith shook his head, but didn’t say a word.

  “You should have been, Deputy. You should have been.”

  The two men stared at one another without saying a word.

  Fernando stood, hands on his hips, looking around. “Some of the terrorists have managed to escape. Pass the word to the rest of your deputies to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious. Better to shoot first and ask questions later, if you know what I mean. If these criminals think they can kill us with impunity, they’ll soon learn otherwise.”

  “I’ll do that right away.”

  Fernando went to walk away and then stopped. “I hope I can count on your loyalty, Deputy.” The tone of his voice sent chills running up Keith’s spine. “I would hate to hear that any member of the sheriff’s department dared to cross us. We can be your town’s greatest ally or your worst enemy. The choice is up to you.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down Keith’s forehead. He knows you’re a traitor, a tiny voice in his head screamed. Knows you double-crossed him and now he’s toying with you the way a cat toys with a mouse before having it for dinner. “We’re behind you one hundred percent,” Keith replied, struggling to control the quiver in his voice.

  Fernando nodded, searching the deputy’s face for any hint of deception. Just as some men had a nose for detecting fine cheeses and wines, other men had a nose for smelling lies. Fernando was surely part of the latter group and the thought left Keith feeling terrified.

  “Oh, and one more thing. Get on that radio of yours and tell Randy Gaines to meet me at the sheriff’s office right away.”

  Chapter 10

  Brooke

  Brooke and Caleb didn’t wait around for Deputy Keith to finish his conversation with Fernando Ortega. The sight of a large convoy following a pickup stacked with several dead bodies did not bode well for Nobel and the other resistance fighters holed up at the college. If the same paramilitary force that had taken them prisoner had also swept through their secret headquarters―and judging by the Humvees in the column, it was starting to look that way―then Brooke was left to wonder if any of them were still alive. Among them Sandy, Zach, Ann and Walter, to name but a few. With her father gone as well, it would mean she would have no family left.

  She and Caleb peeked around the corner of a one-story house, checking Carter Street for signs of a patrol. The sound of distant gunfire froze them in place.

  “Automatic weapons,” Caleb said. “But I don’t recognize the make.”

  Much like motorcycles, each family of firearms made a distinctive sound. A practiced ear could pick out the distinct bark of an AR-15 over an AK-47, just as anyone familiar with pistols knew the difference between the sound of a Colt 1911 and a Beretta.

  Brooke remembered seeing some of the soldiers in her driveway using an assault rifle she had never seen before. She mentioned it to Caleb right as more gunfire erupted. This one both of them recognized: two or three semi-automatic ARs returning fire.

  The sound was coming from an area south of the college. Although neither of them said a word, both couldn’t help but imagine that resistance fighters who had escaped the assault were being hunted by Fernando’s men. The thought of so many good patriots dying for the sole crime of wanting to defend their town tore a gaping hole in Brooke’s heart. Armed with the knowledge there was nothing they could do to help, she did her best to block out each distant pop.

  After a brief scan, Caleb gave the all-clear and the two of them started out. Aiming for the neighbor’s yard across the street, they covered the open terrain in under ten seconds. In a strange way, it felt a lot like the games she’d once played as a child, pickup games of hide-and-seek with the local kids. Only this time, getting spotted didn’t mean you were it, it meant you were dead.

  Many of the houses here had been boarded up by owners who had either fled as the virus came knocking or opted to take their chances at home. For that reason, large sections of Encendido resembled the ghost towns tourists once flocked to all over the south west. But Brooke knew there were still a number of folks in town, even if many of them tried their best to stay indoors as much as possible. With Randy’s deputies and then the cartel running around shooting innocent people, it was hardly any wonder.

  By the time they reached Irwin Street, they knew the safety of the Greyhound bus depot was close. Perhaps overcome with excitement or overconfidence, Caleb stepped into the open right as Brooke caught sight of a Humvee heading their way.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Caleb, get down,” she yelled, lowering herself into a patch of dead grass beside a row of Sagebrush. Caleb dropped and rolled beneath a thick cypress tree. Heart making a terrible beat in her chest, Brooke rose up on her hands to peek out. Down the street, the Humvee had pulled to a stop. The driver stayed inside, while the passenger got out, his weapon drawn. Like the other Brigade men, he was dressed in desert camo and wielding a funny-looking assault rifle with a folding stock. For several minutes he remained still, his head cocked as he listened. No doubt he’d heard Brooke shout for Caleb to get down.

  Watching, she struggled to control her breathing. During those long-lost neighborhood games, this was usually the part where your tummy tingled so much you’d be filled with fits of nervous laughter. Where you wanted to be spotted so you could make a run for home base, where, safe and sound, you could laugh at your pursuer’s frustration. Those same emotions were present at this very moment, although magnified about a hundred times.

  The passenger got back in and the Humvee crept forward.

  To the west, the sun was kissing the distant mountains, throwing long shadows and streaks of orange along the barren suburban landscape. The truck drew even with Caleb and stopped again. This time it was the driver who got out, pistol in hand. He was standing ten feet from Caleb, who was mostly hidden by the cypress tree’s thick bushy base. Then came the sound of water splashing on a patch of dry soil. The solider was peeing into the cypress tree.

  Although Caleb’s legs were tucked in tight, one of his feet was sticking out. Not a lot, but maybe enough for a pair of sharp eyes to see him.

  The driver scanned the area as he urinated and spoke in that funny accent Brooke had thought was European, but had learned was South African.

  A screech overhead caught everyone’s attention. Flying at least three hundred feet in the air was a bald eagle, a rare sight in Arizona. The animal screeched again and Brooke caught a
voice from inside the truck saying, “I told you you were hearing things, mate.” The last three words sounded like ‘he-ring tings, mayt’.

  The driver did up his pants and raised the barrel of his pistol into the air, firing a series of shots. Lucky for the eagle, none of the rounds even got close, but, perhaps sensing idiots below, it angled its massive wings and headed south. Disappointed, the driver cursed as he got back into the Humvee and drove off.

  Brooke and Caleb stayed hidden for another few minutes before emerging.

  “That was close,” Caleb said, brushing the dirt off his pants. “We got lucky.”

  Brooke scanned the sky, but couldn’t find the eagle that had saved their lives. She thought of her dead mother just then. Crazy as it sounded, she couldn’t help wondering if some higher power had been looking out for them.

  Shadows retreat when confronted by the light.

  She’d heard that once, maybe at church. She wasn’t sure. But if there was a hidden message in there, she wanted whoever was sending it to know that she was listening.

  •••

  The Greyhound bus station was a relic from the 1950s, complete with a façade of shiny coral-green tiles and a vertical sign rising up from the roof like an elongated tombstone. In several places, weeds pushed up through cracks in the parking lot. Derelict cars sat on deflated tires, their bodies dusty, but otherwise undamaged. The dryness had an uncanny ability to act as a kind of preservative. She was sure that by now, many of the abandoned vehicles in the northern states were already being slowly eaten away by rust.

  At the entrance, a set of glass doors were marked by spiderweb fractures, but they hadn’t been outright shattered. That was a good sign. People had an uncanny knack for destroying things. It was in their DNA, she supposed. With any luck, this bus station on the outskirts of town might have been overlooked.

  Brooke and Caleb let themselves in, scanning the shadows inside for signs of a threat. These days that didn’t always mean a human threat either. Several of the abandoned homes and buildings in town had been co-opted by animals―some of them dangerous, all of them looking for shelter from the elements. Although Brooke knew very well there was only really one element to shelter from around here: the sizzling heat.

  Their feet crunched on pieces of fallen ceiling tiles. Overhead, a pipe must have burst at some point, bowing out the ceiling until part of it finally gave way. Unfortunately, the water had long since evaporated, leaving a mess in its place. Rows of seats lined every wall. A handful of suitcases littered the floor. To their right was a newspaper stand, its shelves picked clean.

  “I don’t think we’re going to find anything useful here,” Caleb said, disheartened.

  “We’re not moving in,” Brooke replied. “Keith told us we should wait for him to come get us. And that’s just what I intend to do.”

  Caleb kicked at a handful of crumpled newspapers. “Well, how long’s that gonna be?”

  Brooke regarded him as she cleaned off a seat and lowered herself into it. “A few hours, maybe more.” Caleb was still rattled. Had every right to be after the torture, running from Fernando’s convoy and nearly getting shot on their way here. “How about we stay positive and look for anything useful?” she suggested.

  “All right,” he said, struggling to hide his many doubts.

  Brooke’s first order of business was to find a weapon. Their encounter on the street had left her painfully aware of how defenseless they were. Her initial impulse was to look for a janitor’s closet. After trying a few doors, she finally found what she was looking for. Right away, her gaze settled on a bucket and mop. Removing the latter, she dragged it out into the open.

  Not far away, Caleb was fiddling with a pair of vending machines. Both of them had been cracked open and emptied apart from a can of root beer and two Mounds bars. “Really,” he said, turning to Brooke. “They take everything except a couple of lousy Mounds bars?”

  She giggled. “I guess they weren’t fans of coconut.”

  “Yeah, well, neither am I.” He mocked a dry heave, then stopped when he saw the mop in her hand. She was unscrewing it from the head. “I’m looking for sustenance and all you can think about is cleaning up. Only a girl…”

  Insulted, she tossed the mop head aside, leaned the wooden handle against the row of chairs and brought her heel down against the middle with a sharp snapping sound. She then picked up the two pieces of wood and examined the sharpened edge on each, tossing one to Caleb. He scrambled to make the catch, dropping the root beer and chocolate bars in the process.

  “Food is important,” she said. “But so is defense.”

  Caleb grinned, staring at the wooden dagger in his hand, thrusting it forward in mock battle. “Not bad. Now, if you can turn that mop bucket into a machine gun, I’ll really be impressed.”

  “Jerk,” she said, smiling.

  After another bit of searching, they managed to scrounge together a candle, half a pack of matches and a deck of cards.

  “So far we have dinner and entertainment,” Caleb said, encouraged, the doom and gloom which had been weighing him down earlier nowhere to be seen.

  “All we need now is a pair of sleeping bags,” Brooke said.

  He looked at her, worried.

  “It’s looking like we’re gonna be here overnight,” she said, thinking practically. The rows of seats would make a fine surface to sleep on, but the real concern was staying warm. “Have you searched any of these suitcases yet?” she asked.

  Caleb set the candle on the tile floor and lit it. “Not yet, but be my guest.”

  She pulled the four cases she’d found in the terminal into the glowing light from the candle, rooting through each one at a time. Brooke put aside any sweaters and shirts she found. These could be used to form a relatively plush bedding and blankets if the need arose. She was on the final suitcase when her hand struck something strange. When she held it up in the light, both of them looked on in awe. It was a thick stack of twenty-dollar bills, still tied with a currency band. Brooke fanned the notes, enjoying the wind on her face and the papery smell of new money.

  “Wow, lemme see,” Caleb said, his hand outstretched.

  She tossed it to him.

  “There must be ten thousand bucks in here,” he exclaimed.

  “That’s what it says on the band,” she replied. “Too bad it’s worthless.”

  Her words seemed to pierce his very soul. “I know,” he said, saddened. “The only time I ever find real money and it’s worth less than kindling. Life is so unfair.” He suddenly got an idea. “Have you looked through the whole bag? There might be gold coins in there. Those are definitely still worth something.”

  “Yeah, or we might find pirate treasure.” She chuckled. “That was everything. Someone must have been keeping a savings account under their mattress and tried to flee when the situation became too much.”

  The mood grew somber for a moment. Then Caleb said. “I got an idea. We got some cards. Why not play a few rounds of poker?”

  She nodded. “All right, deal me in.”

  Brooke wondered about Caleb’s parents. He never talked about them. She asked him what they had done for a living.

  The question caught him off guard. “My dad was a firefighter and my mother was a librarian.”

  “So he worked at the station near Memorial Park?”

  Caleb nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  “I always wondered about that strange thing on the roof.”

  He laughed. “Oh, that. Yeah, it’s an old air-raid siren from back when we thought the Russians might hit us with nukes. In the old days, they used to test it every once in a while. Send people under tables and into homemade bunkers. Not that it would have mattered. I mean, if a nuke landed anywhere nearby, Encendido would have been toast.”

  Brooke nibbled the nails on her left hand, something she often did when struck with an idea. “You think it still works?”

  “Not without any power, it won’t.”

  �
�But with power?”

  “Maybe, but it would take a few car batteries. Minimum of three. Why you asking?”

  “The fire station’s right by the sheriff’s office. Imagine what might have happened if that siren had gone off at the first sign of Fernando’s men heading out to attack the college.”

  “You mean like an early-warning system?”

  “Something like that. Or maybe it could be used as some sort of diversion.”

  “That may work, but wouldn’t they just destroy it after?”

  Brooke stopped biting her nail. “Not if we destroy them first.”

  They continued playing poker for a while before Caleb opened the soda and handed her a Mounds bar. Peeling back the wrapper, Brooke tried to eat the stale chocolate slowly, thankful at how it eased her grumbling belly. Across from her, Caleb was also taking his time, but for much different reasons.

  “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. A bit old, but it’s edible.”

  He broke the bar in two and studied the coconut interior.

  “Don’t be a wimp,” she chided him.

  Throwing her a sharp look, Caleb stuffed the first chunk into his mouth and chewed. Slowly his squinted eyes relaxed into an almost drunken glaze.

  “See, the chocolate’s hitting you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I forgot how good it was.”

  Brooke couldn’t agree more. There were a lot of things she missed. More than that, there were a lot of people she missed. As she stared at the flickering candle flame, her mind returned to her father. She wondered where he was, and whether or not she would ever see him again.

  Chapter 11