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

by William H. Weber

  The air was unusually cool and crisp the following morning when Dale and Carlos crossed the border on horseback. Alberto trailed behind them on a lead line. The mule carried their supplies, including most of the weapons and ammo Dale had salvaged from their firefights, along with a few additional pieces donated by the rancher. He had gone into the man’s house half-expecting a confrontation, only to discover the cartel was just as hated by the Mexican elite as it was by the townspeople of Encendido.

  They were cutting through a narrow valley in the Naco Mountains when they caught the sound of gunfire echoing off the hillsides. It sounded as though it were coming from somewhere on the other side. Dale gripped his reins and nudged his horse forward with the heels of his shoes. The beast grunted and immediately bolted into a canter and then a gallop. Wind whipping in his face, he glanced back to see Carlos, struggling to catch up. They weren’t in Mexico anymore. Any battle they heard raging might very well be between his friends and the cartel.

  Within minutes, Dale cleared the valley and drew on his reins. He wanted to get there, but he also wanted to get eyes on the situation before charging in blind. Hugging the edge of the mountain, Dale maneuvered until he could make out what was going on. A couple hundred yards out, two men in a Humvee were firing at a column of three trucks and a handful of pickups. Fifty-caliber rounds had disabled the first truck, smoke pouring from its engine. Return fire poured from the pickups guarding them. Dale drew closer, realizing quickly the trucks belonged to the cartel. But in that case, who were the men in the Humvee?

  “Does it really matter?” he whispered, dismounting his horse and wrapping the reins around the branch of a nearby tree. When he was done, he moved to find cover, unslinging his FX-05. From here he had a side view of the battle, which meant the cartel’s right flank was exposed. The handful of enforcers trying to hold off the attackers took cover behind the engines of the remaining vehicles, popping up intermittently to return fire. Dale moved to his left, waving at Carlos to get rid of his horse and do the same.

  The kid did as he was told, removing one of the extra assault rifles from Alberto and taking several extra magazines.

  Dale’s plan was to catch the cartel men in a pincer, flushing them into the open where the other attackers could finish them off. He spotted a large boulder a hundred yards from the enemy’s position and signaled his intention to Carlos. Once in place, Dale rose slightly, acquired a target in the middle of reloading and laid off a three-round burst. The first shot kicked up the dust at his feet, but the second two found their mark, killing him instantly. They continued by dropping two more before the cartel fighters realized they were being hit from behind. But now they were facing an impossible situation. If they took cover from Dale, they would be exposing themselves to the two men in the Humvee. Within seconds, their situation untenable, the few remaining men attempted to flee across the open desert before being cut down.

  When the shooting stopped, Dale stood and waved his arms to get their attention.

  “Don’t shoot,” he called out. “We’re on your side.”

  Carlos grabbed his arm. “Mr. Dale, are you sure about this?”

  Dale shrugged, as if to say, In this day and age, who can be sure of anything? They returned to their horses and headed over.

  The others remained near their Humvee watching Dale approach.

  “You army?” he called out cautiously, noticing the US flag on their vehicle.

  He had been taken in before by men who looked military and were anything but. Had he not seen them engage the cartel, he might have stayed hidden until the battle was over.

  “We are,” a deep voice bellowed back, half hidden by the Humvee’s wheel well. “You’ve come far enough.”

  Dale pulled the horse to a stop. “Well, aren’t you boys a sight for sore eyes.” He paused, waiting for an answer that never came. “Name’s Dale Hardy. I live over in Encendido. This is Carlos.”

  The boy smiled.

  “What you doing this far from home, Dale?”

  “If you had an hour or two I’d be happy to tell you all about it.”

  The one on the machine gun grinned and waved him forward. “I’m Private Burrows and the ’roid-rager over there is Private Carmichael.”

  Even under the heavy desert camo uniform and chest rig, Carmichael still looked solid as an oak tree.

  “I don’t take ’roids, you idiot,” he said, scolding Burrows and sounding a touch hurt in the process.

  “What exactly happened here?” Dale asked, surveying the damage. Five bodies lay scattered about with more lying in the open terrain behind them.

  “Guess we got too close,” Private Burrows said. “Guys in the pickups opened up. After that it was go time.”

  The two soldiers came over. “That was some nice shooting back there, Dale,” Carmichael said. “Not that we needed it.”

  Dale and Carlos approached and shook both their hands. “I don’t doubt you for a second. Looked like you two had this fully under control.” Circling around the enemy trucks, he saw that they were carting away water. “It’s a real shame the engine’s blown on this first one. So much water going to waste.” He went around back and gave the valve a half turn. Clear water gushed out and Dale filled both his canteens to the brim, scooping some up with his hand and wetting his head.

  The others took their turn.

  “I’m assuming your base camp’s not too far from here?” Dale said, taking a refreshing drink and stopping suddenly at the taste. This water seemed incredibly familiar, that slight earthiness mixed with wet stone. He would be willing to bet a hundred gold bars this water had been taken from the aquifer beneath his house.

  Burrows came up from dunking his head under the stream before shutting it off. “Camp Zulu’s twenty miles or so from here,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Those men we just fought,” Dale replied. “They’re Mexican cartel and they’ve taken over our town. Encendido, ever heard of it?”

  Carmichael shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.” He glanced at Burrows who made a similar motion.

  “We could really use your help in clearing them out. Maybe even pushing them back across the border.”

  They looked uncertain. “We’re on strict orders,” Burrows said, apologetic, like he was explaining to a panhandler why he didn’t have any change.

  Their hesitancy astounded Dale. Wasn’t the military tasked with protecting US citizens from harm, both foreign and domestic? For all intents and purposes, their country was being invaded and they were under strict orders to sit back and let it happen?

  “Who’s your commanding officer?” Dale asked, wondering if the military was in even greater trouble than he had previously thought.

  “Major Gruber,” Carmichael replied.

  “I need to speak with him, then,” Dale said. “Do you have a radio I can use? I’m sure if I explain the situation, he’ll understand.”

  “You don’t know Major Gruber,” Private Carmichael told him. “He’s real strict about following orders.”

  Dale inhaled. “Well, I’ve got a new set of orders for him.”

  “Listen, the Lost Boys are dying to get out of Big Jim’s Truck Stop,” Private Burrows admitted.

  “Lost Boys?” Carlos asked, confused.

  “Who’s Big Jim?” Dale asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Carmichael said, his short-cropped hair already dry.

  Burrows cut back in. “I’ll tell you what. We need to get these two working water trucks back to our base. You follow us in one and we’ll let you meet with Major Gruber.”

  Dale weighed his options. His eagerness to get back to Encendido was only tempered by his certainty that Gruber’s men might be the key to defeating a force as formidable as the Brigade.

  He turned to Carlos. “Will you come with us?”

  Carlos shook his head. “No, Mr. Dale. I promised you I would help you get home. Now I must return to my grandfather.”

  “I understand,”
Dale replied, saddened to say goodbye. “You saved my life and I promise one day to repay you.”

  The boy grinned. “Defeat the cartel. That will be a far greater repayment than I could ever ask for. Besides, I think Alberto will be happy to not have to carry all your guns anymore.”

  Dale laughed and shook the young man’s hand.

  After collecting all of his gear from Alberto, as well as the weapons and ammo from the dead cartel members, Dale gave a final wave to Carlos and climbed into one of the water trucks. Carmichael drove the other. Slowly, the large vehicles maneuvered north, heading for Camp Zulu. There was Major Gruber, a man who embodied perhaps their best and maybe even their last hope.

  Chapter 23

  Sandy

  Riding a bike in the scorching Arizona sun wasn’t doing anything for Sandy’s upset stomach. At the height of summer, her grandmother liked to tell her it was hotter than the Devil’s armpit. Sandy had been little more than a child then and would wonder out loud how her grandmother knew so much about Satan’s armpit. If she had been expecting an honest reply, she never got one. Her granny would only pat her head and tell her what a cutie patootie she was.

  Even at an early age, Sandy was obsessed with peeling away the layers and getting to the bottom of things. That was why she had wanted to become a deputy. As they’d once said on that old TV show from the nineties, “The truth is out there,” and she intended to be the one to find it. Maybe that was also why she was on her way to the pharmacy right now. To get the truth, no matter how much she might wish to avoid it.

  Turning the corner onto Busby Drive, Sandy spotted two armed cartel men manning a checkpoint. A chain had been lashed across the street between a ‘children crossing’ sign on one end and a thick tipu tree on the other. The first man stood beneath the shade of the tree, while the second was busy questioning those moving through. In all, there were maybe ten townspeople waiting. Like her, some were on bikes, others on foot and one was driving a car.

  She had seen other checkpoints in the recent past and this one was mostly the same. The only real difference was that the cartel men had become more thorough and far less complacent. Civilians were patted down for weapons, their vehicles checked for hidden contraband. But the term ‘contraband’ appeared to be flexible. The mother of a young child was forced to hand over a jar of homemade baby food which was eaten before her eyes. This was the hidden cost of living under a tyrannical regime. Even when folks followed the rules, they were still subject to unjust seizures. Thankfully, the woman was smart enough not to complain and she was allowed to pass. This was why running around with weapons was such a bad idea. If they found one on you, you forfeited a hanging and were killed on the spot.

  Soon it was Sandy’s turn, a handful of folks behind her. The cartel grunt waved her forward, his face perked up with interest. He was wearing glasses and she couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Off the bike,” he said in broken English.

  She did as she was told. With rough hands, he spun her around and began patting her down, maybe a little too enthusiastically. She had been smart enough to come unarmed, but he appeared to be convinced she was hiding a gun between her legs. She felt her humiliation rising as the other townsfolk turned away. Were they also ashamed at what he was putting her through or were they thankful it wasn’t worse?

  “What’s your business here?” he asked, finally working his way down her thighs.

  “I’m going to the clinic,” she lied.

  He lowered his shades and looked her in the eyes. His stare was cold and piercing.

  “There’s no doctor anymore, only one nurse.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “You may be waiting for hours.”

  “I have the time,” she replied, pulling a paperback from her bag.

  “A woman with time to kill,” he hollered to the other man. “We always have work for you, señorita.”

  “You might not be saying that if you knew why I needed a doctor.”

  His features crinkled with disgust. With a rough hand, he pushed her through, wiping his hands on his jeans.

  In this new world, beauty and sex appeal could just as quickly be your greatest liabilities. Sandy did as she was told and continued on until the roadblock fell out of view.

  Moments later, she reached the pharmacy and pulled her bike to a stop. The front had been smashed in, leaving a carpet of broken glass at her feet. Crunching over it, she reached down and plucked a twelve-inch length of twisted metal off the ground. The mangled tip was formed into a sharpened point. She might not have a pistol, but she sure as hell wanted something to defend herself with.

  She soon saw that the place had been completely ransacked. Even the cash registers had been emptied, a move which seemed as futile in this day and age as stealing someone’s credit card. Two of the giant shelves had been knocked over. Every aisle was a mishmash of debris and discarded products. Not surprisingly, the beauty section was the least affected. Hard to worry about wrinkle cream when you couldn’t find anything to eat. But the same was not true of the drug dispensary at the back. The shelves of that particular section had been stripped as bare as a Soviet grocery store. Even if you weren’t sure what it was for, most people probably figured they could eventually trade it to someone who was.

  Luckily, meds weren’t what she had come to lay her hands on. As she searched, light from outside struggled against pockets of pervasive shadow. Clutching her improvised weapon, Sandy struggled to read the peeling signs which hung above each row. Before the virus, she had scanned many a store aisle while shopping for knick-knacks. There was something darkly comical about doing the same thing now, a perfect counterpoint between the old world and the new.

  Ten more minutes of diligent examination finally won her the pregnancy test she’d been after. Stumbling over fallen products and ceiling tiles, Sandy made her way back to the front of the store and the place she had left her bike.

  When she got closer, the sight of a dark figure standing by the shattered doorway made her gasp. Light streamed over his shoulders, holding his face in shadow.

  She raised her weapon and described to him in detail what she could do with it.

  “Put that thing down before you hurt somebody,” came the man’s sharp reply.

  “Zach?” She emerged into a patch of sunlight, amazed. “I thought you were dead?”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  They hugged.

  “What’s this?” he asked, staring down at the crumpled boxes clutched in her hand. “Even after the end of the world, all you women can think about is shopping.”

  “This is none of your business,” she snapped, smacking him on the arm with the metal bar. “And I’d be willing to bet you it wasn’t women who raided this place.”

  “How could you know a thing like that?”

  “The beauty section’s mostly untouched.” She was joking of course and both of them burst into laughter. Her smile faded. “Did you get through that checkpoint?” she asked, eyeing the motorcycle behind him and wondering how she hadn’t heard it pull up.

  “I make my own road,” he said proudly. “Cut through some open yards. Knocked down a wooden fence or two. I was with Caesar before. Seems we all got chewed up by the cartel and spit out in every which way.”

  She told him that Nobel and several others were still alive and were working toward getting the resistance back online. They had been on the verge of launching a major offensive before Fernando had managed to strike first and throw their plans into disarray. They were hoping for a quick rebound. Predictably, Zach was dubious. It was all over his face, even if he didn’t come right out and say it.

  “Any word on Dale and Brooke?” he asked instead.

  “No word on Dale,” she said, her fingers squeezing the metal bar in her hand—an unconscious reaction to stress and anger that was not lost on Zach.

  “He’s a fighter, you know that. And stubborn as all hell. I’m sure we’ll see him again.” Zach smiled
and the look almost convinced her.

  “Well, on the bright side, Brooke is okay. Keith and Randy rescued her from―”

  “Randy?” Zach exclaimed in disbelief. “That snake. I don’t care what you say, the guy isn’t trustworthy. He’s done nothing but make all our lives a living hell.”

  Sandy’s eyes dropped to the floor. “That’s true, but if it wasn’t for him, Brooke might be dead.”

  Zach was pacing back and forth. It was as though Sandy wanted him to believe that somehow the sky wasn’t really blue, but orange with yellow polka dots.

  “People change,” Sandy tried to tell him. “Believe me, I get why you’re suspicious, we all are, but you have to be open to the possibility that he’s seen the light.”

  “Tigers don’t change their stripes.”

  “Yes, Zach, but we’re all sinners. Wouldn’t you agree?” She paused to let the words sink in. “I’m sure when you showed up straight from prison, you didn’t want that hung around your neck forever. I agree, actions speak louder than words. So far he appears to be a different man. If that changes, we can reassess then. Right now, we need all the allies we can get our hands on.”

  Zach stayed quiet, usually a sign that his mind was already made up, but that he no longer wanted to argue the point. “Where you heading now?” he asked.

  “To meet with Tahoma to discuss encrypting our communications network. Why don’t you come along? I’ll even let you cut through a few backyards along the way.”

  Zach fought the grin forming on his lips and lost. “You know, you almost had me fooled about Randy turning a new leaf. Soon as he sees the resistance is in a rough spot, he’ll tuck tail so quick his thighs will catch fire.”

  Now it was Sandy’s turn to smile. Zach was the kind of guy who always wanted the last word. This time, she decided to let him have it.

  Chapter 24

  Randy

  Rivulets of sweat poured down Randy’s face as he and Jesus Garcia―pronounced Hey-zeus―turned onto Coronado Drive. He pulled the cruiser to a stop beside the curb and killed the engine. Fernando, in his infinite wisdom, had ordered that Randy and each of his deputies be accompanied by a cartel enforcer during their house-to-house searches.