by John O'Brien
Dust has blown across a lot of the road masking it completely in some places. The earth is slowly taking back its own and I wonder how long the roads will be distinguishable. I imagine the dusty places with little rain will be the first to disappear as the blown sands and dirt shift. The rainy part of the country will keep this at bay for a while but they will eventually crack with moss and plants retaking them. Over time, the outskirts of the cities will fall into ruin and vanish in a similar manner. Small towns, like the one we are heading to, will be the first to go.
Reaching Belt Creek Road, we make a left. The road parallels a narrow creek lined with small trees and dense bushes. A little farther, we pass under a railroad trestle and, although faded, it is spray painted with the usual graffiti. On the other side, the town begins abruptly with a few residential houses stretching off to both sides of the road. One larger white building has “Harvest Moon Brewing Co” on its side. I’ve had that in the past, I think watching the building slide by. How cool would that be to live next to the brewing company?
The road curves ahead and the soldier tells me that it turns into the tiny downtown area with a small number of shops lining the street. He goes on to say that his parents live on the east side, on the other side of a stream that runs through town. The only way to get there is by going through downtown and taking a bridge across. I halt the Stryker before the turn and lower the ramp to disembark. I want to find out if we can see or hear anything prior to jumping into the middle of the town.
Standing on the cracked pavement with high grass and trees surrounding the few houses along the street, I hear the swish of a breeze as it blows through the grass and tree limbs. The late morning sun shining down belies the chill in the air. The larger stream lies just a short distance to the side and burbles as it makes its way along its tree-lined path. Over the top of these close sounds, I hear what sounds like a shout. Yes, it’s definitely a shout.
“Did you hear that?” I ask those around me.
“I don’t hear shit. Are your spidey senses tingling, sir?” Gonzalez replies.
“No, listen. I swear I hear something,” I say. I understand I can hear better than the others but it seems so loud that I’m sure they must be able to hear it as well.
I hear a muttered, “….super powers….”
Turning to Greg, I tell him, “Shut the Stryker down. I think I hear something and want complete quiet.”
“What?” He says, incredulously.
“Shhh… just do it,” I say.
The hum of the Stryker vanishes and I strain to hear anything carried on the breeze. There, it’s faint but I definitely hear shouting from around the corner. I can’t distinguish what is said but it’s definitely a human shout. I tell the others.
“Red Team, on me. Greg, you stay here with the others. We’re going to creep to the corner and see what we can,” I say.
With red team following, I step into the tall reeds of grass in one of the yards. It isn’t quite as tall as me so I creep through at a crouch. The small field of grass stretches all of the way to the corner and seemingly beyond. I cross a narrow walkway leading to a foot bridge spanning the stream and continue. Looking to my rear, I see Robert spaced behind me with the shadows of the others in trail. I part the grass ahead slowly not wanting to make a trail or to let anyone ahead know we are coming by any obvious grass movement. Slow step by step, I make my way to where I can see down the street into the heart of the very small town. I halt and the others crouch facing to the sides.
Grabbing a few stalks of grass to stick in my boonie hat and top of my vest, I rise slowly to a point where I am able to see just above the top of the grass. I bring the binoculars up ensuring I shield the front lenses with my hands. Not too far away is what looks like a pub with the entrance to a parking lot adjacent to it. A couple of other store fronts line both sides of the road. In the open lot, a couple of pickup trucks are parked with several people behind the beds and hoods aiming hunting rifles and assault weapons toward a store across the street. I count eight, but from shadows that appear and the shouts, it appears there are more out of sight from us in the lot itself.
From all appearances, it seems the ones outside have a group trapped in the store. I see a couple of barrels sticking out from windows facing the street. There is shouting from both sides but I still can’t make out individual words. In most situations, there are the good guys and the bad guys. Sometimes though, it’s good guys versus good guys and sometimes bad against bad. It’s hard to tell which is which just rolling up in the middle of something. One thing I do know, there are survivors here. It does seem like the small towns may have a higher survival rate but that hasn’t really shown itself to be an exact trend as yet.
“Henderson, Denton, to the front,” I say over the radio. The two shortly snake by the side of the others to me.
“I want you two here with your M-110s covering. Keep low and out of sight but watch and keep me informed of what is happening. Although you can’t see in the store, be ready to engage either force,” I say.
“Hooah, sir,” Henderson replies.
“Seriously! You too?” I whisper.
“Can’t help it, sir. It’s just a reflex,” he says.
“Well, tame that reflex,” I counter.
“Hooah, sir,” he says with a smile.
“Red Team, we’re backtracking to the footpath. Follow it to the stream. We’ll move along the water’s edge behind the buildings and come up from behind to see what is going on. Slow and quiet is the word. McCafferty, you have the lead,” I whisper in my throat mic.
“Hooah, sir, heading out,” McCafferty responds.
“Fuck me,” I whisper to myself and hear Robert chuckle quietly.
I inform Greg of our plan, telling him to stay with the Stryker and be ready to respond. “Leave the Stryker shut down but be ready to move.”
“I’d give you a hooah, Jack, knowing you like it so much. But I’ll refrain… this time. Call if you need, I’ll just be lounging here with my beer,” he replies. I can sense the smiles emanating from Red Team ahead as we slowly backtrack to the narrow path.
McCafferty leads us down the concrete path a short distance to the stream where we gather. The stream is shallow for the most part and, while it doesn’t have an overly strong current, it’s not a slow one either. We’ll have to take the rocky bottom carefully in order not to make noise or sprain an ankle. The bank is rocky and steep which will mean we’ll have to traverse in the water itself. My choice would be along the bank but the embankment won’t allow that. I’m worried about being in the water and exposed to anyone on the other side but the trees droop over the edge in most areas so we’ll have a measure of concealment.
I lead us down the short but sheer embankment and into the stream. The steepness continues into the water putting me at knee depth right at the edge. The bottom flattens out quickly though so we’ll be able to stay close to the shoreline to our left. It’s the larger rocks that will have to be negotiated carefully. The stream runs over a few rocks sticking above the surface and the gurgle of the water rushing over and around them blocks any other sounds. We’ll have to rely on our eyes as we approach the two groups ahead.
Robert is behind me focusing on the immediate bank and to the left front. I wave for him to increase his spacing a touch. Behind him, Gonzalez looks for her footing before stepping and is focused on the far bank. I notice her check on Bri following at times. Gonzalez points to the near shoreline. Bri nods and focuses her attention and M-4 there. McCafferty is bringing up the rear keeping her attention behind and to the sides. I have the immediate front and keep an eye to the left and right in front of us as well.
We make our way slowly down the waterway. The current is going with us and helping with our steps and noise. Going upstream is always harder, slower, and noisier if care isn’t taken. The trees on the far shore shield any view of buildings across the way. However, it also shields anyone who happens to be lying within those trees. The odds
are against anyone being there but if that’s where people are gathering water, well, any look in our direction will give us away. I’m especially wary of the footpath behind us as that’s where anyone would venture to do just that, get water. I radio McCafferty to keep a look out there.
A bridge crosses the stream a short distance ahead and that’s where I focus most of my attention. Obviously, anyone transiting the area will take that bridge and if I see anyone, I will signal quickly and we’ll silently edge into the trees hanging over the water. Just short of the bridge is my eventual goal as that is where the parking lot with one of the groups is. I haven’t heard anything from Henderson or Denton so I assume everything is the same as when I left. Trees also line the waterway to the back of the lot so we’ll have cover as we approach. As I near, I can hear some shouting above the babbling stream but I still can’t make out individual words.
We reach a point behind the parking lot and, with care, climb out of the water making sure to minimize any sound of water running off our pant legs. We are on line as we climb the short distance to the ground above. Near the top, we crouch and then crawl the last couple of feet. At the top, we lie on the embankment and peek just above the crest of the hill. There are low-lying branches just overhead so we have concealment and cover alike. Ahead, twelve men are lined behind pickup trucks at the front of the lot and farther into it, all facing the store front across the street.
The shouted words become immediately clear. The group outside in front of us is threatening the ones inside.
“Like I told you, you came into our territory and tried to take our things. For that, you’ll pay. Now, I said you can make that easy. Throw down your guns and step outside. We’ll make it quick and leave your women alone. But if you make it hard, we’ll make it hard on them. I think you get my drift with that, assholes,” shouts a burly man in the rear, dressed in a red, plaid shirt and jeans. A chuckle rises from some of the others at his comment about making it “hard” on them.
Yeah, heard that one before and it’s pretty easy to tell the good guys from the bad guys now. If there’s one thing that gets me riled, it’s shit like that. Of course, there’s no telling if the people inside are good guys as yet, but the ones to our immediate front aren’t the likable sort and I place them immediately in the bad guy column.
“Look, we didn’t know and we were just out looking for supplies. If we’d have known, we wouldn’t have come into town. Just let us go and we’ll be on our way. If not, we’ll pick you apart from in here,” a reply from the store shouts out.
The burly man laughs, “There’s not enough of you to do that. You should have seen the signs posted. Save your women. Last warning.”
I look at Robert lying a few feet away questioning about the signs the guy mentioned. I sure didn’t see any so I don’t know how anyone else would have. He shrugs a response back. Oh well, they should have made it clearer. I’m not about to stand for this bullying bullshit. I’ve seen it way too much and it’s getting rather tiring.
“Try us if you think you have the balls. You’ll have to come in and get us,” the man inside the store shouts in return.
I like the guy in the store. Good guy or bad, I like his attitude. Of course, they aren’t in a good position to be boastful or egg the other group on. They’re surrounded and I’m guessing there isn’t a back door or they would have used it.
“Henderson, Jack here,” I say.
“Go ahead, sir,” Henderson replies.
“Can you see the back of the building? Is there anyone posted outside?”
“Standby, sir.”
A few seconds pass. “I have a clear view of the rear for a ways back and I don’t see anyone there,” he says.
“Okay. We’re in position behind the group out front. I’m initiating verbal contact with them. Standby,” I state.
“Roger that, sir, we’re standing by,” Henderson responds.
“We’re here and ready when you need, Jack,” Greg says.
“Greg, start ‘er up and bring it to the corner,” I say.
“Be there in just a sec,” he replies.
“This is Captain Walker. You are covered on all sides. Everyone slowly lay your weapons on the ground. That goes for everyone inside and out,” I shout.
The men behind the trucks, especially the large man and those around him, turn quickly toward the sound of my voice. They look side to side searching for where we are. The bushes and tree limbs are hiding us well. I see panic and bewilderment form on many of the faces. Some, including their apparent leader, bring their guns up as if they’ll just fire randomly and fight their way out.
“Don’t even fucking think about it. You’ll be dead before the bullet leaves the barrel,” I state.
Heads swivel to the sound of my voice but I can tell they are still having a hard time locating my exact position. Some are still turning their heads and the big man’s is twisting from me to the store front. He knows he is surrounded now regardless of where we might be. Losing face is not his exact favorite thing to do and he knows his bullying is what keeps him the leader of this group. At least, that’s what he thinks. And it may well be the case.
“Lay your weapons on the fucking ground… Now!” I shout. “Those who do will make it through the next few minutes still breathing. Those who don’t will see what awaits them in the next world. I’m not fucking kidding around here! Now, anyone want to be a hero?”
I see several have located me hidden underneath the branches. Or at least they have located where my voice is coming from. I also notice that the barrels of the weapons that were protruding from the store windows have vanished. That’s either a good thing or bad but I’m taking it as a good sign. We are in a decent position regardless of what happens next.
The whine of the Stryker approaching barely penetrates the babbling of the stream directly behind me. Several begin to lay their weapons to the ground at my gentle request. They look toward the sound coming their way. The mammoth turning the corner hastens the actions of some and their weapons clatter to the ground. A few begin to stand back up at the sound of the approaching Stryker. I have no idea what they think they can do against it armed as they are. It’s most likely an instinctive reaction.
“I would highly recommend you don’t do what’s going through your mind,” I shout. “Fire on us and you lose your free pass.”
All of the men gathered look stricken with a few turning toward the beefy man asking what they should do. The men who were lowering their weapons freeze in their position. The leader is in a tough spot and he knows it. He doesn’t want to sacrifice himself and is looking for a way to save face — something that he can say ‘it’s not worth it’ or something to that effect. Well, I do not really want to give him that chance. If he’s allowed to do that, he’ll just return and make for more trouble. We still have the search for the soldier’s family and I don’t want to be lingering around with these assholes trying to think of a way to get back at us.
“Greg, a warning burst down the middle of the street if you please,” I say on the radio.
“I aim to please,” I hear his reply.
“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard… ever!” I state.
His reply is lost as the.50 cal opens up with a quick burst. The chunk… chunk… chunk… of the heavy caliber fills the air. The large rounds impact the street just in front of the trucks and create sparks where they hit. The thick whine of the bullets ricochets down the street. They impact a building farther down the road with substantial thumps. If my voice, the realization that they were surrounded, or the sight of the Stryker didn’t create a stir, the sound of the heavy gun firing and hitting so close sure spurs greater action. The weapons the men were holding now fall from loosened grips with a multitude of clatters.
Various forms of, “Fuck this! I’m outta here,” sound out as the group takes to their feet in a hurry. I’ve never seen such a big man run so fast in all my life. I’m pretty sure land-speed records are reached as th
ey all take off down the street with him passing the lot of them in the process. They are soon lost from my view but I can hear their footsteps pounding on the pavement for a short while. I turn to look at the bridge expecting to see them cross but it remains empty. I’m guessing they ran farther to the north, a guess that is verified by Greg as well as Henderson. There still remain the people inside the store and the need to ascertain their inclination.
“Okay, those of you inside, it’s your turn,” I shout.
“Who are you?” A male voice asks.
“I’m Captain Jack Walker. I want you to lay down your weapons and come out single file showing your hands,” I respond.
“How do we know you aren’t like the others and just trying to lure us out?” The voice says.
“I guess my word is all I have. That and a 50 cal Stryker parked up the road,” I state.
“Works for me. We’re coming out.”
I watch as three men and two women emerge from inside with their hands raised. I don’t notice any weapons immediately visible. They spread in a line near the front.
“Is that everyone?” I ask.
“This is it,” one of the men answers.
“Okay. If we go in and find anyone, and we will go in, they’ll be treated as hostile. That means…” I say, leaving the statement hanging.
The small group in front of us looks at each other. I see the man doing the talking emit a sigh and his shoulders sag slightly. “Fred, Jim, come on out,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Two additional men exit the store.
“That’s it,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s everyone,” the man replies.
“You’re sure this time.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. This is all of us.”
“Greg, Henderson, and Denton, keep us covered. We’re moving to the group. Keep an eye out for the ones who fled,” I say over the radio. Greg and the others respond positively.