Bound By Honor: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

by W. J. Lundy

  He knew that the woods could be full of Primals the farther he got from the outpost, especially down in the lowlands and in the towns. For the time being, he would stick to the main roads and on the easier to travel terrain. The weather continued to worsen, the snow falling swiftly and the winds blowing in hard from the west. Brad did not mind; after two years of surviving the Primal holocaust, he knew the creatures did not like to venture out in foul weather. They tended to stay in whatever hives or nest they hid in when they weather got rough. He preferred a battle with Mother Nature over one with a pack of hungry Primals.

  Brad’s plan was to make it to a small hunter’s cabin less than eight miles away before dark. He could rest up there, take in food and water, then leave again at first light. He had been to the place several times in the past year. It was nothing more than a box with a roof, but it would give him a place to stay the night, and it was on the approach to a small town at the bottom of the valley. There, he hoped to gain some sort of transportation to speed up his travel. As Brad moved, he scanned the surrounding terrain. He felt safe from the Primals still high on the mountain and in the heavy snowfall, but it never paid to take chances out in the bush.

  The Primals had changed over the last two years. What started as crazy, rage-filled monsters had slowly become something else. Now they were more like wolves or lions—fierce pack hunters. They were smarter than humans had originally thought they were. As the virus set in, the stronger of them seemed to evolve; now they survived in packs, hunting and living in small family units. For the most part, they now stayed away from built-up camps, the same way a wolf or any other predator would have stayed away from a city before the fall. The Primals were smart and learned what uninfected humans could do to them.

  Even with that, they were still dangerous on their own turf. And there, deep in the wilderness, was their hunting grounds. Brad had encountered them several times in the last month. Usually, he was high in a tree, hunting deer for the camp’s stoves. He would see them moving along a game trail in small groups, stalking prey of their own. The creatures moved slowly, prowling through the forest like man-sized Sasquatches. They were now part of the food chain, APEX predators hunting the same game that Brad hunted.

  After hours of marching at an intense pace, he came to the bend in the road. The logging trail made a sharp turn and angled steeply down. You would not know there was a place just above the corner without leaving the trail. At the sharp corner, Brad found a downed pine tree and followed it to a steep embankment. Trees and the slope of the terrain hid the small, one room cabin. Brad moved to the corner and stepped off the shoulder of the road and into the brush, then stopped and pivoted. Looking up through the haze of the falling snow, he could just see the outline of the cabin’s gable roof.

  Slowly, Brad readied his rifle and moved up the incline toward the small structure. Where bundles of thick vines and thorns ended, there was a building made of stacked square timbers. With the front porch of the small cabin partially collapsed, the front door was concealed under broken rafters. Brad cautiously circled around the building to a back door, a full heap of recently stacked firewood positioned just beside it. Brad moved to the door and stood listening. It would not be unusual for hunters to spend the night here. The last thing he wanted to do was startle an armed man on the inside.

  Lightly, he wrapped his knuckles against the door. Once satisfied he was alone, he reached down and tried the door; it opened with a clunk in his gloved hand. He waited again for a moment to pass then stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind him. Keeping his rifle at the ready, he stood in the dark space, allowing his eyes to adjust to the low light. He could smell the smoky air, and the absence of the Primal stench let him know the place was safe.

  The cabin was a twenty by twenty foot square, the floor made of flagstone and the walls of rough, scraped pine logs. A woodstove sat against one wall, a bed on the other, and a pair of chairs in the corner. Every window in the small cabin was shuttered and nailed shut. Brad turned behind him and placed a steel bar over the door to secure it. The place was a refuge in hostile grounds; well built. He had spent more than one night barricaded behind its walls. He knew when the sun went down, the Primals would come; they always did.

  Brad was exhausted, alone, and cold. He dropped his pack and slid it against the door. On the wall were heavy, hooded sweatshirts and canvas coats hanging from wooden pegs. Brad slid off his own wet jacket and overshirts and swapped them for a dry sweatshirt. He moved across the space to the stove and built a small fire from pieces of dry wood. He removed his wet boots and socks and placed them in front of the fire to dry. A cabinet near the stove contained meager emergency rations for stranded travelers—a bag of rice, some dried meat, and a tin of crackers.

  Brad left the rations where they were and removed a leather satchel from his pack. Inside the satchel were canned goods. He selected a tin of baked beans that he opened and placed on top of the stove. As the cabin warmed from the fire, he heard the first of their calls. The Primals were awake and on the hunt. They would most likely come to the cabin as they had before; they would smell the smoke and know it was occupied. They’d try the doors and look for a way in, but they wouldn’t find a way past the heavy planks and boarded up windows. Before morning came, they would tire and move on. They always did.

  Brad put his hand to the can of beans and removed it from the stove top, taking it to the bed with him. He ate half the contents before placing it on a small table. Brad loaded a bundle of wood into the wood stove and closed the door. He dropped to the bed, and placed an M9 on the nightstand, and a second sigma 9mm pistol under the pillow. He lay listening to the sounds of the Primals calling to each other, and closed his eyes to sleep.

  As Brad’s thoughts drifted, he heard a pounding at the door. A scraping of wood and the rattle of the lock. He let his hand drift to his sidearm resting at the edge of the bed. He turned up, watching the door. Even though he expected them, the Primals still scared him straight with every arrival. The door shuddered again and he heard a rapid knock.

  “Come on, open the door. We can see the smoke from the chimney,” a man’s raspy voice whispered.

  His back stiffened and his hand squeezed the grip of his pistol. He stared at the door.

  “Come on, man, let us in,” the voice called again.

  Brad leaned forward. Transferring weight to his feet, he stood and cautiously stepped to the door. He put his hand to the handle and raised his weapon. “Who are you?”

  “Travelers, we come on this place. It was marked on our map. We got delayed, meant to get here before dark–” A loud Primal moan interrupted the man’s words. “Please, open the door. They’re getting closer.”

  Brad clenched his teeth and holstered his weapon. He unbarred the door and pulled it open, standing back as three men piled into the room. The last one in turned and quickly shoved the door closed behind him. Brad waited for the man to move, then re-barred the door, listening to the sounds of the Primals grow in intensity.

  He moved away and returned to his seat near the bed. Brad kept his hand close to his weapon and looked the group over. Two were stocky, bearded men. Broad shouldered, they carried themselves like experienced woodsman. Behind them was a lanky man with scraggly facial hair. He did not seem to belong with the other two. The lanky man wore a gray, striped parka while the other two wore dark coats and canvas pants. The bearded men had hunting rifles; the lanky man had a semi automatic shotgun held loosely in his arms. Brad edged back and sat on the bed, watching the men peel off their jackets and move to the stove to warm themselves.

  The oldest looking of the men turned to face him; his eyes were slits, his beard gray and covered with snow. “Sorry to barge in on ya like this. Hell, we know better than to get lost in the dark; guess we underestimated the distance. This your place then?”

  “No, it’s just a refuge,” Brad said, watching the men closely.

  “So, just you alone, then?”

  Br
ad sat stoned-faced, not replying to the man’s comments with anything other than a nod.

  The man coughed and wiped his face with his sleeve. “Hell, where are my manners. I’m Bill Yeung; this here is Carl,” the man said, pointing to the tall, shivering man who did not bother to look away from the fire. “And that’s Gabe.” The second bearded man looked at Brad and grimaced, then pointed to the open can of baked beans.

  “You got any more of that grub,” Gabe asked.

  Brad nodded and pointed to the cabinet behind the man. “Some rice and jerky in there.”

  The man grinned, showing stained teeth, before he turned back and rummaged through the pantry.

  “Sorry, friend, I didn’t catch your name,” Bill said, dropping down on a wooden chair near the stove to remove his boots.

  “I didn’t give it,” Brad replied, still watching the men cautiously and noticing that all of them were still holding their rifles. Bill followed Brad’s stare to the weapons.

  “Ahh, nothing to be alarmed by,” the man said, unslinging his rifle and leaning it in a corner. The other men looked at him then followed suit by placing their own weapons in the same spot. Brad relaxed his shoulders and exhaled.

  “Name’s Thompson, friends call me Brad,” he said. “You said you had a map; where is it you’re from?”

  Bill furrowed his brow at the question. Brad watched as he exchanged glances with the other men, and then smiled. “Up north a ways from here, Hidden Springs; you heard of it?”

  Brad shook his head no. “What are you doing down this way?”

  “Headed to a settlement in the valley, a place they call Camp Cloud.”

  “I’ve heard of it. What business takes you there?”

  “You know the place then?” Gabe asked, placing a cast iron pot filled with rice atop the stove. He began breaking off clumps of the jerky into it. “Is it far?”

  “What takes you there?” Brad asked again, not answering the question.

  Bill moved closer to the stove and Brad saw the lump at his waistline. The outline of a concealed weapon. The man removed a bottle of water from his pack and added it to the pot. “Meeting some folks,” he said, causing Gage to shoot him a stern look. Bill raised his chin and turned to look directly at Brad. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and clear your side arm for me.”

  Brad pressed back. From the corner of his eye, he saw that in his distraction, the tall man had managed to draw and aim a nickel-plated revolver at his chest. The lanky man looked frightened; Gabe stood with a wide smile breaking across his face just beside him. Brad slowly put his hands in the air.

  A thump against the door let them all know that the Primals had surrounded the cabin and knew they were inside. The tall man’s hand shook with the impacts of the creatures outside the door.

  “Now, just relax, they can’t get in here,” Brad said. Showing his open palms, he turned his hip toward Bill, offering the holstered weapon. “You know I don’t want any trouble from you gentleman; I’m just here to wait out the night, same as you. Come morning, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Oh, there isn’t going to be no trouble, I can assure you that,” Bill said. Closing the distance, he removed the weapon from Brad’s holster and walked across the room. He dropped it heavily on the small nightstand. Brad scooted so that he was on the center of the bed. He still had a knife at the center of his back, and he would use it if the men attempted to restrain him. He slowly lowered his hands and placed them on his thighs, then watched as Bill casually crossed the room and sat back in the chair.

  “You could leave here alive, if you are kind enough to answer a few questions,” Bill said.

  The old man leaned back as the other bearded man handed him a large bowl of rice. Bill took a handful, pressing it between his lips, and looked up at Brad. “So, tell me what you know about the camp.”

  Brad sighed and stretched his arms so that they were behind him and away from the side table. He opened his fingers and rested his hands on the dingy mattress, propping him up. Without looking, he estimated the distance to the pillow where he knew his backup pistol lay concealed. “I wish it hadn’t gone like this. When I saw you folks, I really had hopes that you were just travelers. So much talk of bandits and robbers these days. Just not enough good people out here anymore.”

  “Them’s the breaks,” Bill said, chuckling and stuffing another mouthful of rice into his mouth. “Now, tell me about the camp.”

  Brad looked down and flinched as a loud boom reverberated through the cabin. A thumping from above sent dust shaking from the rafters. As the men in the room looked up to hear the Primals on the roof, Brad dropped to his side. He retrieved the Sigma pistol and, with rehearsed motions, leveled his arm and locked onto the armed, lanky man. A single pull of the trigger and the tall man bucked back; his arms went limp, dropping the revolver.

  The gunshot’s blast compressed inside the tight space, causing Brad’s ears to ring as he shifted his aim to the next man. Gabe looked at him in shock. He reached for a rifle, and Brad fired again, the round entering below the man’s bearded jaw. Brad pressed back and again shifted his point of aim, looking down the sights into the wide eyes of Bill.

  The gunfire agitated the Primals; he could hear them scrambling on the roof, scraping against the cabin’s log walls. Brad let the front sight rest on the man’s chest. He was breathing heavily, in shock from the quick violence that just took his friends. The man looked at the bodies on the stone floor, and then turned back to Brad. “Why did you do this? We wouldn’t have killed you.”

  “I didn’t stay alive this long gambling,” Brad said, getting to his feet. He walked to the downed men and checked the corpses. Bill glared at him, the shock turning to rage.

  Brad kicked at the lanky man then turned to the other. “Sorry about your people, but you didn’t give me a choice.” After confirming both men were dead; he grabbed an empty chair and dragged it across the room, positioning it in front of Bill.

  He rested his hand on his lap, still keeping the Sigma’s barrel in the direction of the old man’s chest. “So, what business do you have at Camp Cloud?”

  The old man gritted his teeth and snarled. “I ought to kill ya,” he said.

  Brad shook his head. “You had your chance. Now, why Cloud?”

  Bill’s voice was quiet as he mumbled so Brad could not tell what he was saying; the words came out like a snarl. Brad let his hand caress the pistol grip. “What was that you said?”

  “They’ll kill you. They are going to kill all of you.”

  Brad bit down on his lower lip, his jaw stiffened. His hand shook as his eyes fixed on the man across from him. He wished he had brought a jar of the tavern whiskey with him on this trip, just enough to calm his nerves. Brad rolled his shoulders and looked back at the man. “Who?”

  Bill shook his head. “You’re as good as dead now. There will be no coming back from this. Maybe killing Gabe, even killing me; you still coulda walked from that. But killing the shithead over there? He won’t let that slide.”

  Brad was losing his patience. He shifted forward and pressed the barrel of the pistol against the man’s forehead. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

  “General Carson, you fool. He’s moving on everyone, he’s taking everything, and he don’t care who you are.”

  Brad lowered the gun and settled back. “Who is General Carson?”

  Bill let out a sadistic laugh. “You don’t know Carson?” The man laughed again. “Well, you just killed his damn son.”

  Brad looked to the lanky man. “Who? Stretch over there?”

  “Stretch, ha. He’s going to kill you. And if he finds me here alive after what you done, he’ll go right back to Hidden Springs and kill mine and Gabe’s family too.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brad said.

  The bearded man let out a cruel laugh. “There isn’t nothing to understand. Nothing you can do now. They will find you in the morning; they are out there right now, I bet! They’ll kill you and
everyone at Cloud too; he’ll kill all of you,” Bill shouted, spittle hitting Brad’s face. The man lunged forward from his chair. The swift movement catching Brad off guard, the men collided and spilled to the stone floor.

  Brad struggled to hold the gun; he twisted as the man rained punches down. Brad felt his nose break. He took blow after blow, telling himself to stay conscious. He grabbed the man’s shirt with his free hand. Pulling the man in, he threw his knee into his side and gut repeatedly. Bill feigned back, and went for a knife strapped to his belt.

  Brad grabbed the man’s wrist, lurched up, and head butted him, dazing both men. Bill leaned back, letting go. He tried to climb to a knee as he released the knife from its sheath and stabbed down. Brad found the pistol and fired first. The rounds found Bill’s chest, the bearded man’s body going slack and collapsing down.

  Chapter 4

  Camp Cloud

  Free Virginia Territories

  Chelsea took a knee on the most westerly wall of the perimeter fence where it overlooked an expansive pasture that gently rolled down to the now frozen and snow covered lake. The fence was newly built out of old materials. In most places, it was little more than a few stacked logs; in others, an open trench. There was not much need for Primal protection at Camp Cloud in the heart of the Cloud’s property. The homestead at the bottom of the valley and the outpost on the north side provided plenty. She normally did not stand watch, but with half the guard force out on patrol with Chief Rogers, she had volunteered.

  The crunching of fresh snow from behind caused her to turn her head. She looked back to see Shane approaching with a steel thermos. His heavy shirt had the collar turned up. She smiled and reached out a hand, taking the container. “What are you doing awake?” she asked him. She removed the cap and used it as a mug, pouring in the venison broth.