Bound By Honor: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

by W. J. Lundy

  A bird’s call from the tree line took the men’s attention back to the front. Hassan was perched behind a large rock pointing to the compound’s gate. “A group of riders leaving on the road,” he whispered.

  Sean nodded to Hassan, then turned back into the group. “Get ready to move; and stay alert. I’m taking Brooks and Brad to gather some needed intel. The rest of you be ready to back us up.”

  Chapter 18

  Crabtree, West Virginia

  Free Virginia Territories

  Breakfast was better than he’d expected. Powdered eggs and canned hash—it beat the hell out of jerky. Looking across at Henry plowing through a plate of his own, Shane watched the old man eat as he recalled how Henry had fought the night before. The gunfire started late after midnight, just as the pair had been assigned a bunk. Henry and Shane had quickly grabbed their rifles and ran to the wall to try to help. Not that they cared about this compound or its defenders, but they knew their people were being held somewhere inside.

  Primals had pressed tight against the compound’s gates, attempting to get inside. Guards ran along the tops of the fences, then tossed oil-soaked torches to the ground to the right of the gate in a section of the wall that was heavily reinforced with earth. The Creepers took the bait, drawn toward the fire and away from the weaker gates. Shane fired directly down into the heads of the infected, the Winchester proving accurate and deadly. Beside him, Henry—with a steady hand and unshakable resolve—racked his own rifle, rapidly firing into the mob, not wasting a round.

  When the size of the mass doubled, and then tripled in size, Shane watched as machine guns were removed from the backs of trucks and brought to the perimeter. As more guards reported to the fence, Shane was pushed to the back and soon ordered to return to his quarters. With everyone focused on the fight, Henry and Shane found themselves alone; they decided to wander close to the barn. With it so closely guarded—three men to every door—they didn’t speak in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves. Light shone through the planks, and shadows moved across the cracks. It was very apparent something important was being kept inside.

  “Watcha thinking about?” Henry asked, sliding his cleaned plate away and breaking Shane’s daydream.

  Shane let his eyes wander the mess hall. It was in an old, three-car garage, long and wide, with block walls and a cement floor. The building was surprisingly warm, thanks to a woodstove in each corner. Seeing that nobody cared or bothered to observe him, he turned back to Henry. “These guys are better than they look,” he whispered. “I’m worried.”

  Henry nodded, taking a gulp from a cup of coffee and letting his eyes inspect the other men in the makeshift mess hall. “Ain’t none of ’em look like military, but they sure is organized like it. And that call to the wall last night was disciplined; it’s something they’ve practiced.”

  Shane leaned in close, speaking low to ensure nobody would hear. “And the barn,” he said.

  “Yup, I noticed that. It’s the only place big enough to hold your people.” Henry scoffed. “But we can’t get in.”

  Shane looked up and noticed two men enter the mess hall with Bones. He recognized the two from the previous day’s meeting with Gus. The men’s heads panned, searching the faces in the mess hall until Bones locked on his gaze. He raised a hand, throwing a friendly wave, and swiftly approached.

  “Here they are,” Bones said, moving to the head of the table. “How’d you boys sleep last night?”

  Shane nodded and tried to look uninterested as Henry stretched and yawned. “Like a newborn. We appreciate the digs; sure as hell beats the trail.”

  Bones smiled and turned, pointing to the men standing beside him. “Want to introduce ya’ll to some folks. This here is Chris and Clyde.” Shane looked the men over, seeing right off that they both carried pistols in shoulder rigs. The first impression they gave off was that they were in charge.

  The bigger of the two, Clyde, put a hand on Bones’ shoulder and ushered him away. The fat man moved to the table and dropped into an empty seat. The other man circled around and stood just behind Shane; he seemed to stand intentionally close, as to draw discomfort. Clyde reached into a shirt pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and waved it at Henry. Henry shrugged and the fat man lit a match.

  “Got some work for you two,” the fat man said, fumbling to light the cigarette.

  “Yeah, that’s what we came here for,” Henry grunted.

  Clyde grinned. With the cigarette hanging from his mouth, he exhaled through his nose. He reached into a cargo pocket on his pants and dumped a box of 30-30 shells onto the table. “Boys said you helped out on the wall last night. This ought to cover your expenses.”

  Henry reached for the box and opened it up. “It’ll do. We intend to earn our keep.”

  “Good—I like to hear that,” Clyde said. “Too many boys these days are just along for the board and three squares. We need more go getters like ya’ll seem to be.”

  Henry laughed. “Well, don’t go getting attached; come spring, we’re back on the trail.”

  “I get that, but time being we could use your help,” Clyde said, holding back a grin. The fat man pushed back from the table and rose to his feet. “Get your gear and meet us out front in twenty. We’ve got a patrol missing. Gus wants us to take a ride and see if we can’t locate ‘em.”

  “A patrol? That sounds easy enough. What were they doing out there?” Shane asked.

  The cousins looked at each other, then at Shane, eyeing him suspiciously. Finally the fat man nodded and Chris spoke up. “We had some trouble with a group a few days ago. After we dealt with most of them, we had the patrol stay back to search for survivors.”

  “Survivors?” Shane said, frowning.

  “Yeah, this group. They were holding a number of women and children captive. We were able to free most of them. But we suspect there were more of the captors out there.”

  “So, you left a group behind to make sure nobody followed you back to Crabtree?” Shane said, gesturing to the room.

  “Well, specifically speaking, you got it about right, but we don’t suspect any trouble.”

  “This trouble… if you aren’t expecting more of it—then where are your missing men?” Shane asked, now turning his head to look Clyde in the eye.

  He felt Chris behind him; the man gripped the back of Shane’s chair, intentionally pressing his knuckles into Shane’s back. “The kid asks a lot of questions,” the man said.

  Henry waved a hand. “Hey, you don’t stay alive this long not knowing what the hell you’re getting into. We’re just making sure.”

  Clyde shrugged, laughing. “I think we’re going to be all right,” the fat man said sarcastically. “Get your horses and meet us outside in twenty,” he concluded, walking away.

  ***

  They rode away from the compound single file. The two Raiders dressed in the familiar gray parkas. Chris in the front and Clyde in the back, they moved slowly down the blacktop road.

  With the high ground of the mountain valley to their right and open prairie to the left, the only sound was that of the clop of horse hooves. Shane didn’t dare look behind him, but he was sure if he had, he would find a barrel pointed at his back. Henry was just ahead of him, riding close to Chris; at every opportunity, the old man would try to spark a conversation with the lead man. Every time, the attempt was met with Chris increasing his pace to create distance.

  Shane tried to steady himself and hide his inexperience as a horseman from the cousins. After a short distance, he realized most of his concern was unneeded, as the cousins appeared to have even less experience than him. Henry rode easy, letting the reins lay across his lap. With his hands tucked away in his jacket pocket, he looked as if wouldn’t be any more comfortable on an old recliner. The old man made a clicking sound with his mouth and rushed his horse ahead and abreast of Chris. “You’ve got a good animal there; how long you had him?” Henry asked.

  Chris appeared to be tense in the saddl
e and was hesitant at makeing any changes to the horse’s gait. He rode stiff-backed and uncomfortable. “It’s not my horse. I don’t know shit about it, so don’t bother asking,” Chis spat back.

  Henry’s reply was terse. “Damn, son, didn’t mean to piss in your pocket.”

  Chris pulled up on the rein to stop, and turned in the saddle to face Henry. “Now, just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  The old man shrugged confusion and looked back to Clyde. The thick-necked cousin grinned. “Settle down, Chris. Save it for the other guys.”

  Before Chris could argue, Henry put up his gloved hand and reeled his horse back. The riders stopped as Henry dismounted his horse and quickly stepped to the shoulder of the road. He leaned forward with a hand over his eyes, shielding them from the morning sun. Clyde grunted and rode up alongside the old man, now drawing his rifle from the scabbard. “Something bothering you, old timer?” he said.

  Henry moved his jaw like chewing a piece of leather, then spit on the ground. “Something’s up there,” he said, moving his head into the direction of the high ground that flanked the blacktop road.

  “It’s nothing,” Chris mocked.

  Shane maneuvered his horse around Chris, flanking the other men. He let his gun hand rest on the butt of his pistol as his eyes focused up in the trees. The steep hill to the south moved up at a sharp angle away from the road. The crest was lined with thick trees shadowed by the sun coming up in the east. Shane followed the hill to where it was notched out, knowing it was the spot where the road intersected with the valley trail they’d followed a day earlier.

  “Naww,” Henry muttered. “I saw a glimmer when we first started out, thought it was nothing, but I just seen it again.”

  Chris paused and shook his head before kicking his horse. “It’s just the snow and ice reflecting off the sun. You’re seeing things, old man.”

  Clyde nodded in agreement and followed his cousin. Henry took another long glance at the tree line before climbing back into his saddle to follow the others. Shane rode up and fell abreast of the older man. “What do you think it was?” he asked in a low voice.

  Henry shook his head, digging for his pipe. “Can’t be certain, maybe the kid’s right and it’s just ice,” he said, watching the younger men ride away. Henry removed his gloves and trotted his horse back to the center of the street. He pulled the pipe and started his routine of packing tobacco. He dipped his head and used his hands to shield the pipe from the wind as he lit it.

  Looking up again, he made sure the cousins were out of earshot, then lowered his voice. “Somebody is out there.”

  Shane’s head pivoted side to side.

  “Somebody that don’t want these boys to see them,” Henry said.

  Chapter 19

  Outside of Crabtree, West Virginia

  Free Virginia Territories

  Brad sprinted through the tree line, dropping to a slide along the shoulder of a snow swept road. He knew Sean and Brooks were ahead of him, closer to the intersection and positioned higher on the slope. He stashed his rifle and pack in the snow, pushed his sidearm into his waist, and pulled the bloodied, gray parka over his head.

  He staggered toward the center of the road, just catching sight of horsemen rounding the corner. Brad moved into the deeper snow and dropped to his knees as he raised a hand. He crawled forward and watched as the lead rider pulled up on the reins, stopping his horse. He waved his hand up and down crawling forward, carefully eyeing the lead horsemen. The man raised a rifle and leveled it in Brad’s direction, but didn’t fire.

  Brad took another stumbling step, then collapsed into the snow. He belly slid forward before rolling to his back, letting his arms drop to the snow. He could hear the men now, shouting to each other, but unable to make out the words. The horses clopped forward, he could hear their heavy breathing as the snorted into the cold air.

  “He bit?” he heard a rider call out.

  “How the hell should I know?” another responded.

  “Well, he’s got one of our jackets; go check him out.”

  “I ain’t touching him! He might be infected. Have the kid go do it; that’s what we’re paying him for, right?”

  Brad fought the temptation to turn his head or reach for his pistol. He had to trust that Sean and Brooks would put the riders in the ground before any could do him harm. He heard a horse stomp and the creak of a saddle as a man’s boots hit the ground. He caught a glimpse of a square-shouldered man pass him by. The sun shone in his eyes, preventing him from making out details, but not keeping him from seeing the pistol in the man’s hand. The figure stepped closer, the sun blocking his face. The man knelt over his body, reared back, then leaned in close and whispered, “Brad, is that you?”

  Brad turned his head and looked directly into the eyes of Shane. “Ahh, hell,” he said.

  “What?” Shane asked, confusion in his voice.

  “Listen, I don’t have time to explain, but you need to get your hands in the air now.”

  Shane’s eyes grew wide with recognition. He wasn’t too stupid not to recognize an ambush when he saw one. Brad rolled hard in the snow and pulled his pistol. He launched to his feet and planted the barrel under Shane’s chin, causing the man to lose balance. Brad spun the man around, his left hand gripping his neck as his right extended the pistol toward the men on horseback.

  Shane flinched then dropped the pistol and straightened his arms. “Take it easy, Brad. We’re still on the same side, right?”

  Brad kept aim at the lead horseman who was now leveling a rifle at him. The man’s horse, feeling the tension in the air, was turning and backing away. “What am I dealing with here, Shane?” Brad said in a low voice. “You gotta help me out before lead starts flying.”

  Shane dipped his head to his chest and mumbled, “The old man is with me; the other two are part of the camp’s raiders.”

  “And what are you doing with them?” Brad asked, seeing that the lead rider had now taken control of his mount. A skinny-faced man in a gray parka slowly trotted toward him with his rifle held high.

  Not waiting for an answer, Brad pointed the pistol back at Shane. “Don’t come any closer, mister. I won’t hesitate to kill him.”

  The skinny-faced man smiled. “I think we have a misunderstanding. I couldn’t give two shits about that boy your holding. All I’m wonder is if this good ole 44-40 round will tear through both of ya.” The man put the lever action rifle to his shoulder and smiled.

  Brad squeezed the pistol in his grip. There were two riders besides Skinny Face. The old man was sitting back with one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding the reins of Shane’s horse. The third, with a bear’s chest and thick neck, had a hand on the grip of a holstered pistol, but as yet hadn’t drawn it. Skinny Face was still over fifty feet off; a long shot with a pistol and even if he managed to drop the first man, the others would be able to draw down on him.

  “I’m giving you a count of three to drop your pistol,” Skinny Face said, locking back a hammer on the rifle. Before Brad could make a final decision to fire or surrender, the riders head exploded in a pink mist—moments later, the report of a rifle echoed all around them. The body slumped to the side and fell to the road.

  Brad shifted his point of aim to the third rider, the man now sitting stone cold under the sudden realization that the stranger they’d just rode up on was not alone. Brad released Shane from his grip. “Pick up your pistol, Shane. And if that old man is a friend of yours, tell him to get his hands up before Brooks pops his grape.”

  The old man heard the command and lifted his hands. “I don’t want any trouble, mister.”

  Bear chest puckered his brow but remained frozen, his hand still on the pistol grip. His eyes were locked on the road where the dead man lay. “Come on, Clyde, just do as he says,” the old man called out.

  The big man lolled back, his hand still resting on the gun. His head shifting from Shane to Brad and back again as he looked them each in th
e eye. Brad watched the big man’s jaw quiver. “Better listen to him. You don’t have to die here,” Brad said, keeping his weapon pointed.

  Clyde’s hand lifted slightly from the grip of the pistol. He pumped his hand, flexing his fingers, his eyes now fixed on Brad. Out of the high ground, the team emerged. Hassan, Cole, Joey, and Burt moved swiftly out of the trees toward the road. Brad knew the SEALS would still be behind the glass until the last man surrendered, or was put down. Without sparing time for discussion, Cole ran directly to Clyde and, grabbing him by the gun hand, pulled him from the horse. The man hit the snow-covered road with a thump.

  While Cole and Burt restrained Clyde, the other two turned their attention to Henry. The old man still had his hands in the air. Shane yelled, stopping their assault. “He’s friendly, fellas,” he said.

  Henry smiled. Still showing his palms, he lowered himself from his horse and lifted his jacket so the soldiers around him could see his sidearm.

  Hassan moved in and circled the man before touching a hand to the horses back. “Is this the man that carried you from the valley?” he asked, looking at Shane.

  Shane nodded. “Yes; if it wasn’t for Henry, I’d be dead.”

  “Ya’ll are dead anyway. My people know we’re out here; they’ll come after us!” Clyde yelled. “Double crossing sons a bitches,” he said, struggling against Cole, who was stuffing a rag into the man’s mouth. They then lifted and strapped him over the horse’s saddle; all the while, the man kicking and fighting against the restraints.

  Brad looked up to see the SEALs moving down the hill. Sean was pumping his fist and yelling for them to move out. The snipers joined the group with Brooks, who was keeping his rifle in the direction of the camp. “We need to move, boss, I don’t like being in the open like this.”