“I want you to radio your second in command and tell him about the attack on Estes Park. We will need fifty men and several vehicles. They will meet us at these coordinates in three days,” Redford said. He handed Fenix a piece of paper.
“Sounds like a plan to me, boss.” He walked over to the equipment and waited for the other man to get up.
“I don’t like this, Nile,” the man said to Redford.
“It’s my decision, Theo.”
“This isn’t the right move,” Theo said as he stood. “Teaming with a bunch of neo-Nazi fuckers isn’t going to go over well with the other men.”
“Hey, I really object to the harsh language,” Fenix said.
Redford directed his gaze at Theo. “This man can help us get Spears without putting our own men in jeopardy. I’d rather a few Nazis were lost in taking Estes Park than our men.” He glanced back at Fenix. “No offense.”
Fenix snorted and shrugged. It was good to know where the redskin stood, at least. They would work together for now to achieve their goals, but one of them would eventually stab the other in the back—it was just a question of who got there first.
“Don’t you want justice for Alex?” Redford asked Theo.
“This ain’t justice, and Alex wouldn’t have wanted us to join this piece of shit to avenge him.” Theo walked away, using his shoulder to hit Fenix on the way out of the room.
“You’re lucky you’re blood,” Redford said.
Theo slammed the door behind him, and Hacker looked uncertainly at Redford. It seemed everyone but Redford wanted Fenix dead. But that was fine, as long as the boss made the decisions.
Fenix sat down at the radio before Redford could change his mind. He picked up the receiver and scrolled to the channel the Sons of Liberty used. Then he relayed his message to Sergeant Zach Horton, his second in command. Fortunately for Fenix, his soldiers were more loyal and respectful than Redford’s men. It only took a few minutes for Horton to reply. The plan was set. In three days, Raven Spears would be dead, and Estes Park would belong to the Sons of Liberty.
ALBERT SNUCK A look around the corner to check the road for contacts. After finally getting his sister back to the office building where Sergeant Flint, Corporal Van Dyke, and Dave were hiding, they were preparing to move again.
The night vision optics allowed him to see in the darkness. In the green hue, he didn’t spot any contacts—just empty sidewalks and a street devoid of any foot traffic. But there were plenty of places for people to hide among the abandoned vehicles or in one of the many apartment windows towering above the street.
Most of the fighting seemed to be coming from the SC though, and despite the early morning hours, the violence had hardly calmed. Sporadic gunfire and even small explosions rocked the airport where the masses were attacking the walls and barriers.
He returned to the alley where Sergeant Flint waited with Jacqueline and Dave. The two people they’d rescued were shivering—although her shakes were from withdrawal, while Dave was almost paralyzed by fear.
Flint flashed a hand signal to Albert, indicating that Corporal Van Dyke hadn’t returned from scoping out the other end of the street. They waited in the alley for several minutes, listening to what sounded like a full-fledged battle in the distance. Albert kept his breathing steady, but the rotting scent of death and trash made it difficult and he found himself holding his breath.
“We’re going to have to find a way around the fighting to get back to the SC,” Flint said.
“Have you been able to get ahold of Captain Harris?”
“Negative. I’ll try again.” Flint moved to pull out his radio, but gripped his side instead, wincing in pain.
Flipping up his NVGs, Albert glimpsed fresh blood on Flint’s uniform.
“I’m fine,” Flint said before Albert could say a word.
A shadow darted into the alleyway, and Albert raised his M4. Flipping his NVGs back into place, he saw it was Corporal Van Dyke.
“The other way isn’t safe,” he said. “Need a detour.”
“Jesus, don’t sneak up on us like that,” Flint said.
Van Dyke sulked. “Sorry, Sarge.”
Albert reached down to help his sister up. She was too weak to move on her own, and with Van Dyke’s help, Albert hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Once she was secure, he took Dave’s hand.
“Stay close,” Albert said.
Dave nodded back. He was still gripping the sheathed knife.
Flint took point and moved out of the alley, striding onto the sidewalk and sweeping his carbine high and low. Albert followed close behind. With one hand still clasped around Dave’s and the other ensuring his sister didn’t fall, he wasn’t able to raise a weapon. He shifted Jacqueline higher onto his shoulders. She was so frail, and he hardly noticed the additional weight with the adrenaline pumping through his veins.
They moved down the side of the street at a good pace. Flint stopped at the next intersection and flashed a hand signal to proceed after a quick scan. The sound of gunfire continued in the distance, the pop of small arms answered by the crack of automatic rifles. Harris’s men were fighting back now, which told Albert things were spiraling out of control at the SC. How could they hold back tens of thousands of desperate, starving people? Smoke fingered into the skyline over the airport, and as they approached, Albert saw the flames for the first time. Multiple locations at the SC were burning.
“Contacts,” Van Dyke whispered from the rear guard.
Albert quickly took cover in an enclosed brick entryway to an office building on the corner of a four-way intersection. Dave tucked his small body behind Albert while Van Dyke and Flint found cover behind a Jeep Wrangler in the middle of the road.
“You sure you saw them?” a man said.
“Pretty damn sure. They had automatic weapons and moved like soldiers.”
Dave pulled on his hand. “Mr. Big Al, are those Orcs looking for us?”
“Shhhh,” Albert whispered. He carefully placed his sister on the ground. She winced in pain, her eyelids flickering. She was slowly slipping away. He had to get her to a doctor before she lost consciousness.
Across the street, Flint and Van Dyke were hiding behind the Jeep with their rifles angled upward. Both men had their NVGs flipped into position and glanced over at Albert. He nodded, weapon readied.
The voices were coming from the street they had just left, and Albert could make out the footfalls now. There were at least four men. He stole a glance, seeing five Latino men about three hundred feet away, all of them carrying rifles except for one that held what looked like an Uzi. Quickly pulling back, he motioned to Van Dyke and Flint, signaling five hostile contacts.
Taking them down shouldn’t be a problem, especially with the advantage of night vision optics, but Albert feared a stray round might hit his sister or Dave. Albert prayed that they would pass by. Still, he slowly readied his rifle, fully prepared to step around the corner and empty the magazine into the men hunting them.
Very carefully, he peeked around the corner again. The men were close enough that Albert could see the five-point sacred crown tattoo on the neck of the closest guy. Definitely Latin Kings. They were now less than one hundred feet away.
“I can’t see shit, Jose,” one of the gang members said. “Can I use my flashlight now?”
“No, and keep your mouth shut, you dumb shithead,” replied another man.
“This is fucking stupid. Why are we looking for a few soldiers out here? The airport is where the action is,” said another guy. “I’m ready to carve some mofos up!”
“’Cause these are the pricks that killed Del and Fernandez. The airport will be ripe for the taking tomorrow. Let the civvies do the hard work for us. We’ll move in when they’re done.”
Twenty feet away, Flint and Van Dyke were moving into firing positions. Albert balled his hand to tell them to hold their fire. It was too dangerous to engage with Jacqueline and Dave so close. P
lus, if these guys weren’t using lights, then maybe they would just continue walking.
The first of the armed men took a left and moved into sight, heading right for the Jeep. Albert nudged Dave back until he was up against the door. The boy had pulled out his knife. He stood next to Jacqueline and said, “I’ll protect her.”
Albert heard the strength in Dave’s voice and saw it in the boy’s stance.
“Thank you,” Albert whispered. “For now, keep back and stay quiet, okay?”
He took a knee and aimed his rifle at a short man with a bandana covering his features and a wide chain necklace hanging down his chest. Just as he prepared to squeeze off a shot, the crackle of a radio sounded behind the Jeep. Albert cringed at the noise.
“Sierra 1, this is Echo 1. Do you copy? Over.”
It was Captain Harris trying to raise Sergeant Flint, and the message came at worst possible moment.
“There!” yelled one of the Latin Kings. All five gang members raised their guns at the Jeep and fired. The shots lanced into the side of the vehicle, shattering windows, deflating tires, and punching through metal.
Dave yelled, “Shoot ’em, Mr. Big Al!”
Albert pulled the trigger and hit the guy with the chain necklace in the temple. His skull shattered and gore exploded into the air.
The next guy turned to fire his Uzi, but Albert dropped him with a shot through the neck that obliterated his crown tattoo. As the man fell, he managed to fire a burst. Bullets zipped into the brick wall to Albert’s left, and one of them hit the ground in front of his feet.
Dave let out a cry and grabbed onto Albert’s belt, but Albert kept firing. By the time the other three Latino men knew what was happening, two of them were on the ground, bleeding out from mortal wounds. The fifth and final guy took off running.
Albert moved out, Dave still clinging to his back. He fired several shots at the fleeing gangster who vanished around a corner. In a quick motion, Albert pulled out his spent magazine and jammed a fresh one home. Then he raised the carbine in the direction of the guy that had fled, just in case he returned.
“Watch over Jacqueline,” Albert ordered Dave. The kid let go of his belt and hurried away. Albert kept his rifle trained on the corner.
“Sergeant, Corporal, you okay?” Albert called out when he deemed the area clear. He backpedaled toward the Jeep to check on Flint and Van Dyke, who were still crouched behind the cover. Flint made a thumbs up sign and then pulled out his radio to send a message to Harris.
Albert moved over to the downed men. Three of the four were clearly dead, but the fourth was on his back, kicking at the ground. He clutched his neck, blood streaming between his tattooed fingers. Albert kicked his gun away and then bent down for a look. The guy couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, if that. They locked eyes and the young man’s lips moved, trying to speak.
Another kid, Albert thought. He considered putting him out of his misery, but Van Dyke beat him to the punch by firing a shot in the center of the young man’s forehead, ending his suffering with a crack that echoed through the night.
“Piece of shit,” Van Dyke said, spitting. “These are probably the guys that hung those guardsmen from the bridge after skinning ’em.”
Flint strode over and looked down. “Nice shooting,” he said.
It took Albert a moment to realize Flint was talking to him and not Van Dyke. In less than a minute, Albert had killed three men. Technically four, if you counted the one Van Dyke had finished off. A shiver rolled down his back. In his entire career, first as a police officer and then as head of Charlize’s security detail, he’d never been involved in a fatal shooting.
“We need to move before they come back. I’ve got the evac coordinates,” Flint said.
“What evac?” Albert asked.
“You got friends in high places, brother,” Flint said. “Apparently there’s a Black Hawk heading to a park three blocks from here. They’ll be here in thirty. The other birds are on their way to the SC to evacuate personnel.”
“Fuck yes!” Van Dyke said, too loud. “We’re finally getting out of this shithole.”
“Let’s move,” Flint said.
Albert hurried back to get his sister. “You okay?”
She worked her dry, cracked lips for a moment before responding. “Cold...so cold...”
“Just hang on,” Albert said. He bent down and picked her up. Flint was waiting in the street with Dave. They continued onward at a quick clip, anxious to get away from the carnage and reach the evac point.
The first block was clear, and Albert started to relax. They were almost there, but by the time they reached the second block, Albert realized they were heading to the same park where they had killed those men, setting off the chain of events that had put a price on their heads.
The team cleared the trees surrounding the park and then moved through a gated entrance where they stopped at the sight of a man hanging by a noose from a tree limb. It was another National Guard soldier.
He pulled Dave close and told him to shut his eyes. For once, he was grateful that Jacqueline was too out of it to notice anything.
“What kind of animals could do this?” Flint said, even though he already knew. Whatever sense of law and order that had kept the most vicious gangs somewhat in check was gone now. They were living in a world without rules, without morals, and Albert was starting to think that the few remaining good people were no match for the bad.
He forced himself to look at the body as they approached. The clothing and skin had been stripped away, leaving ribbons of bright muscle exposed. Pinned to the man’s chest under the dog tags was a sign that read, This land belongs to the King. A five-point crown was drawn below the words.
“Cut him down,” Flint said.
Van Dyke nodded and ran over to the tree. He climbed up and, using his knife, sliced through the rope. The body crashed to the dirt and Flint bent down to retrieve the dog tags. Dave pulled his hands from his eyes to watch.
“Was that a person?” he asked.
Albert turned to look back the way they had come, anxious to get out of there.
“He deserves a proper burial,” Flint said. “He’s one of us.”
“All due respect, Sarge, but we got to get to that chopper,” Van Dyke said.
Flint hesitated for a moment before he continued through the open gates, reaching up to wipe something from his eyes. He didn’t strike Albert as a sentimental man, but the sight of a fellow soldier skinned to the bone would break any man.
They took a trail through the woods that ended at an open area of playground equipment and fountains.
“There,” Flint whispered, pointing to the basketball courts at the edge of a lake. “That’s our evac.”
When they reached the courts, Albert lowered his sister to the ground at the foot of a wide tree. Van Dyke and Flint took up position with their rifles angled toward the playground. It was a good location; the lake made it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak up on them in that direction.
Albert scanned the area. A hellish orange light raged in the direction of the airport. The forest bordering the tarmac of the SC must be burning.
“Is that Mordor?” Dave asked, stepping up next to Albert’s side.
“Contacts,” Flint said before Albert could answer.
Albert turned to see flashlight beams crisscrossing through the trees. Albert moved Dave to sit by his sister. Then he took a knee behind a boulder and aimed his rifle at the approaching figures. To his right, Van Dyke and Flint were both lying in the grass.
“How long till evac?” Albert asked.
“Ten minutes,” Flint whispered.
Armed men moved into view. Albert spotted the guy that got away earlier leading the group, but this time the gangbangers were more cautious. They fanned out like soldiers, weapons shouldered and flashlights raking across the park. He counted at least a dozen beams.
As they moved out around the playground equipment and fountains,
Albert heard the thump of the incoming Black Hawk.
“We have to take these guys out or that bird isn’t going to land,” Flint whispered.
Albert nodded. He prepared to take his first shot, lining the sights up on the face of another young man wearing a bandana over his head.
Forgive me, Lord, he prayed as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Van Dyke fired first, sending a burst downrange. Flint and Albert followed a split-second later, and Albert’s target dropped from one shot to the skull and two shots to the chest.
Return fire exploded across the park, muzzle flashes lighting up the area like massive fireflies. A round whizzed past Albert’s head, and another hit the tree behind him, shattering the bark.
“Stay down!” he yelled to his sister and Dave.
Albert squeezed off a burst in the direction of the closest muzzle flash, dropping another gangbanger. Two more men ran for the playground equipment. The squeeze of the trigger brought one of them down in the sand. A second hit the other guy as he attempted to scramble up a plastic slide. The man slid back down, leaving behind a smear of red on the surface.
Flint and Van Dyke fired calculated shots, cutting down three more contacts. Albert focused on a group of four men behind a fountain. They popped up one at a time to fire, forcing Albert back behind the boulder. These guys were smart enough to take cover, but fortunately they couldn’t shoot for shit.
Albert fired a burst, scoring a hit that dropped one of the men into the pool of water with a splash and a choking scream.
Van Dyke suddenly cried out, “I’m hit.”
Albert kept his sights on the fountain and shot another man who was making a run for their position. Then he looked over to Van Dyke. He was trying to raise his rifle, but dropped the weapon and hit the ground.
“Keep firing!” Flint yelled at Albert.
Pushing his rifle back up, Albert counted three more contacts in the green view of his NVGs. The men had all shut off their flashlights, but he could see them with his optics. One man snuck around the fountain at a crouch, and Albert nailed him with a burst to the upper body. He jerked several times before collapsing.
Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller) Page 23