Steele pointed a knife hand forward. “Let’s move out.” The window was up before he was finished. Tess rolled the pickup forward.
“I don’t like that guy,” she muttered. “With his mumbo jumbo, do you hear these people? Father this. Father that. It’s like he thinks he’s some kind of gift from God.”
“I’m pretty sure every time we talk, I sprout a few more gray hairs. I don’t like him, but we need him.”
Tess snorted. “We don’t need those crazies.”
“We do,” Steele ground out. “I don’t like it, but we need him if we are ever going to stand a chance against Jackson. We just need to find a place where we have the advantage, and that place is not here. Remember the plan.”
Tess’s dark-as-coal eyes darted his way. “If he even looks at us wrong, I’m going to put him down with a nice little .45 caliber bullet.”
Steele let his head fall back on his headrest with force. To think that only a few months ago I wanted to be a team leader.
He watched the tall oaks and younger maple trees scroll by. “I know you will.”
MAUSER
Roseville, IL
Colonel Jackson drew his forces to a halt along a rural road. The Humvees sat idling and turrets swiveled as soldiers scanned, waiting for orders. Farm fields lay fallow, stretching away from the road. Waist-high yellow grass dominated the fields. It gave the gunners on top of the Humvees excellent coverage of their surroundings. It also gave Mauser a minute to relax.
Mauser’s two Humvee squad was in the center of the column. He put a foot up on the dash, a SCAR-H pointed downward between his legs. His slid down his seat using the back to lean his head against.
“You think it’s Zulus?” Brown said. His hand was looped on the steering wheel. He stretched his neck trying to see what the hold up was over the other Humvees and was still too short to see anything. He shrunk back down.
“Don’t matter. We’ll go balls deep in some Zulu ass,” Jarvis piped up from the back. He leaned forward closer to the front seats, the smell of his rotting fingers wafting forward. Mauser shifted in his seat away from the soldier.
Brown smirked. “Ha, like those chicks last night.”
“They was all about it.” He nodded. “Mauser, when you coming out with us, man? I’m telling you, these chicks will bang anything. The apocalypse makes them so horny.”
Mauser waved a hand at them. “Not my style, man.”
“What, you like dudes?”
“No, but I don’t like to troll the civilians and get sloppy seconds from one of you heathens.”
Brown gave him a side eye. “‘Fraid of bein’ Eskimo brothers?”
“I ain’t afraid of nothing except what Jarvis has got.”
Jarvis smirked. “Can’t catch what you already got.”
Mauser wrinkled his nose. “Come on, man, what did I tell you about those fingers? They fucking stink.”
“Good. Luck. Charm. The infected don’t like it.”
Mauser peered over his shoulder. “They fucking stink like Bigfoot’s dick.”
“I got Bigfoot’s dick, sir, right here.” Jarvis grabbed his crotch over his pants and pulled on it.
Mauser shook his head. “Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you guys?”
“Nothin,” Jarvis said from the back, defensive. He gazed out the window.
The radio buzzed drawing Mauser’s attention.
“Squad Foxtrot, position?”
Mauser reached for the black receiver and picked up the microphone. He held it close to his mouth. “Squad Foxtrot is near the center of the column.”
“Move on up. Colonel wants to see you.”
***
Colonel Jackson laughed. It was way over the top for the situation and it made Mauser uncomfortable. He gave Mauser a wide-eyed, crazy look.
“What the hell is this kid thinking? What is he? Some sort of martyr?”
Mauser stared out at the bodies laying discarded in the street. They looked like discarded human trash. “Were they attacked?”
Jackson gave him a dirty look. “They’re way too far off the beaten track to run into.” He shook his head in an exaggerated manner. “No. No. Somebody went out of their way to kill those monsters.”
Jackson touched a stubbly chin with his finger. “Kid moves much slower and we’re going to catch him in the next ten miles.” He held up a map. “Or we’ll catch him on the river.”
“You don’t think he’ll split his forces and try to give us the slip again?”
Jackson snorted and shook his head. “Why? Didn’t work the first time.” He chuckled. “Sergeant Baxter’s squad finished off one group and Lieutenant Rhodes chased the others across the Mackinaw Bridge. If he has half a brain, he will try something else. I know you were his friend and that his betrayal stung us both.”
Mauser avoided Jackson’s eyes. “It did.” More than you can know.
“That’s what joins us even more than the rest. I gave him a chance and he embraced it with a knife in the backs of my men. He betrayed us both.” Jackson stared out at the lifeless bodies. “Do you know why we are a legion?”
Mauser followed the colonel’s gaze. “Because of our size.”
Jackson smirked, a skeleton grinning. “Partially yes. We have over a thousand fighting men here, but it’s more than that. We are a group of men that all share something more than merely being in the same unit. I have men from sixteen different commands within my unit. Do you know why?”
Mauser glanced at him, feeling uneasy that he might come up with the wrong answer. “Survival.”
Jackson snorted. “Deeper than that. Steele’s group has banded together to survive. We are more than a band or even a war band. All my men here share something that unites us as one unit.”
Jackson paused and the two men watched blackbirds circling overhead.
“Do you know what truly unites our legion?
Mauser shook his head no.
Jackson grabbed the back of Mauser’s neck in what was supposed to feel like a fatherly grasp, but it came across as awkward like he was going to hold him under water until he stopped moving. Mauser’s muscles stiffened in his neck and upper back.
Jackson leaned closer to Mauser and hissed, “Betrayal by our government.” He released Mauser after a long pause and gestured at his column. “Every single man here was left to die. Every man abandoned for dead. That’s not what this nation was founded on.” He pointed in the direction of Steele’s forces.
“That man sided with the government. He betrayed us again and again. He cannot be allowed to survive. We must crush his forces and teach them the lesson that traitors will not be allowed to live. We are the remaining.”
“Why don’t we speed up and catch them then?”
Jackson’s smile grew wide enough to show all his teeth.
“I could have had him at Burr Oak. If we push on ahead, we could take him before nightfall. But why haven’t I?”
“I’m not sure why, sir.”
“Because it’s about the chase, not just the outcome. A boxer doesn’t get into the ring and knock his opponent out with a single punch. He dances, he jabs, he blocks, he lets his opponent think he’s winning and then something changes. He continues to pummel his opponent with precise and evaluated strikes. Then his opponent begins to fear because he thought he was getting the upper hand, but he wasn’t. He begins to realize that he is outmatched. His adversary is technically sound and he’s going to lose.”
Jackson sucked in air through his nostrils and they whistled. “After another round of this, he knows he will lose, but maybe he can make it a bit longer. The bell dings. He is in survival mode now, thinking just don’t get knocked out, just make it to the next round. He’s most vulnerable then. He’s thinking only about surviving and not about winning. He’s only thinking about his next move, not the next ten steps it will take to get him there. Survival will only take you so far. That’s when the final blow will be struck. Only after I’ve taken every shred o
f dignity from the boy.”
Jackson nodded his own words moving him. “In the end, it’s not a boxing match, but a fight for a man’s soul. That is what we must take. His soul. The only way to defeat a traitor is to take their souls. If we don’t take their souls, then the traitorous seed will continue to grow in others and we will fight them forever.” He pinched his fingers together in front of him. “We must grind that seed until only dust remains.”
Mauser gulped, swallowing Jackson’s words like a charred steak. He nodded in acknowledgment. “He’s a different man than he used to be.”
Jackson clapped his back. “But you aren’t, Mauser. You and me are the same. We know what’s right and we do it. We don’t run away because we don’t like our orders. We complete the mission and move on to the next one. We are men of purpose. Steele is only a boy. He doesn’t know his right from his left. His people are a rabble, a collection of hooligans better suited for a riot than a war.”
Mauser nodded and his words came out hollow. “I made a choice that was logical. This command is the only thing keeping all these people alive. It gives people hope.”
“That’s why we’re here. We’re all that’s left in the field. It’s our duty to survive. The lines have been drawn in the sand, and it’s up to us to do the right thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jackson brought his binoculars to his eyes. “We are only in round two. My forces will continue to eat away at him. He will know what’s it’s like to have no hope. That is when his throat will be crushed beneath my boot. I will be there when his eyes dim and his soul is mine.”
Mauser peered at the ground. He disagreed vehemently with Steele, but it was still a hard pill to swallow that they were going to kill him. Some of those old feelings still lingered on the outside of Mauser’s subconscious. He pushed them away. There was no room for feeling here. Only the power to survive and Steele had shown time and time again that he couldn’t embrace that power, so he would fall before those that had an intimate understanding of this new world.
“You are released back to your squad,” Jackson said.
“Yes, sir.”
Mauser turned and walked back to his waiting Humvee. The column stretched down the road. All colors and creeds of soldiers waited for orders, all bound together by Jackson’s command. Men that had followed him from the early days of the Pittsburgh quarantine to the Battle of Steel City and to the retreat from Youngstown Airfield. He only recognized a few of their faces, but most held that look that men have when they fight a war with no end.
His Humvee idled in park while Brown had the door open. He dug a tan spoon into a tan plastic package and spooned some of its contents into his mouth with a slurp.
“What’s the big guy have to say?”
Mauser’s deadpan expression gave nothing away. “We’re still on track to hit the enemy force along the river.”
STEELE
Eastern Banks of the Mississippi River, IL
Hulking farm equipment layered the two-lane rusted brown bridge. One blue combine and one green combine had been parked side by side, blocking the bridge over the muddy waters of the Mississippi River.
Steele’s convoy was strung out on the banks along the Illinois side of the river. The occupants in the long trail of vehicles were stalled, waiting for their next move. Steele stood outside Tess’s red pickup parked right on the edge of the river.
He watched the town, flanked by some of the motorcycle club chiefs and Ahmed. They had finally reached their place of refuge only to find it isolated from the rest of the country and barricaded off from the rest of the world. Probably one of the only reasons the small Iowa town still had living people in it. He flexed his damaged hand. He could make a light fist now. It may take forever, but I will make this arm work again.
“There ain’t no way we can move those,” Frank said. His vest had a metallic coiled-snake patch on it. The black and gray-haired biker crossed his muscled arms across an equally thick chest. “Over yonder’s the town we’re supposed to find all this food at?”
Steele took his binoculars out and held them up to his eyes. Short rural town buildings rose up across the river. Brown, white, brick, and wood buildings gave off a down-home feeling. It gave off the vibe you could leave your keys in your car and your doors unlocked at night and never have a worry in the world.
It was the kind of place where everybody knew too much about Bill’s extramarital affair with Cindy and that Roger got a speeding ticket on Thursday. Or Melissa got on the front page of the paper because she grew the biggest pumpkin in the county, but her methods were under speculation because Mr. Franklin’s pumpkins won every year and his pumpkin had mysteriously caved and died before the pumpkins were officially judged.
Through the binoculars, Steele watched a few men walking with guns in their hands. A dead traffic light hung on one end of the street. Sandbags lined the streets like they were expecting a flood, but Steele knew it for fortifications. So they aren’t all dead. He turned to the other side of town, reading the sign. In swirled curving letters it read: “Hacklebarney: If it ain’t heaven, it’s close.”
“This is it. This is where Gwen is supposed to be,” Steele said. If she made it.
“I wonder what the pastor thinks of Hacklebarney’s motto?” Ahmed said. He gave a glance back over his shoulder where the pastor sat in his dark blue Jeep Wrangler.
“He’s probably jealous he didn’t come up with it,” Steele let the binoculars drop down.
“Doesn’t look like they take too kindly to strangers,” Thunder said. The big biker gestured at the farm equipment blocking the bridge. “Those are some big rigs.”
“They are a cautious lot, but Iowans are nice,” Steele said with a smirk. Gwen had always prided herself on the friendliness of people from Iowa, something she took to heart. She always loved to tell the story about when she had slid off the road one Christmas Eve in Hacklebarney and at least a half a dozen people stopped to help her. It was their way.
“This is exactly the response I expected from them. Hunker down and close off from the real world. Wait it out.” It was really just an extreme version of what they do in times of normalcy. Keep to themselves. Steele pulled on his beard, unsnarling it as he thought. Except Gwen was supposed to prime the pump and get them on board before we arrived.
Frank skimmed the opposing shore with his eyes. “I guess I can’t blame ’em. If you got something worth fighting for, you better be prepared to fight for it.” He pointed to a dock. “There’s some boats over there.”
Fishing boats, rowboats, and pontoons were beached along the shore. They had been dragged up onto the banks as if they hadn’t originated there but had been haphazardly collected.
“Me and a couple of the boys can swim over and acquire a few,” Frank said.
“You got a wetsuit? That water is freezing cold, and I don’t want to spook them by showing up in the night armed to the teeth. They’re probably already scared.”
Thunder’s brow wrinkled beneath his red bandana. “What are you thinking? This is the only bridge for about thirty miles. Long way around.”
“I don’t want to go around. I want them to open up and let us through.” Then I’m going to blow the bridge so Jackson can’t get across. He hadn’t vocalized this part of the plan yet, but if he could close off most of Iowa from both Jackson and the dead, he would do it. Even if it was only to buy time.
“What about Gwen?” Ahmed asked. The swarthy man had his M4 on his back and held his bat with one hand. He gently let the bat swing back and forth as if it helped him think. “You think she can get them to open up?”
Men in overalls and ball caps stood on the other bank now. They know we’re here. They held what appeared to be shotguns in the crook of their arms as if they were prepping for a deer hunt. It was possible that they were going hunting. Iowa was deer country, arguably some of the best white-tailed deer hunting in the nation. Steele’s stomach grumbled in complaint.
“T
he plan was for her to get us access, but it doesn’t look like it worked.” She has to be there.
“Steele,” a voice said loudly behind him. There was malice laced with anger in the way his name was uttered. His group turned around. Macleod stood there with a portion of his motorcycle gang. Yellow-eyed black wolves were their club colors. Macleod stood in a wide stance and his eyes were wild like those of a drunk man itching for a fight. His long black goatee hung at chest level.
“Where’s the food? You promised that if we got you here there would be food and plenty of it.”
Steele flexed his hand on his damaged arm. You knew this was coming.
“Macleod, you’ll get your food after we get across.”
Macleod licked his lips. “We want our food now.” Steele locked eyes with the man and broke contact as he counted the Wolf Riders at Macleod’s back. Twelve bikers to our four. Would Frank even fight? Either way, bad odds for coming out in one piece let alone alive.
“I don’t have your cut here. We have to get across to that town.”
Macleod took a step forward, his boot digging into the earth. “I’m not sure you understand. I want it now.”
“I’m not sure you understand. It’s across the river.” Do I draw down on him? None of the Wolf Riders had guns out, but they had handguns shoved in their pants. They also had knives and bats with them.
Steele squeezed his right hand shut. It was still worthless in a fight. You aren’t as fast with your left hand. He let his left index finger dangle on the side of the gun. The rough grip brushed the very tip of his fingers.
Macleod’s men shifted on their feet. Tension hung around them like a bad stench that one knew would get worse by the minute. Macleod’s cheek twitched below his eye.
First round’s for you.
A female voice with some swagger broke their stare down. “Hey, boys.” Tess sauntered up. Her gun wasn’t out, but her hand wasn’t far from it. Margie was behind her, her hunting rifle pointed downward with Tony hovering close to her trying to look brave behind his thick black glasses.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 20