“We have to get ready to fight. We’ve been here for days and it’s only a matter of time before Jackson tracks us down.”
Thunder’s gray beard moved up and down. “True.”
Kevin droned on nearby. “Martian. Maryland. Mopey. Dopey. No. Man. Give man?”
Steele looked back at him. “Give man? What man? Which man?”
Gunfire kicked off and the sound carried clear over the rushing water. Shots rang out in quick succession. Big booming shotgun blasts followed by the smaller pops of a pistol.
Steele stared hard into the night, trying to penetrate the darkness with his care for Gwen. Gwen had been replaced by gunfire. He sighed, his heart fearing for her.
Kevin patted his shoulder trying to comfort him. “Come on, Cap.” He steered Steele back toward the camp. “If the light comes back on, we’ll see it.”
They all walked back to their bonfire blazing away in the night. They joined some of the Red Stripes, Garrett, and Half-Barrel, along with Tess, Margie, and Tony. Steele took a seat next to Kevin who continued to drink and prattled on with words that started with M. Steele tried to ignore him. Tess lounged in the back of the Ranger pickup, her head poking out of a sea of blankets.
“What was going on?” she called down to him.
He gave her a side-glance irritated to be reminded of the situation that was dominating his thoughts. “Someone was trying to send us a message from across the river.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know, but somebody cut them off before they were done.”
“Gwen?”
Steele eyed her. “I think so, but the first part was clear. They aren’t letting us across.”
Steele walked to the back of the red Ranger and opened the passenger side door. He unzipped his bag, and grabbed an atlas that sat on top, and brought it back over to the firelight. He flipped it open to Illinois. He bent the other pages around to the back so it was only open to a single state. He pointed his finger on the map to the far western point that touched Iowa.
“We are here right on the southeastern tip of Iowa but across the border. We have no choice but to try and find another access point.”
His finger dragged down the river bend. “The next bridge is about thirty miles south of here,” he said and tapped his finger. “Keokuk, Iowa.”
Thunder nodded. “Our fuel tanker is running low, but I think we can make it.”
“We’ll need to consolidate everyone in the vehicles. Get all the fuel we can.” Steele stared at the map. “We’ll move down the river and set up ambushes here, here, and here.” His finger jabbed the map. “Each group will retreat early in the fight, stringing Jackson’s forces along and hopefully slow him down as his men become more cautious. If he does reach our main convoy, his men will be tired and spread out. Once we get across the bridge, then it’s another race back to Hacklebarney.”
Thunder’s lips pressed tight together before he spoke. “That’s a lot of ground to cover. Over sixty miles over open terrain with no idea who or what is out there.”
“We have no choice but to avoid a head-to-head conflict until something swings in our favor.”
Tess chimed in, her voice sneaking out from her pile of blankets. “What if that bridge in Keokuk is blocked or destroyed?”
“If we’re that unlucky, then we have to stand and fight.” Steele pushed air out of his nose and gave a curt nod to his people.
Kevin stopped saying M words and muttered, “Sounds like suicide.” He averted his eyes down to his drink.
Steele’s eyes focused on him, searching the man for more than an opinion. “Our only option is to run.”
Kevin’s eyes drifted up to Steele and he wiped his mouth. “I wouldn’t put my trust in luck. I’d put it in well-thought-out plans with impeccable execution.”
“I’m working with what we got and it ain’t much.” Steele turned to Thunder. “Do you think the clubs will see this thing through?”
Thunder poked at the fire with a stick. “I suppose. They don’t mind riding, especially if they will get something out of it. I don’t see them sticking around too long if the enemy catches up to us.”
“That’s when we’ll need every gun we got.” Steele stared at the flames, watching them burn and waver. If he got caught, he was going to die.
Thunder kicked a hot coal that rolled out of the fire back near the edges. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
The blaze licked the darkness with serpent-like orange and yellow tongues. The fire mesmerized Steele as it crackled and popped in the night.
Steele broke the silence. “Kevin, can you handle the first ambush?” Steele eyed the drunk man. Kevin was no coward and he could fight, but he was usually with Steele and not commanding his own team conducting an ambush on trained United States soldiers.
Kevin took a shaky swig of booze. The fire flashed off the metal flask as he tilted it back. “Me? Why me?”
Steele had expected him to be anxious. “Because I trust you to get the job done. You heard Thunder, the gangs are tepid allies at best. The Chosen people were once our worst enemies. That means things of importance fall on us.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll do it,” Ahmed nodded to him from across the fire. “I can handle a gun, and I learned enough in Pittsburgh to hopefully troubleshoot explosives if need be.”
Steele grimaced. “My plan was to send you south with one of the gangs to scout the bridge near Keokuk.” He glanced at Thunder and back to Ahmed. “Hopefully, having you with a team of volunteers there will keep them honest.”
“I can do that. I’ll take Ollie and Weston.”
“That’s a fine crew. They have some good situational awareness.”
Steele’s eyes shifted to his next compatriot, one of his only living friends. “That leaves you, Kevin. Can I count on you?”
Kevin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I can do it, but what exactly do you need me to do?”
“I need you to ambush the scouts at the head of Jackson’s column. Basically, you are going to hit them with some roadside bombs and retreat. Shouldn’t even need to fire a gun. Then you’ll retreat south to the main convoy. I want Jackson to think we are behind every rock, every tree, and every hill along the river.” Steele turned toward Thunder. “You think you could put together a few IEDs for me?”
Thunder grinned. “Not a problem.”
“Kevin, let’s get you paired up with Tom and O’Hara. They’ll both do what they are supposed to.
Kevin slugged back more of his flask’s contents then wiped his mouth. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Here’s to a long life.” He raised his glass to Ahmed who laughed and raised a bottled water in the air. “It’s bad luck to toast with water, but I’ll let it slide.” He held his flask up higher in the air. “Here’s to a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one.” He nodded to Tess. “A cold pint and another one.” Kevin turned his flask bottoms up with a drunken smile and the sound of muted cheers from the people around him.
KINNICK
Warden, IA
Kinnick’s hands shot out from under his blanket, his fingernails scratching the smooth wooden floor in a sleepy haze as he grasped for his M4. He planted the muzzle into the floor and used it to crutch himself upright. He half-walked, half-jogged for the barricade, his muscles in his back and legs tight from sleeping on the hard floor. He knelt down next to Hunter, his heart pounding in his chest. He edged his head just above the barrier, peering out.
A cluster of people marched down the street. Others ran from house to house with guns.
Hunter tracked one through his optic. “They will surround us quick. Get Coffey on the line,” he said over his shoulder. Duncan set his M249 SAW on the barricade. Ramos dropped a box of ammunition and it jiggled like a cluster of brass bells.
Sergeant Volk held a radio to his snarled lips. “Volk to Hamilton One. Volk to Hamilton One.”
“Hamilton One is
up.”
“Hamilton One, get close to the brown building on River Street. I want visual on a crowd of hostiles fast approaching for engagement.”
“Copy,” cracked out of his radio.
Kinnick knew as the seconds passed, the SURC was closing its distance to the shore, guns ready to blaze. Soon the Hamilton One’s minigun would be trained on the mob of people gathering outside. A minigun would eat through the cluster of people in a fraction of a second with thousands of bullets.
Townspeople with guns took cover around houses, but many more marched down the center of River Street in an angry rabble. They waved guns in the air alongside fists.
Washington glanced over the barricade. “Looks like a riot.”
“A riot about to get fucked up,” Whitehead said over his shoulder. He turned and stared back down his sights.
“Prepare to engage!” Volk yelled.
“Hold your fire, Marine,” Hunter said. He gave a quick eyeshot toward Kinnick.
“You are not clear to engage, Marine,” Kinnick confirmed.
Volk glanced at Kinnick, anger in his eyes, and hissed. “Sir, they shot at us.”
“Do not engage,” Kinnick repeated. The mass of angry people gathered and shouted at the building.
“Fuck you,” shouted a man.
“Come on out, you cowards,” cried another.
A man and woman emerged from the middle of the pack. The woman was in her forties with heavy hips and shoulder-length blonde hair. “Look at what you’ve done to my baby.” The young man between them could hardly stand. His eye was black, his cheek sticking out, blood stained the front of his shirt in a thin red line.
“They killed my boy,” said a lanky man with salt-and-pepper hair. He clutched a shotgun to his chest. He shook his head, tears of anger rolling down his cheeks. “They killed my boy.”
“Justice,” cried another man.
Kinnick’s eyes darted from his Marines to Hunter.
“What are they talking about?” Kinnick asked. The Marines perused one another.
“What are they talking about?” Kinnick repeated. He gritted his teeth. “Goddammit.” He stood up and pushed his way through the Marines.
“Colonel!” Volk exclaimed.
Kinnick ignored the sergeant’s pleas and placed his hand on the door handle and twisted. The door creaked open, revealing the angry faces of the mob. Their anger surged when he stepped outside and he was met with a chorus of boos and jeers, buffeting him from every direction.
After a moment, he raised a hand in the air. “Hear me.” He waited ten seconds and repeated himself as the shouts settled to a dull angry murmur. He let his voice boom. “Hear me.” He felt the presence of other men standing around him. Hunter and Hawkins, Volk and his Marines, all took their place next to him. A thin hard line of military men shoved up against the restaurant with a sea of people waiting to crush them into the walls.
“We come in peace,” Kinnick said.
“Sure looks like it.”
“Liar,” spit an old man.
“Is this your version of peace, Colonel?” the mother of the victim screamed. “Look at what your men did.” She lifted her son’s chin. The young man let his face be turned so Kinnick could see his battered purpling cheek. “Open your mouth.” The boy tried to lift his lips but couldn’t, so she forced his mouth open. Only a few bits of white teeth were left inside.
Kinnick held up his hand. “I’m sorry, but none of my men did this.”
The boy’s father was a short robust man with only a wisp of hair hanging on atop his skull. He spit at Kinnick. “They beat them in the street like they was a piece of trash. The boys didn’t even do nothin’.”
The people parted and an older woman was led forward. Her hair was in perfect curly as if she had been perming it the night before. She wore a sweatshirt and jeans. She gestured toward the end of Kinnick’s line. “I seen them. Yes, I did.” A bent finger directed itself at Sergeant Volk. “That one there. I couldn’t forget his mean face.”
Kinnick glanced at Hunter. Hunter’s single eye darted at Kinnick. Kinnick turned his head slowly in Volk’s direction. Volk faced him.
“Sir, they’re lying. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
The old woman’s voice crackled. “He’s the one that knocked Andrew’s head on the pavement. Sure of it and his friend was wit’ him. There.”
Whitehead’s face paled underneath his helmet. He gripped his gun tight. He threw his gun up to his shoulder. “You lie,” he screamed, his voice rising octaves.
Guns were aimed at one another and the crowd held in silence.
The old woman didn’t shy away. “I saw ’em. I was watching those boys check the lines on the docks when those two walked up on them.” She pointed with a gnarled hand. “The big one there knocked the line out of Doug’s hand and pushed him down. When Andrew tried to help, that one there hit him with the butt of his gun.” She nodded at Kinnick. “He kept hitting him over and over again. I knew he was dead with the way he was just laying there.”
Kinnick put his hand up. “Everyone stay calm.” He turned to Volk.
“There ain’t nothing to figure out, Colonel. Your men are to blame.”
Kinnick kept his hand in the air and weighed Volk up and down, trying to glean anything that might prove him innocent or guilty. His voice hovered above a whisper. “Did you do this?”
“It was him,” the boy cried. The boy’s mother hugged the skinny teenager closer to her chest.
Kinnick glared at him. “You’re sure?”
The boy squeaked out, “Yeah.”
Kinnick turned back to Volk. “Tell me something. Tell me you were anywhere but there.”
Volk’s eyes drifted toward the ground. “No. It wasn’t like that.”
Kinnick’s face turned into a frown. “What happened?”
Whitehead pointed out at the battered young man. “Sir, they fucking jumped us and they got what was coming.”
“Shut up, Whitehead,” Volk said with a glare at his fellow Marine. “We stopped them on the dock while we were on patrol. One of them drew a knife on us. It was quick. We reacted.”
“Why didn’t you report this, Sergeant?” Hunter said to Volk.
Volk snarled. “Because of what they done to Gore. That little fucker was laughing about it.” He shoved a finger out at the battered teenager. “That bastard’s lucky he didn’t end up like his little buddy.”
Kinnick couldn’t believe the words flowing from this man’s mouth. He felt the treachery deep in his gut. “Damn, son, what have you done?”
Volk turned back to him. “I did what you do when one of your brothers is assassinated by a town of treasonous filth.”
An uproar of angry yells erupted in the crowd, their balled fists punching the air.
The soldiers and Marines put their firearms up to their shoulders but kept them in the low-ready.
A bottle smashed on the restaurant behind them, sending glass flying through the air.
“Sir, we should duck back inside before this gets ugly,” Hunter said loud into Kinnick’s ear.
Kinnick eyed the people. What have we done here? Why did you put me in this spot? He glanced at Hunter. He appeared calm on the outside, a stoic, but Kinnick knew he was ready to gun down the front ranks and make a break for a building.
This could be the end of the greatest experiment ever made. On the beaches of a small island in the Mississippi River, the entire operation could fold because people couldn’t work together to keep the dream alive. Instead, they dug themselves into the ugly shallow grave of revenge and vengeance.
Kinnick pulled his firearm out from his holster and spun on the Marine sergeant. He pointed his M9 at the Marine’s head, whose face broke into an outright snarl.
“Colonel? What the fuck are you doing?”
Hunter pointed his gun at the Marine sergeant. “Drop the gun, Volk.” His gun bounced toward Whitehead. “And you Whitehead.”
“Sir?” Whitehead’s
face twisted in confusion.
Kinnick ignored the young Marine’s pleas. “Sergeant Volk and Private Whitehead, by the power vested in me by the executive branch of the United States of America, I place you under arrest for murder.”
GWEN
Hacklebarney, IA
The doors to the American Legion were propped open. Someone had draped an extra American flag over the doorway leading inside. Gwen stood with her grandfather and grandmother outside the building. The Hacklebarney townsfolk made their way inside in twos and threes or entire families of parents and children. Most were multigenerational families of farmers: great-grandparents, grandparents, husband, wife, and children.
John Reynolds grunted. “Best get inside before we have to stand in the back.” He had on a pair of fine jeans and a nice Wrangler button-down shirt topped off with a John Deere ball cap. Gram wore a dress that Gwen had only seen her wear to church on Sunday. It had a floral design with a ruffled white lace neck lining.
Gwen had elected to leave the Little Sable Point refugees back on the farm. Bringing them would only make the people of Hacklebarney dig their heels in even more.
They walked inside the American Legion hall. Hundreds of black and gold stackable chairs stood in neat even rows, all leading to the front stage. An old worn podium stood in the middle, adorned with a washed out seal of Hacklebarney on the front. Mayor Dobson watched her enter and smiled. The sheriff sat on stage with him, his hat pushed high on his head, his shotgun leaning on the corner wall.
People turned to watch them walk in. Betty Grant turned to her sister, Violet Crenshaw, and whispered something. Violet narrowed her eyes at Gwen. Gwen hadn’t gained any popularity points at the town dance. I’m about to lose some more points here.
Gwen walked with her chin held high beside her grandparents. Becky labored in, pushing Haley lightly in the back to keep her moving. They all took the last seats in a middle row.
“I wanna sit by Gwenna,” Haley exclaimed. Becky shook her head and pushed Haley into the seat next to Gwen. Gwen put her arm around the little girl.
From a few rows over, Jake gave her a little wave and smile. He sat with a tall man and woman, his parents, Tyler and Cindy Bullis. They gave Gwen kind smiles. His father wore a dirty red and white International Harvester hat.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 25