“I’m sorry. I wish I could have saved them all. I would trade places with them to keep them safe, but we’re at war with the living and the dead. People die in war. Innocent people. The good along with the bad. If I could bring them back I would, but I can’t, so I’ll fight for the rest of us.”
Her look was fierce like a tiger. “Try harder.”
He stopped, his hand on the door handle, for a moment before he popped open the door. Kevin’s pickup sat behind them idling. The other vehicles went around them. Kevin sat with long-haired Tom and young O’Hara, his baby face making him look much younger than he actually was. Kevin opened his door and stepped out with a slight drunken wobble.
Steele pointed. “This is the spot. Line the IEDs on the road here. Cover them with foliage so they don’t spook.” Steele pointed back at the power lines. “Park the truck up those lines a ways. Wait for the first few Humvees to go by and hit them with it.”
“All three at once?”
“Exactly. That should cause a good amount of chaos through the column. Sprint back to the pickup and drive down the lines until you find another way route to the riverside road.”
The lanky man glanced worriedly at the trees. “I hope they don’t see us.”
Steele eyed the maples and oaks. “Keep your heads down and don’t mistake Thunder and his club for the bad guys. We don’t want biker Santa getting upset with us, and no need for any heroics. We just need to make them think we aren’t worth the effort.”
“We’ll make sure it’s done, Captain,” Kevin said with a smirk. His eyes were open a bit wider today.
Slightly more sober than normal.
He stuck out his hand. “Captain Steele.”
Steele shook his head and put his hand in Kevin’s, holding it for a moment. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Too late. You can’t pick your own nickname. It’s Man Code. The more you try to kick it, the more it sticks.”
“You’re right there. Stay safe. We’ll see you soon.”
“Back before you know it.” Kevin released his hand and got back in his pickup. Tom gave Steele a salute wave, and they drove off the two-track rutted road and turned over into the power line cut thru. Steele watched them drive away. He walked to Red Rhonda and slid back into the seat.
“Let’s catch up before we fall too far behind.”
Tess gunned it down the road. In a few minutes, they had reached the rear of the convoy. Rural roads passed them by and took them through a small town. Only the dead greeted them with their decaying hands and white eyes. The convoy didn’t slow but shot them down and ran them over in passing.
***
By nightfall, they had gone fourteen sluggish miles. Poor roads and not knowing Jackson’s location was making their progress painstakingly slow. Weary people made camp on the banks of the river. Steele hadn’t wanted to travel too far ahead of his ambushers, and since he hadn’t heard from them, he operated under the assumption they hadn’t run into Jackson’s unit yet.
Thirty minutes later, he heard the rumble of motorcycles. Steele hopped off the tailgate of his pickup. His leg felt increasingly better every day. It was his arm he was still worried about. Using two hands on his handgun was out of the question. If he wasn’t resting the weapon, prone or relatively danger close, the M4 proved difficult to use effectively for long durations. Although he could manipulate the M4 with one hand, it was much slower than using two hands, which was what most of his training was based around.
Thunder stopped his chopper near Steele. The heavy biker dismounted his hog and adjusted his belt beneath his belly, running a hand over it.
“You see them?” Steele asked.
Thunder licked his lips. “‘Bout eight miles back. Dust from their trucks gave them away, but it looks like they stopped.”
“That should have been past Kevin’s ambush point.”
“Didn’t see them as we rolled by.”
“I don’t like that.”
Thunder picked at his beard. “Just means they was hidin’, but we did come across some of these fuckers split off from the main group.”
Steele’s eyebrow lifted as far as it could go beneath his scar. “Jackson’s men?”
“They claim they ain’t, but who can tell. Probably just lying to save their hides.”
“Show me,” Steele growled.
Thunder marched Steele around to the back of a full-sized black Dodge Ram. Two men sat on the tailgate wearing Army Combat Uniforms, their legs dangling beneath them. Their heads were hooded with soiled white cloth bags and their hands were tied behind their backs. Big Garrett stood guard next to them, a pistol shoved in his belt.
“Take off his hood,” Steele instructed with a nod.
Garrett ripped the hood off one and the man blinked in the dim light.
Steele rested his hand on his tomahawk. “What’s your name, soldier?”
The soldier was young, no more than twenty, and blond. His ACUs were too big for him, making him appear even younger. “Holland, sir.” He gulped after he spoke.
“Holland, where’d you come from?”
“I. We.” His eyes darted to his comrade.
“Don’t look at him. Who’s your CO? What’s your unit?” Steele rubbed his hand along the head of his tomahawk.
“We were part of 2nd Platoon, 1st Company, 75th Infantry Battalion. My CO was Captain Forester.”
“Under Colonel Jackson?”
The young soldier’s eyebrows went up on his face and his cheeks twitched in a scared smile. He looked around for someone to believe him. “No. I don’t know Colonel Jackson. Was he in Chicago?”
“Sergeant Yates? Ben Mauser?”
“No, sir.” With every name, Steele watched the young man’s face. His language and facial features showed no signs of deceit. Since his hands were tied, he couldn’t do comforting moves like rubbing his hands, stroking his hair, or general fidgeting. Steele relied on his facial features to help determine his truthfulness. Holland made as much eye contact as Steele expected a man scared shitless would do. He didn’t over blink. He didn’t try to speak away from Steele. He didn’t shake his head while he spoke. Then again, it was always possible that the man was a sociopath or a habitual liar, something that would greatly assist him with self-preservation in a dying world.
Thunder swatted at the soldier, cuffing him in the back of the head like a bad dog. He grabbed the back of Holland’s ACUs and yanked the boy around. He leaned in really close to the soldier. “You think real nice, ’cause you know what we do with liars?”
“No, sir,” Holland’s voice shook as he spoke.
“We give him to that man over yonder.” Thunder gestured toward the pastor. He stood about fifty yards away watching with a group of his followers, arms crossed over his chest. They walked forward, a gang of religious fanatics with their clubs and guns.
“I swear on my mother’s life. I’m telling the truth.”
“Where’s your mother now?” Thunder grunted.
“I dunno. I only went where they told me to go.”
“How’d you end up out here? Pretty far away from Chicago,” Steele said. He kept one eye on the pastor’s men as they approached.
Holland’s eyes darted back to Steele, true fear settling over the man. “You aren’t going to take us back, are you?”
Steele frowned. “Back where?”
“To Chicago. Please don’t,” Holland begged. He began to shake and Steele thought he might cry.
Thunder leaned over to Steele and whispered. “They’re deserters.”
What do I do with the military’s deserters? The thought had never crossed Steele’s mind. He definitely wasn’t taking them to Chicago, but to release them meant risking giving up his position and relative strength to Jackson. To have them join his group, he added loosely affiliated cowards to his cause.
The pastor and his cluster of followers stood expectantly nearby. “What have you found, Mr. Steele?”
Steele glared at
the captives. “Thunder came across some Army soldiers.”
The pastor raised an eyebrow. “Colonel Jackson’s men?” He loomed toward them, peering down his nose. “I’m curious as to the composure of his men. I’m curious as to what makes them tick.”
“They claim they came from Chicago.”
Holland burst in. “That’s right. We came from the quarantine.”
“Quiet, you,” Thunder snarled.
The soldier’s lips shut but his mouth still quivered. He sucked in air through his nose, trying to keep quiet.
The pastor regarded the prisoners from above. “And you believe these men?”
Holland shook his head in fear. “It’s true. We deserted. You should have seen it. We didn’t even have a chance. The Zulus kept coming wave after wave. Millions. I swear it.” His eyes went wide. “Nothing we did made a stinking difference. All we did was die.” Thunder swatted the soldier with his hand again, and the soldier broke down into quiet sobbing, his shoulders shaking.
“I do, Pastor.” Steele looked at Thunder, and Thunder gave a disapproving nod.
“As disgusting as it sounds, I believe them.”
The soldier nodded his head frantically. “Thank you. Thank you. You are a very generous man.”
Steele thought Holland might throw himself at his feet and kiss his boots.
The pastor lifted his chin. “Neither of you find it coincidental that while we are being chased by a renegade military unit, we run into soldiers that don’t belong to him?”
“He’s just a kid. I believe him.”
The pastor brought his hands together in front of him with a small clap. “Deserters or Jackson’s men, I say we send a message for both alike. String them up and torch them.”
Steele met eyes with the pastor. The pastor was unmoving beneath Steele’s gaze. His words were true in his world.
Holland’s eyes hopped from man to man, and finding no aid, started sobbing again. “We only wanted to live.” The sound of running water pouring on the metal in the truck bed could be heard. “Please, we didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it.”
Steele twisted his head in Holland’s direction in disgust. “Jesus, man. Get a hold of yourself.”
Holland shook as he cried. “P-Please.”
Steele considered the pastor and his armed group with a narrowed eye. He would win a fight against them with the Red Stripes at his back. Once the entirety of the factions became engaged, he wasn’t so sure. If it came down to it, he would make sure to carve up the pastor first with his tomahawk.
“Deserter or not, I’m not burning these men.” He made sure to stress the word “men” in an attempt to stabilize Holland’s weak fortitude.
“These men lack the heart for this world, Mr. Steele. Nothing steadies their hand or steels their nerves. They are broken. In my experience, you’re better off separating the wheat from the chaff sooner than later.”
“They stay with the living today.”
The pastor licked his lips as if he had more to say. He nodded his chin slightly and gave Steele a soft knowing smile. “Although I disagree, I concede to your decision, but best keep them in your camp. Accidents tend to happen around mine.”
Steele gritted his teeth. Thinly veiled or not, the pastor’s threat was just that, a clear warning that these men would not be safe.
Holland shook his head in relief. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do anything for you. Whatever you need done, we’re your guys.” The soldier in the other hood nodded vigorously. Muffled thank-yous eked out from inside his hood.
The pastor and his gang turned and left for their campsite. Oily-haired Luke gave a creepy look over his shoulder back at Steele.
“Damn that man.” Steele eyed the two deserters. “Keep these idiots locked up until I can figure out what to do with them.” Steele walked back to his campsite, his blood boiling.
TESS
Steele’s Camp, IL
Flames danced along Steele’s face. “How dare he presume to murder those men. This isn’t some medieval crusade. This is the 21st century. We can’t just burn people at the stake.”
Tess watched the fire. This guy truly is a slow learner. “Of course he thinks he can. That’s what he’s been doing since the beginning.”
Steele shook his head, staring out into nothing. “I hate that man. Will someone rid me of this godforsaken priest?”
“Just say the word.” She snapped her fingers. “Gone.”
He gave her a mean look. “No. We have to stay true to our word.”
She glowered over at the Chosen campfires. People were huddled around them. Thunder and the Red Stripes were camped nearby. Rather than risk a fight in the night, they had stayed near the convoy.
“I need to take a walk.” She unfolded herself from her blanket nest and jumped out of the back of the pickup.
“Don’t go far. We don’t know what’s out there,” he mumbled.
“I’m not an idiot. I’ll stick to the campsites.”
Steele nodded and scratched at his scar. “Damn this thing itches.”
She laughed softly and walked away. “Keep yourself alive.” She made a beeline for Thunder’s camp.
A Red Stripes patched biker, as wide as he was tall, stood in the shadows near his campfire. She waved at him.
“Who is it?” he commanded in the dark.
“It’s just me, Half-Barrel.”
A grin cracked his lips. “Hey, Tess. He’s over by that fire.” Half-Barrel gestured with his sawed-off shotgun in hand. She found the thick, big-bellied biker taking a piss on the fire.
“Never do grow up, do they,” she said from behind him.
The man shook his member, jiggling it in the direction of the flames. “Better than losing it to one of the infected.” He turned around and waved her over. He embraced her for a moment like she was his daughter. He smelled like campfire smoke and body odor.
He released her. “How are you, my girl?” he said, looking down at her.
“Been better.”
“We’ve all been better. It’s an ugly dark world out there. That it is.” He took a seat and she folded, sitting with her legs beneath her near the fire. She put her hands closer to the flames, letting the heat warm them.
“What’s bothering you?” he said. He rested both of his hands on his knees.
She contemplated the licking flames of yellowish orange. “You know, generally speaking, the end of the world is a joyous place. Infected trying to eat us, those pricks over yonder trying to murder us, and the military hunting us like a pack of dogs.” She looked up at him. “So everything is just swell.”
Thunder nodded, gazing out. “I take everything one day at a time, but then again, I may be more comfortable with my days being my last. Not so long ago, I was throwing back beers at the clubhouse, making money with imports and exports from Canada.”
“Imports and exports? You mean drugs?” She peered at him.
He glanced up at her. “Ha. Done enough drugs in my day. I’m over that. The new trade is in animal trafficking.”
She smiled. “Like cats and dogs?”
“Nah, the sexy stuff, mostly endangered species parts, ivory, fur, but we’ve brought over our fair share of live ones too. One time I snuck over seventy turtles.”
“Turtles?”
“Yeah, a real hot commodity. Hundreds of dollars a pop.” He nodded at the fire. “It’s a lucrative business and a lot less jail time if you get caught.”
She snickered. “Thunder, the big bad turtle dealer.”
“Laugh all you want, but we were rolling dough.” He scratched his arm with a free hand.
She put her head down for a moment. “What do you think of him?”
“Who? Steele?”
Thunder sighed. “The kid has got a lot on his plate, but he’s doing all right.”
“What about him letting the pastor live?”
Thunder shook his head from side to side like an elder silverback gorilla. “I�
��d have to say he’s a better man than me after what the pastor did to us, but I suppose that’s why we follow him.”
She peered over her shoulder back toward the Chosen camps. “Look at all of them over there. Brainwashed. They’re frickin’ disgusting.”
Thunder grunted and nodded. “Every man follows something.” His brown eyes rested on her. “You want to know something I learned over in Nam?”
She felt he was detracting her from her true purpose. “Sure.”
He rubbed his hands together. “I was with the 3rd Battalion 7th Marines. We were based out of Firebase Ross. It was in the Que Son Valley, central Vietnam. I was leading a combat patrol near a small village. No more than sixty people lived there, really only a few families. We had intelligence that they were supporting PAVN in the area.”
His eyes grew distant as he remembered. “We went through the houses. Women and kids were crying. Dallas and I ducked into a hut. There was a man with his wife and kid. We kicked over some shit. We were searching for weapons and contraband.” He scratched under his bandana. “Dallas pulled up a rug, uncovering a trap door. He flipped it open. Tons of shit down there. Mortars, grenades, AKs, enough shit to outfit a company of the bastards. Dallas was screaming at the father. The guy didn’t understand a thing.”
Thunder’s eyes didn’t blink. “Dallas beat him. Hit him the face, I dunno, ten, twenty times before I made him stop. I remember that man’s battered face like it was my own. I’ll never forget it. I hoisted the bastard up by the scruff of his neck.” His voice dipped low. “He was whispering the same word over and over through bloodied holes where his teeth used to be. Món ăn.” Thunder shook his head. “Food in Vietnamese. His eyes said it. He was only doing it to survive. He was doing it to feed his family.”
Tess gulped. “What’d you do?”
Thunder stared into the fire. A moment passed as he relived his memory. “I stabbed him in the gut. He laid on the dirt floor, crying, and he kept repeating món ăn, món ăn, món ăn, over and over. Then I cut his throat.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 27