STEELE
Steele’s Camp, IL
Steele drank his steaming hot coffee. The coffee was on the verge of burning his tongue but warmed his insides heartily in the morning chill. The river swept before him, flowing angrily around rocks and fallen trees alike. The bloated bodies of the dead bobbed like life preservers as they passed caught in the current. The water gushed sounding like a falling cataract that never reached its pool below.
The sky overhead was in a perpetual state of silver-gray gloom. Steele sipped his coffee and crushed the grounds between his teeth, emitting barely audible grinding noises with his jaw. They had been forced to make “cowboy coffee” the old-fashioned way over a campfire by boiling the grounds. Soon the grounds would be forcing him to take actions from the seated position in the woods. Although with his limited food intake, it would probably only result in an upset stomach with not much to put out.
Tess took a mouthful of brew and grimaced with the its bitter taste. He was on edge and she knew it.
“We haven’t heard from either of them.” He clenched his jaw after he spoke.
Her voice fell away with the utterance of every word. “Could mean anything.” She glanced over at her pickup, Red Rhonda, trying not to set him off.
“That’s my problem. I’m fucking blind out here and now I don’t have any idea where Jackson is.” She shifted under his gaze and he blew air through his nostrils before he spoke. “Ahmed said he made contact with somebody, but I haven’t been able to reach him since. Kevin should have made contact with Jackson’s scouts a day ago. Meaning either they haven’t come or something went wrong. Now, I don’t know which way to go.”
“Ahmed was with over fifty men. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Steele stared at the white coals of the fire pit. “They’ve failed to report as well.”
Tess blew on her coffee before she spoke. “You know there’s a perfectly good explanation for all of this.”
Steele shook his head. “We’re in bad shape. If I send Thunder back out, I risk losing his men as well.”
“I say we stick with where we’re going. The last known location of Jackson was northeast. That’s the best info we have,” she said.
“Stick with it.” He shook his head in his own disgust. “Wheeler would have loved this scenario.”
“Who’s Wheeler?”
“My old team leader at the Division. That guy was actually a captain.” He peered out at the river. “We could use him.”
“We don’t have him; we have you. So make a move.”
She’s right. Action. Not reaction.
Steele tossed back the rest of his coffee. He glanced over at Tess and gave her a genuine smile. “No day like today.”
In an hour, the convoy was moving back south, following the Mississippi River. The southeastern part of Iowa mocked them from the other side.
Another hour later, the convoy came to a halt. The sun made the sky only a lighter shade of drab gray, like a dim flashlight underneath a charcoal sheet.
Tess’s neck stretched out in an effort to make herself taller. “All I see are brake lights.”
Steele leaned near the window trying to get a view of what was ahead. “The pastor better not be leading one of his sorties against the infected. I swear to god I will kill him.”
Tess gave him a sideways glance. Her lips puckered a bit. “You won’t let me do the honors?” Her voice was soft as if she was trying to be sweet with him. An action that he didn’t believe for a second.
He threw his hand up, shaking his head. “You can do the honors.”
Steele snatched the radio out of the center console cup holder and brought the radio to his lips. “What’s going on up front, Frank?”
He had shifted the Iron Drakes to the front of the convoy.
Frank’s voice edged with a touch of stress. “Steele. We got contact.”
“Damn it,” Tess cursed.
Steele’s hand instinctually went near his gun. He sat up in his seat trying to see the front and settled on handling his radio instead of readying his weapon.
“Contact with what? The infected?”
The radio was static for a moment. “We got U.S. Army blocking our path.”
Steele put his head to the microphone. “Fuck me.” He shared a look of disappointment with Tess. He ran his hand with the radio over his scarred head, giving himself a moment to figure out what to do.
He grimaced as he spoke because he already knew the answer. “Are you sure? Over.”
“Either that or a dozen tan Humvees with civilians dressed in combat uniforms.”
Steele looked at Tess, anger strewn all over his face. “This is bad.” His anger stemmed from knowing he should be a better leader and the frustration of his situation. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was angry. He was angry with the Iowans and bitter with Gwen for not securing him access across the river. He pushed all those feelings down deep in his gut. He had no time for it because every minute meant something. Every minute meant people’s lives. “Do not engage. Roll the convoy back around. Not sure how Jackson got on the other side of us without the Wolf Riders catching a whiff of it, but we gotta go back the way we came.”
Frank’s voice was terse. “Copy.” The radio cut out.
“Tess, take us to the rear.”
She whipped the wheel around hard and they drove out of convoy line. Tess steered them back onto the road, and she zipped down the side of it, passing the worried faces of the others. They slowed down when they came across an all metal and leather collection of bikers: the Red Stripes.
Steele hopped out quickly, favoring his bad leg, and walked up to Thunder.
Thunder stopped his motorcycle and straddled the beast. The bearded man with a bandana around his forehead frowned. “What’s going on up front?”
“Jackson’s got the way blocked.”
Thunder shook his head in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Both men gazed south, anticipating contact with the enemy.
“Wish I was. Everyone’s turning around to come back this way. You’re now our vanguard.”
Thunder gave Steele a nasty look. “This is bad.”
“I know, but we don’t have a choice. It’s north or east and we know what’s east.”
Only a moment after Steele had spoken, a rocket of fire screeched past the men and exploded in the field next to them. Dirt and rocks flew into the air. Debris rained down in fits and Steele ducked low covering his head. A crater remained in its place, fire crackling along the edges.
“What in the hell?” Steele shouted. His M9A1 appeared in his hand. He looked past Thunder. About a eight-hundred meters away, near a bend in the road, Humvees had begun to fill it in. Other Humvees took to off-road driving into the cornfields, spreading out evenly like cavalry.
“Holy shit.” Steele holstered his gun quick and unclipped his radio from his belt. “Frank, we got company in the rear.”
“What was that noise?” Frank said.
“Jackson’s men tried to hit us with a rocket.”
“East. Lead us east,” Steele said.
Steele took out his binoculars. Dust rose up across farm fields. Tiny tan all-terrain vehicles rolled from that direction as well.
Thunder squinted. “No,” he said. He made a quick glance behind him and then forward.
Steele’s radio fired up with Frank’s stressing voice. “We got contacts to the east. Do we have orders, over?”
Steele’s head swam with decisions. He was a rat with nowhere to go and the ship was sinking. Everyone is counting on you. Good people will die based on your decision.
The Humvees sat, each contingent roughly a half-mile away. They sat like war horses waiting for the order to charge so they could run him down. The only way is west and west is the river. A shallow island protruded out in the water like a small barge. A marshy lowland straddled the shore and the small island.
Tess’s panicked face leaned out of the pic
kup, her short hair messier than normal. “What are we going to do?” she yelled at him.
His radio blared with Frank on the other end. “We need orders, now.”
“We’re sitting ducks out here,” Thunder said, holding his shotgun across his handlebars.
We are surrounded with no way out. The ground rumbled as another rocket hit the open field. Steele crouched down instinctively as more earth rained down upon him and the bikers, the little pieces showering from above. Everyone’s voices were far-off in his mind. The shouts were distant. His radio fired up again. Someone fired a shot in fear. Steele blinked rapidly, his system overwhelmed with stimulus.
“Steele!” Tess screamed.
“To the island,” he shouted. He pointed with his left hand. “Abandon the vehicles. Retreat to the island.” He jogged back to the pickup and grabbed his pack, shouldering it over to one side. “Come on,” he called out with a wave forward.
“You expect me to leave my chopper?” Thunder yelled at him as he passed by.
“If you want to live,” Steele shouted back.
He hit the button on his microphone. “Frank, we are headed to that island. The land is shallow and swampy. Only way in is by foot.”
“We’ll be pinned.”
“We’re already pinned.”
Tess slammed the door of her pickup and caught up with him.
People fearfully funneled through the trees to reach the waterlogged banks of the Mississippi. The pastor and his followers straggled through the trees. The old man eyed Steele from down the embankment.
Tess stood beside him. “You aren’t worried about drowning?”
The wetland was filled with muddy brown water that stunk like an overflowing sewer. Steele tested the bog with his boot. His foot sank through the water and was sucked into the soft cool mud. It slurped as he reclaimed his foot.
“What choice do we have?”
He boldly waded out into the bog. Step by step, his feet sunk deeper and deeper into the stinking sludge. After a few steps, the frigid muddy water slopped over the top of his boot. It was a struggle to pull it free each time. He was twenty yards out before he could hear Thunder breathing heavily behind him.
“This ground won’t hold a man like me,” he howled at Steele’s back. “It’ll suck me down.”
“Keep going,” Steele shouted at him. He kept on trudging forward, heavy step after weighted-down step. Stunted trees and long brown grass grew out of the bog. Fallen trees covered in slime decomposed back into the swamp.
His heart pounded in his chest from the effort and he struggled to catch his breath. Steele chanced a look behind him. His people were strung out in a far-reaching, chaotic mass. Most of the Red Stripes struggled nearby. Tess’s tiny form was only a few yards away. He squinted eyeing Margie help Tony and Larry with the Sable Pointers. Trent carried a man on his back in a fireman’s carry. His cheeks puffed out red with every step. They only held what they could carry in their hands and on their backs.
Steele turned back, facing the lowland island that the river threatened to take back under its currents at any moment in time. He kept his legs working and churned through the slippery mud until his boots found more solid ground. The earth grew harder and more solid beneath his feet marking his arrival. More of the swamp trees had grown taller here and had clustered in a tangle of wet roots and soft ground.
He stopped. He exhaled, his chest heaving from the effort. His body was covered with the stinking dark brown mud. He looked like he had slipped into a giant mixing bowl of brownie batter but smelled like he’d leapt into the bowels of an outhouse. Tess followed him onto the firmer island shore. She found a sturdy enough tree and leaned on its wet bark, recovering from the exertion.
“You’re insane,” she breathed.
Thunder struggled, the bog up to his chest. Steele dropped his pack and grabbed a rope from a side pocket. His chilled hands struggled to tie a knot around his waist. He waded back out into the putrid muddy waters.
“Toss me the rope.” Thunder’s mustache fluttered as he breathed hard from his effort.
Steele swung the rope over his and lassoed it out to the struggling man. It fell short into the mud. Steele quickly reeled it in with both hands.
“Come on, Nancy. I’m sinking,” Thunder shouted.
Steele twirled the rope around his head and tossed it out. Thunder’s hands slapped the marshy surface. His fingers spread wide and he managed to hook the rope with his middle finger. He grabbed the rope, looping it around his back and shoulders. With the added weight, Steele leaned backward and walked slowly onto the shore. Tess joined him, pulling with both her hands on the rope like they were in a tug-of-war for the man.
“You’re one big puppy,” Steele grunted. The heavyset biker finally made it to shore and collapsed, falling to his hands and knees.
Thunder spit on the ground, fighting for air. “Remind me to just die next time.”
Steele stood on the shore watching his followers trickle in by the tens and twenties until most were safe on the island. His eyes were constantly reading the other trees and road along the other shore expecting Colonel Jackson and his men to line the bog and charge in. If he did, Steele would gun them down in the swamp.
As the last of Steele’s followers disappeared into the island marsh, the Humvees began to roll onto the shore. The first Humvee stopped. A door swung open and a soldier in a combat uniform hopped out. He moved to the edge of the bog and studied the mire.
Steele estimated that Jackson’s men would have to cover over three hundred yards to reach them. Shit, I’m way within range. He retreated into the swamp trees. Finding a thicker tree covered in slick green algae that looked ready to topple over, he crouched down and pulled out his binoculars. He scrunched his nose up to the musty rotting scent of the bog. His hand trembled as he held the binoculars. For the first time, his body was reminding him of what a miserable state of cold he was in. His teeth chattered as he watched the soldiers.
A soldier waved the Humvee forward. It drove straight into the mud. Tires spinning, the heavy mud rapidly converged around the vehicle, engulfing it in a brown mass. It stopped after a few dozen yards. Steele could hear the man work the engine. Reversing and driving forward. Then reversing all the while spraying mud. The Humvee rocked away mired in the muddy swamp.
Steele exhaled. They won’t be making their way over here tonight.
Soldiers hopped out and high-stepped through the mud back to the shore.
More Humvees arrived along the shore, and soon, a skeletal bald man stood on the other side. His hands were on his hips, a big grin on his face.
Steele dropped the binoculars. “Jackson,” he whispered to himself. He scanned down the line until he found a man with red hair. He stared, trying to figure out if it was him or not. His voice came in a whisper. “It has to be him.” The man had tattoos on his arms. A tan SCAR-H rested across his chest, but it was the way he stood that gave him away. His stance was different than the others, more casual like he was a surfer waiting to catch the next wave. He favored one leg and stood like he was going to jump into action at any moment. Mauser.
The pastor’s voice came from behind Steele. “Now what?” Steele had not heard him approach. He turned and glanced up at the man. The pastor’s long stern face stared down at him.
“You’ve led us to the muskeg of defeat. How do we escape?”
Steele stood up and put a hand on the pastor. “It’s not safe.” He pushed the pastor before him farther into the trees. They slogged through the wet ground. Steele glanced up at the elder pastor. “We should start building some sort of bulwark against them farther back into the trees where they cannot see us. We need to get some campfires going. It will be night before we know it and our people are cold.”
Exhausted people emerged among the trees, clustering in fear. “I’ve already sent men to collect wood for fires. None of it is dry enough to use. Everything’s too wet.”
“Then hunker down close because i
t’s going to be a long night.” He looked up at the older man. The pastor appeared older every day, but there was fire in his eyes even now. Steele scanned his scattered, defeated people. He turned back toward Jackson’s command. Enough swamp trees stood between them where he wasn’t worried about snipers taking shots at them.
“Let’s start the fortification here.” He pointed between fallen green moss-covered logs. “We can start stacking. Anything thick. Not just concealment. We want some kind of cover.”
The pastor waved to Peter and the thick curly haired-blond man, covered in filth, joined them. “Peter, gather the brothers and start building a cover for our people.”
Peter’s mouth tightened at the sight of Steele, but he nodded to the pastor. “Yes, Father.”
Steele nodded his thanks. “I’ll gather up the Red Stripes and the Sable Point volunteers.” He left the pastor and squished away.
The night was cold, dark, and miserable. The entirety of his people was in disarray. Their morale was so low that very few people could even manage to speak to one another. Hope had drifted away and now they were stuck facing their executioner with nowhere to go.
When he walked among them, they gave him sorrowful looks of contempt. He supposed he deserved their scorn. He had led them and now they were on the verge of complete defeat.
He met a filthy Margie and Tony. They both had the appearance of beaten dogs. “Margie, can you find Thunder and help the Chosen pile the logs? Soon it will be dark.”
Margie nodded silently, and she and Tony walked away.
Steele used a log and lowered himself onto the ground. He wiped the back of his forehead with his good hand then ran it through his hair, touching the tender scar on his head.
***
At dawn the next morning, Steele woke shivering and stuck to the ground. Tess’s form was nearby, her slender shoulders shaking in the retreating darkness.
It wasn’t the shivering that stirred him. It was the distinct sound of chopping, of metal cutting into wood. His body was stiff and his muscles sore. He pushed himself up with his functioning hand and followed the noise through the trees toward the shore. He crouched down behind a fallen log, joining a few Red Stripes and putting the binoculars up to his eyes.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 31