KINNICK
Warden, IA
Only a sliver of the moon peeked from behind the clouds in the night. It left a waning light upon the dark pavement, a sky candle threatening to go out. The boot treads were light along the residential road.
Kinnick’s boots padded only as softly as a military boot could strike the ground. He kept his M4 carbine tilted down and to the right of Hunter in a low-ready. Washington’s large form loomed behind him and to the left like a dark shadow and Ramos’s smaller frame hung a little farther back than Kinnick’s gun pointed to the right. Their gait was quick but not any faster than Hunter could shoot effectively. Kinnick was not so sure about his accuracy moving and shooting at his current speed, but speed and surprise were their goals.
They moved without night-vision goggles, making their vision equally as poor as anyone else in the night. The difference between them and their prey was that they were on the offensive. Kinnick’s mind raced. It had felt like an eternity since he was moving toward an answer instead of reeling from the never-ending conflict that only ever felt like they lost every battle.
The small unit reached a four-way intersection and slowed. A two-story house loomed on their right. The white siding was a smoky gray in the night. Hunter lifted a hand off his SCAR-H and gave a silent point of a finger at a single-story ranch that stood shrouded in darkness.
The four military men crossed the street, silent shadows in the night. It was almost completely quiet. It was too cold for insects and only the sound of running water trickled through the air.
A large wooden fence stood over eight-feet high, surrounding the back of the ranch. Hunter drew them to a halt near one side. Kinnick knelt down in the overgrown grass and waited. The dew on the nighttime grass soaked through his pants.
Kinnick’s eyes drifted up to a black-and-orange “No Trespassing” sign on the fence. The soft rattle of the gate latch on metal announced the denial of their entry. Hunter ducked back behind the corner of the fence and knelt in front of Kinnick, facing out.
Hunter twisted his head a bit to the side and spoke over his shoulder. “Gate’s locked. I can lift a side window.”
“Affirm,” Kinnick whispered back.
Hunter disappeared around the fence. Kinnick was forced to stare out into the night, where monsters stalked on the fringe of his eyesight.
A low hoo-hoo sounded out softly. Kinnick pushed his legs straight and stood. Keeping his back bent, he cut the corner off the fence. Hunter crouched down next to an open window. Kinnick’s feet crushed the dying grass below him until he reached the metal siding of the house. He pushed his gun through first and breached the threshold of the vacant window.
His foot unable to find solid ground, caused him to trip and tumble onto the floor. His gun made a muffled thud as it landed next to him. The muted noise was a blaring of trumpets announcing his arrival. I should have let the Marines go first. He lay still for a moment, trying not to make the tiniest of sounds while listening intently for movement in the next room. A musty stench seeped into his nose. The place hadn’t been touched by fresh air in weeks.
Kinnick’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. A ceiling fan hung overhead. Red, yellow, and pink flowery artwork decorated the walls. His head lay next to the leg sewing table and short wheeled chair.
Washington stepped inside the room, pointing his gun at the door. He was followed by another smaller form that turned into Ramos. Kinnick used the table to help himself into a kneeling position and he felt Hunter’s hand on the back of his shoulder, assisting him upward from the floor.
“Always here in a pinch, sir.”
Kinnick nodded. The Marines and Green Beret stacked on either side of the door, armed men in a single file line along the wall ready to rush in. Hunter twisted the knob slowly, letting it groan with every centimeter he rotated it. Metal slid inside the door handle removing the latch from the doorjamb catch.
The door slipped open and Hunter checked his angles inside the room. He placed two fingers in the air and pointed one way. His finger pointed in Kinnick’s direction and his thumb pointed back at himself then he gestured in the opposite direction that he had indicated to the Marines.
In a dark blur, Hunter curled into the hallway, the Marines hard on his back. Kinnick took up the rear and had to take large steps to catch back up to the outline of Hunter. Leaving too much space between stack members was a recipe for a gunned down team. No sounds came from the rooms, and for that, Kinnick thanked God.
Hunter’s SCAR was up to his shoulder and he tilted it to the side as he took small steps across, slicing the pie of an open doorway. He finished his cross and turned the other way to the next door down the hall. Kinnick checked his six o’clock and the Marines were making their way down the hallway back toward them. Two closed doors rested at the end of the hall.
Kinnick gave the doorway that Hunter had successfully passed a quick glance and pointed his gun in its direction. It was a dark bathroom that stunk as if people were still using it regardless of the plumbing situation.
Kinnick stacked near Hunter and the two Marines moved to the other doorway. They would do a simultaneous entry. Hunter put a finger to his lips. He wanted to go in quiet, not guns blazing, something Kinnick had made clear before they had left the restaurant. What good are dead bodies? I need to show these people that they can still have justice in a chaotic world.
Capturing someone was a much more dangerous mission than killing someone. If Kinnick had wanted the people in the house executed, he could have set Hunter up in a sniper’s nest and let him pick them off, or even easier, have one of the Marines toss a few grenades through a few windows, but then he wouldn’t get any answers. He wouldn’t know if there were more compatriots throughout the town. Then they would be overrun by a mob angered by the murder of their own townspeople. People could only begin to trust if they felt safe, which meant that Kinnick put his men in the line of fire.
Hunter lightly pushed in the door. The room opened up to a master bedroom with a king-sized bed. Kinnick crept behind Hunter and split off from behind him once the room broadened to its full width.
Two forms lay in the bed, mounds smoothly rising up and down in sleep. He pointed his M4 at them.
Hunter crept along the bed until he loomed right above one of the people. His eyes narrowed in guile and he flicked on his tactical light.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he cooed. The man in the bed bolted upright. His eyes were wide with fear, and if his hair wasn’t gray already, it would have turned right then. He shied away from Hunter and the gun.
Kinnick flicked the light on his carbine and pointed it at the other form. A woman sat up on her side and let out a fearful wail. Her back shoved up against the headboard and her legs kicked as she tried to scoot back even farther.
The man shaded his eyes with one hand and the other felt behind him. “Wha-what do you want?” he cried. His hand inched near the headboard.
“Not so fast, sunshine. If you don’t move those hands away from that shotgun hideaway behind you, I’ll put more holes in you than a Wiffle ball. Put ’em on top of your head. Nice and slow like.”
The man’s face glowered as he placed his hands on the top of his head. Hunter grabbed him by his fingers and yanked him out of the bed. After the man was standing, Hunter kicked the back of his knee. The man cried out and his knees banged onto the floor.
Kinnick turned his hand palm up and gestured for the woman to stand. She did as he requested. Her neck leaned forward and her shoulders slumped in fear.
“Put your hands behind you,” Kinnick ordered.
“Why are you here? What have we done?” she demanded.
The sounds of someone kicking a door vibrated outside the room.
“Don’t tell him shit, Vicki,” the man said over his shoulder.
“Quiet,” Hunter ordered with a shove that forced his face into the wall.
“Washington, status?” Hunter called out.
Kinnick
finished handcuffing the woman with zip ties.
A boom reverberated off the walls.
Ramos’s voice rose in distress. “We got a gun!”
Hunter knocked his restrained captive all the way to the floor and sprinted for the door. He angled off the doorway, looking down the hall.
“Don’t shoot,” Kinnick screamed. “We want them alive.”
“Never surrender, son,” the man yelled from the floor.
Kinnick moved up behind Hunter, pointing his gun in the direction of the captive man.
“We need him alive. No casualties.”
Hunter cocked his head, taking in the hallway. The shotgun boomed again and Hunter spoke out of the side of his mouth. “He’s got Washington and Ramos pinned near the doorway.”
The man on the floor continued to holler. “Don’t let them take you alive, boy. They only want to oppress us!”
Hunter’s SCAR sounded like thunder with fiery lightning flashing from the barrel. Boom. Boom-boom. Hunter took a step to the side and a half-second later the Marines burst into the room.
Washington breathed hard. “Door was barred with some sort of reinforced lock.”
“Then that fucking pendejo started slinging slugs through the door,” Ramos said, bent over at the waist.
“Come on out, kid, and no one has to get hurt,” Hunter yelled.
The father lifted his head up and rolled onto his shoulder. “Kill the bastards. They’ve no right to be here. We do not recognize their authority.”
Hunter ducked back into the room.
“Colonel, can you look downrange while I take care of something?”
Since Hunter had given up his viewpoint and control of the hallway, Kinnick took it back by stepping in short steps, gaining degrees of angles with every movement yet keeping his profile as small as possible. He slid into Hunter’s place, his gun aimed down the hall.
A door with six-inch holes in it stood intact down the hall.
Hunter crouched down next to his captive. “Now if you don’t quiet down, I’ll give you a three-dollar haircut.”
The man twisted his neck and glowered up a Hunter. “Fuck. You. Pig. You got no right to be here.”
Hunter’s fist slammed into the man’s cheek and his head thudded off the carpet. He angled down. “I warned you.” He slapped his cheek with a few taps to make sure the unconscious man was completely out.
He walked back over to Kinnick. “Now, where were we?”
Kinnick felt Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. He whispered under his breath, “No.” He waited a moment, staring down the dim hallway. “What’s his name? Lady, what’s his name or he dies.”
“Randy,” his mother said softly. “Please don’t.”
Kinnick spoke louder. “Randy?”
The shotgun exploded again. A piece of drywall crumbled from the wall next to Kinnick.
“Jesus,” he said to himself.
“You can take it from my dead body, pig.”
“Should we oblige him?” Hunter asked.
“No. Give me a chance.” Kinnick tried to see through one of the holes in the door. “Nobody has to die today. Not you. Not your parents. Not any of us.”
“Go to hell,” a teenage boy’s voice shouted.
“We aren’t here to hurt anyone in this town. We’re here to help you, to train you to fight the dead. We’re allies, not enemies.”
“We don’t need nobody to teach us how to fight. My Pa did that enough.”
“I see that. You have a good shot, Randy.” Thank god it’s not better. “We could really use a shooter like you in the Marines.”
“Marines?”
“Yes, sir, Randy. I’ve got Marines with me right now. Two of the finest I’ve ever met.”
“I thought about joining before.”
“That’s good, son. It’s a very fine career. A lot of pride.”
“Shut up. You’re trying to trick me. I do not recognize your sovereignty here. You’re here to enslave us!”
“We didn’t come to harm you or force you into labor. I know it may have felt like that, but if we were trying to harm you or kill you, we would have tossed a grenade through your window and been done with it. Why do I have your parents sitting here if I came to kill you?”
“Let ’em go then.”
“Randy, you know I can’t do that. They are suspected murderers.”
“We. Those laws don’t apply to us. We defended our town and then you had Andrew killed.”
“Randy, we came to help your town and Andrew’s death was an accident. Those men have been detained. I don’t think you’re a bad guy, Randy. Everybody makes mistakes. Put that gun down and we can talk about getting this straightened out because—.” He took a deep breath. “You want to know something?”
Randy was silent for a minute. “What?” he said, barely audible from down the hall.
“There are a lot of really bad things that are coming our way, and if we don’t get our act together—.” A bright white flash exploded. The holes in the door beamed light like the room was atop the sun.
Kinnick covered his eyes and ducked back into the bedroom. He felt people rush by him. His ears squealed with high-pitched ringing that only would have been worse had he been closer. Must have been a flash bang, he thought as he squeezed his eyes shut and crouched down to the floor.
He opened and closed his mouth trying to stabilize the ringing in his eardrums. His vision began to settle, and he felt less like he was going to throw up.
Lifting his M4 up to his shoulder, he took back his headspace, aiming his weapon down the hallway. A handcuffed teenager was pushed in front of Washington. Kinnick let his carbine lower and he shook his head.
Hunter peeked out from behind Washington. “With all due respect, sir, I love a good chitchat, but we don’t have time for this shit.”
GWEN
South of the Reynolds Farm, IA
Wind howled down the river. It froze her face, neck, and hands. Ice-cold rain poured down, stinging any exposed skin on her body. Cold breaths fogged from the covered faces sitting around her.
The trees shuddered beneath the rain and wind onslaught along the shore. The water bubbled as it rushed against her boat. As she rowed, droplets splashed up onto her hands, freezing them onto her wooden paddle permanently.
Gwen dug her paddle hard into the chilly water. She shook her herself, trying to keep in whatever warmth she had left inside her layers of clothes. Harriet coughed next to her. They let the water guide their craft down the river, but she was nervous about what else the river would push along with them.
The moon gleamed across the surface of the rushing water. Shapes darker than the water floated in the dull light all around her boat. She twisted around. The shadow outlined pontoon boats, canoes, rowboats, and shallow-hulled fishing craft floating behind her in a small flotilla.
She stuck her paddle back in the water with some force. A jagged shape jutted out of the water a few feet away, rapidly approaching them.
“Watch that tree,” she hissed. Gregor put his paddle out and used it to push off. Branches screeched as they scraped the side of her fishing boat. Gwen ducked as a branch swung over her head. She spun, looking back.
“Tree,” she cried out, but it was too late. The canoe behind her tipped on its side unloading the passengers. Two people went into the freezing water.
They splashed as they tried to stay afloat. “Help!” they called out. A boat behind them shined a flashlight and voices of alarm went into the air. Gwen watched over her shoulder as a pontoon slowed down and the people were hauled aboard. She exhaled. But now there are six less spots.
In the darkness, it was treacherous. In the cold, you could die quick of hypothermia. They let the water take them down the Mississippi for another half-mile, navigating with as much caution as they could. A small light flashed in the darkness from a nearby island. Gwen’s heart sped up in her chest, causing her to breathe hard.
The pin-like light blinked before go
ing dark.
She took out a pen flashlight and clicked it on and off at the other light three times. It responded with four flashes. She responded with three, followed by the other light flashing three more. I. And. Love. And. You.
“Make for that island,” she said.
They all softly dunked their paddles, taking turns in order to keep their craft headed straight for the island. It wasn’t long before her fishing boat scratched the muddy bottom of the shore.
She jumped onto the shallows. Sploosh! Her boots were sucked down into the mud and she was forced to strain to free them with every step. The frigid water soaked into her boots and pants, not willing to be deterred. Gregor, Harriet, and Jake followed suit.
They pulled the fishing boat ashore. A canoe ground its bottom next to them followed by a pontoon boat. Men and women hopped down into the water and pulled the boat to shore with a rope. One by one, the rest of the boats drifted in.
Gwen slogged up an embankment, bending to use her hands to help herself up. A man-sized shape emerged from the trees. She drew her weapon. It moved like it was unafraid and had a shoulder sway that she instantly recognized.
“Mark!” she cried. His arms engulfed her, squeezing his body into hers. He stunk like dried mud. She ignored the stench and savored his touch.
“I knew you’d come for me,” he said into the hair. He shook in the cold, his clothes saturated with water and filth.
Mark turned away and made a low-pitched call out into the trees like an owl would make. “Hoo-hoo.” Timidly, other forms struggled from the trees, huddled together. Bikers. People from Little Sable Point. A tall man walked down the muddy slope. He was dressed in black and almost glided onto the shallows. He tilted his chin down to her on the way by, his long face regarding her with a positive indifference.
His voice was rich and practiced. “Many thanks, my daughter.” He nodded and made for the pontoon boat.
She read Mark’s face. “Was that?”
“Yes.” He avoided her eyes. “I let the pastor go and he has joined with us.”
“Jesus Christ Almighty,” she said, looking back. His entourage of followers loaded onto the pontoon.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 35