Trackers 4: The Damned (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  He continued staring at the flag without turning to face her.

  “When President Diego agreed to this deal, he promised me we would not have problems like this, but I have lost two hundred soldiers and over a dozen vehicles. This is unacceptable. I have been forced to give the order for my troops to protect themselves at all costs. They will no longer hold their fire when they are attacked.”

  Charlize swallowed hard. She had known this moment was coming, but now that it was here, she struggled to find the right words.

  “While these attacks are regrettable, I would highly recommend not authorizing any sort of violence against Americans. I cannot agree to allow your fighter jets to engage civilians. While I understand your soldiers on the ground need to protect themselves, I must have your word that you won’t drop a single bomb or launch a single missile.”

  Lin scrutinized Charlize for a moment. “I promised President Diego that I would do everything in my power to prevent bloodshed, but if these attacks continue, I will be forced to use air support on these...” He paused to think, and then added, “Insurgents, I believe is the word you call them?”

  _____

  Van Dyke sucked on a cigarette. It was cold, and Albert pulled his coat up around his neck and one-handed his gun so he could flex his other hand. Even with his gloves and heavy boots, his extremities were starting to go numb as they walked alongside a long line of train cars packed with transformers, electrical equipment, and supplies.

  Chinese workers dressed in white uniforms and blue helmets jogged past them toward the staging area about a quarter mile away, where heavy-duty trucks were being unloaded. American troops surrounded the zone with several armored trucks, including the MATV Van Dyke had been assigned. Twenty American soldiers stood guard, outnumbered ten to one by the Chinese soldiers.

  Albert didn’t like the ratio, but so far he had to admit the men had been easy to work with. Those that knew English were courteous and polite. The workers especially seemed happy to be here. It was the American citizens that were causing the problems. The airdrops and information the SCs were handing out hadn’t calmed the people, who persisted in regarding the Chinese as invaders, not aid workers.

  Charlotte, North Carolina, was especially bad. Albert hadn’t wanted to return here after his last visit, but it had been the next stop on their list. He looked toward downtown as smoke rose into the sky. The gangs had completely taken over the city.

  “Fuckers are still out there,” Van Dyke said, following Albert’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry?” Albert said, not quite following.

  “The assholes that killed Sergeant Flint. I’m still hoping Command sends us back in there with some real firepower. Just need a dozen good men, and we’ll show the Latin Kings and MS-13 what we’re made of.”

  Albert understood why Van Dyke wanted revenge, but their job was to be Secretary Montgomery’s eyes and ears, not go off on some bloodlust mission to kill the gangs that had attacked them the last time they were here.

  As a group of Chinese workers passed by, Van Dyke blew a cloud of smoke at them. One of the men turned and glared.

  “Watch it!” he said in perfect English.

  “What?” Van Dyke said defensively.

  “Corporal, chill,” Albert said.

  Another worker pulled his friend away while Albert yanked Van Dyke back.

  “What’s that all about?” Albert asked.

  Van Dyke shrugged, took another puff, and watched the men walk away. He had a major chip on his shoulder today, and it was being directed at the aid workers. He flicked his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out below his boot.

  “Come on, man, we’re late,” Van Dyke said.

  Captain Harris was at the front of the staging area with his counterpart, a Chinese Captain named Tuan Cao. FEMA was onsite too, along with local and state officials. In a little over an hour, the National Guard had set up an Emergency Operations Center that would help coordinate the movement of these supplies to the people that needed them.

  “Van Dyke!” shouted a voice. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sorry, Captain,” Van Dyke said. He jogged toward Harris, who had emerged from the FEMA tent.

  “Need your help with something,” Harris said. He gave Albert a once-over and said, “Not you, though, Officer Randall. I promised Secretary Montgomery I’d keep you safe.”

  “Sir, I’m here to help,” Albert protested.

  “I know.” Harris sighed. “Just follow me, guys.”

  They ducked below the flaps of the FEMA tent and into a room lit by large lamps. A generator provided the electricity here. Albert took off his gloves to warm his hands as he stood in front of a table that sported a map of Charlotte.

  Harris waited for Captain Cao to join them. He walked in a few minutes later and nodded politely. Harris cut right to the chase.

  “Since losing the survival center, the city has been in chaos. Our job is to restore order before the crews can move in and begin getting the power back on. We won’t be here long, however, as my mission is to continue with General Lin’s convoy.”

  “Is there really a train like this in every major city?” Van Dyke asked.

  “Just on the coasts,” Cao said. “We will work our way west in a few months to start restoring power to the other regions. FEMA and the military will be evacuating people to the regions with restored power.”

  “Poor bastards,” Van Dyke said.

  Cao looked at him quizzically.

  “I meant the people in the Midwest,” Van Dyke clarified.

  “Ah,” Cao said. “They will not be completely on their own. We have a fleet of ships heading up the Mississippi river to deliver supplies and generators, but most of our efforts are focused on moving inward from the coasts.

  “So what’s this mission you got for me and my boys, sir?” Van Dyke asked Harris.

  “We need you to accompany the Chinese soldiers to take back the streets from the gangs. General Lin and President Diego have authorized a joint effort to go after enemies of the state.”

  “Enemies of the state?” Albert asked.

  “Gangs, raiders, Nazis,” Harris said.

  A smile formed on Van Dyke’s face. “I thought you’d never ask, sir.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Harris replied. His gaze flitted to Albert. “Before you say anything, you’re not going.”

  Albert nodded again. He’d been out there once, and that was enough for him. Revenge wasn’t his cup of tea, anyway. He just wanted to do a good job and then get back to his sister, Ty, and Charlize.

  “You sure?” Van Dyke asked. “Randall is good in a fight.”

  Harris scratched his chin and glanced at Albert. “Will you give us a second?”

  Albert tried to ignore the dressing down Harris handed to Van Dyke. Cao followed him and stood beside Albert outside the tent.

  “So you are a police officer?” Cao asked.

  Albert nodded. “Capitol police.”

  “You protect important people.” He smiled. “I do that too.”

  “Yeah?” Albert turned slightly to examine the other man. He was in his mid-thirties, maybe a bit older, with a mustache and short cropped hair under his helmet.

  “I was a police officer most of my career,” Cao explained. “But a few years ago I got this calling to join the army. I wanted to protect more than just my city. I wanted to protect my country. I am glad I did. Now I get to help protect yours, too.”

  Albert was slightly taken back at the soldier’s story. For the past few weeks, he had doubted the Chinese were really here to help. He still wasn’t sure what to think, but hearing things like this made him optimistic that things would get better.

  Van Dyke stepped out of the tent a moment later. “You ready, Cao?” he asked.

  Cao dipped his helmet at Albert and then followed Van Dyke away from the tent.

  “Catch ya’ later, Big Al,” Van Dyke called over his shoulder.

  Albert raise
d a hand to wave goodbye when a gunshot rang out. At first, everyone froze. But when the next shot came, they all hit the dirt, knowing this wasn’t some random potshot. Albert dove for cover behind a bulldozer and brought his gun up to search for the source of the fire.

  A Chinese worker dropped to his knees a few feet away, hands clamped around his neck, eyes wide with fear. Blood trickled from between his fingers as he slumped over. It was the same man Van Dyke had exchanged words with fifteen minutes earlier.

  Albert crawled next to the edge of bulldozer blade and saw several riflemen approaching along the tracks to the west, firing at the Chinese workers, who were running for cover. More gunfire came from the east, and Albert twisted to see a Hispanic man with a shotgun running into the staging area. He was close enough to see the Latin Kings symbol tattooed on his arms.

  The man fired the shotgun point-blank at an American soldier, and then let out a scream as he turned the gun at one of the Humvees. Bullets lanced into his body, jerking him back and forth before he finally went down.

  More gangbangers ran into the staging area from the buildings at the edge of the tracks, shouting and firing weapons. This wasn’t just a few raiders: this was a small army. Van Dyke and company didn’t need to go out to find the bastards that had killed Sergeant Flint after all. The gang was already here.

  “Not today,” Albert said. He got on one knee and aimed his M4 at the men on the tracks. A squeeze of the trigger sent a burst of 5.56 mm rounds downrange. They went wide, and he refocused his aim. This time, the bullets clipped the neck of a man wearing a hoodie. He stumbled away, and Albert roved the barrel to the next target. Someone took cover next to him, and he twisted to see Van Dyke.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” the corporal muttered as he jammed a new magazine into his rifle. “They’re everywhere!”

  The mounted M240s barked to life. Albert snuck a glance around the bulldozer blade. The gunners in the Humvees were raking the big guns back and forth at buildings to the south, where more of the thugs were trying to flank the staging area. Chinese soldiers joined the fight, firing at the raiders.

  Albert focused his fire on the men running down the train tracks. Several of them had opened one of the cars. He watched as they climbed inside and then began tossing boxes out.

  “There,” Albert said, pointing.

  Van Dyke stood, fearless, holding the trigger down and painting the train car with bullets. Several rounds ricocheted off, but two found a target. A thin man in sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt fell out of the open car door and hit the ground. Three of his friends took off running, one of them holding a box.

  The M240s died down in the background, and the automatic gunfire ceased a few minutes later. The fight was already over.

  “Hold your fire!” Captain Harris shouted. He stood in the middle of the staging area with his rifle cradled.

  That’s when Albert saw the bodies. He lowered his rifle in shock. Four workers and several Chinese soldiers, as well as three Americans, lay in the dirt, blood pooling around their corpses.

  “Medic!” someone shouted.

  Albert turned back to the tracks and raised his rifle at the escaping hostiles, anger raging through his veins. He and Van Dyke stood side by side and aimed at the thugs. A few trigger pulls took down the three men, leaving the box of supplies on the tracks near their dead bodies.

  Van Dyke spat on the ground and then yelled, “That’s right, you rats!”

  Pained screaming came from all directions in the respite of gunfire. Albert moved back into the staging area to see if there was anyone he could help, while Van Dyke stood yelling profanities.

  14

  COLTON THREW THE Volkswagen into gear and peeled out of the hospital parking lot. Creek looked up from the floor, shivering from the cold.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Sandra said. She sat in the passenger seat fishing out supplies from a medical bag on her lap to help Creek.

  Colton was more worried about her than the dog. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands were shaking.

  “Those teeth marks?” Colton asked.

  “Looks like it,” Sandra confirmed.

  “Probably one of those damn coyotes.”

  “You think a coyote attacked my brother?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” Colton said. He steered onto Highway 34, heading west into Rocky Mountain National Park. The area where Dale had dropped Raven off wasn’t far, just a few miles off Trail Ridge Road. There was only one roadblock out this way, and he barely stopped when he got there.

  Creek yelped as Sandra put ointment on his wounds.

  “He going to be okay?” Colton asked.

  “He might need stitches when we get him back to the hospital.”

  The damn dog has been through a lot, but he’s tough. Almost as tough as his handler. He looked to the alluvial fan turnoff and remembered the night of the attack. The memory sent a chill up his spine. He suddenly felt certain something bad had happened to Raven. The man was an expert tracker, so how could a coyote get a drop on him and Creek? That simply didn’t make any sense.

  Colton spotted the red Chevy pickup on the side of the road. Dale was already here. He pulled over. Sandra finished putting the bandage over Creek’s back, and opened the door.

  “Show us where Sam is,” she said.

  Creek jumped out and took off. Flashlight beams flitted through the forest to the east of the road, and Colton set off with his rifle. He took in a breath, picking up the scent of smoke. It could be from one of the cabins out here. They had assigned several refugees to the old Forest Service cabins, but it could also be a fire Raven had built for himself.

  “Dale!” Colton shouted. “Dale, can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  “Stay close to me,” Colton instructed Sandra. He handed her a flashlight.

  The lights penetrated the inky black and flitted over the spindly trees making up the winter wasteland.

  They hiked for fifteen minutes, keeping quiet and listening for Creek. The dog had long since vanished into the forest, but he barked somewhere up ahead. The scent of burning wood grew stronger as they made their way deeper into the woods. Colton was hesitant to raise his light to the sky to check for smoke. If someone had attacked Raven, he didn’t want to draw their attention. He cursed himself for shouting earlier. He wasn’t thinking properly.

  The bitter cold slowed Colton and Sandra down. She was wearing a coat, gloves, and stocking cap, but didn’t have proper gear on to be out here for an extended period of time. Colton wasn’t faring much better, if he was honest.

  Fifteen more minutes into the hike, Colton saw the glow of a fire. It was faint, nothing more than a dot of orange in the woods. Sandra saw it, too, and she gasped.

  “Is that him?” she asked

  A bark sounded, as if in reply.

  “Let’s go!” Colton said.

  Sandra followed him through the woods toward the light. Dale was already there, hunched down to rebuild the fire. Lying curled in a fetal position near his feet was Raven. Creek nudged him with his muzzle, but Raven wasn’t moving.

  “Raven!” Sandra shouted, running over with her medical pack.

  Colton slowed on the approach, raking his light over what looked like a gruesome scene. Crimson crisscrossed the ground in splatter marks. He focused his beam on the source of the blood.

  Not a Coyote after all.

  A mountain lion was sprawled in the snow, an arrow sticking out of its back.

  _____

  Raven heard distant voices, but he couldn’t make them out. He was cold. Freezing. But he was also paralyzed, unable to control his body.

  He looked ahead at the two Nunnehi warriors. They were still tracking the eight-point buck. They stalked the beast through the woods, the sun shining on their half-naked bodies.

  It was a dream, Raven realized, but he couldn’t seem to wake up.

  He followed the two warriors, Snake and Badger, as they moved sil
ently through the forest. A spring breeze rustled the trees around them. Despite the warm weather, his body felt cold, like he was in a snowstorm.

  His eyes flitted to the dirt ahead, where he saw deer tracks.

  They were fresh.

  Snake and Badger both stopped near a clearing ahead. They turned and raised their hands at him, signaling for him to continue.

  Raven pulled an arrow from the quiver slung over his back. A meadow of purple and blue wild flowers waited just beyond the warriors. Mountains with snow-painted peaks rose above the majestic land. The soft trickle of a stream sounded over the rustle of the afternoon wind.

  Keeping low, Raven walked around the trunk of a ponderosa tree rising toward the sky. He then climbed a small hill, which provided a lookout over the meadow and the creek meandering through the middle.

  Standing near the water’s edge was the eight-point buck. It lifted its rack of antlers, ears perked.

  Raven froze behind the two Nunnehi warriors and held a breath in his chest. Why did his breath feel cold?

  This wasn’t like most of his dreams. It almost felt real.

  The deer went back to drinking from the stream, and Raven made his way up to Snake and Badger. The men simply nodded at him, and although they didn’t speak out loud, he could hear their thoughts.

  This is your spirit to take, Raven. Do it honorably and swiftly.

  Raven took a moment to admire the beautiful creature, recalling the Cherokee story of how deer got their horns. Long ago, it was said, deer did not have antlers. A messenger started a game between a rabbit and a deer to see who could go farther in a race. The deer could run faster, but the rabbit was a better jumper, so they were evenly matched. The winner would get antlers. The rabbit, however, did not play by the rules during this race, and was caught cheating. Thus, the horns went to the deer.

  Raven had never seen a beast with such a beautiful rack of antlers. He placed the arrow shaft on the rest of his bow. Then he attached the knock to the string. Making sure his shoulders were perpendicular with the beast, he pulled the string back, closed one eye, and aimed the arrowhead at the buck’s heart. After a short mental prayer for a speedy kill, he let the arrow fly.