Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line

by James N. Cook

  “I know what you’re thinking, Gabe. And it’s a bad idea.”

  I did not reply.

  “It sucks. It’s horrible. But we can’t save them.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  A gentle hand settled onto my arm. “Gabriel, listen to me.” Elizabeth said. “We need you. Now is not the time to go running off into a fight you can’t win.”

  Sabrina looked at me, Elizabeth, and then Eric. “Somebody want to tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

  “He wants to go after them,” Eric said. “Like a fucking idiot.”

  I stood up quickly and got an inch from Eric’s face. “What if it were Allison? What if it were your son? Would you call me an idiot for going after them?”

  My voice echoed briefly in the barn. An impressive feat, considering the noise from the wind and rain. Eric’s steady gaze wavered, then fell away.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Gabe,” Elizabeth said. “What if they catch you?”

  “They won’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I turned to her and gave her the full weight of my attention. “One way or another, I won’t let myself be captured.”

  She caught the meaning, stood up, and gripped the front of my shirt. “No, goddammit. Do you hear me? I’m telling you no. Do not go. I’ve lost too many people. I’m not losing you too.”

  I took her hands and gently eased them away. “Thirteen women and girls, Elizabeth. Thirteen. Do you know what raiders do to women? To children?”

  Her eyes stayed fixed, but she said nothing.

  “What if it were you? Or Sabrina? Would you want me to just abandon you?”

  More silence. Her eyes grew watery and began to fill.

  “I have to do this. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. And then what kind of a husband will I be? What kind of father?”

  “You can’t,” Elizabeth said, her voice a harsh whisper. “There are too many of them.”

  “Too many for me, yeah.” I patted the pouch on my vest with the satellite phone. “But not too many for the Army.”

  Hicks cleared his throat and stood up. “Which brings me to the point I was about to make before things got all dramatic.”

  Everyone turned to look at him. Hicks’ attention settled on Eric.

  “Afraid I’m gonna have to tender my resignation, bossman. My first loyalty is to the Army. I can’t let a threat like those raiders go unchecked, not after what they did. And God only knows what else they’ve done. Duty requires I follow them and report their movements at the earliest opportunity.”

  “That,” Eric said flatly, “is the biggest crock of horse-shit I’ve ever heard.”

  A smile. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. I’m going after them. If Gabe is going too, we might as well work together.”

  “And what the fuck are the rest of us supposed to do?” Sabrina said. “Just sit here and wait for you two to come back?”

  I looked at Eric. After a few seconds, he threw his hands in the air and let out an exasperated curse.

  “Fine. I’ll do it. But you owe me, Gabe.”

  “I know.”

  Sabrina picked up a stick and threw it at Eric. He swatted it away.

  “Explain, fucker,” she said. “I don’t speak whatever silent, jackass language you two have.”

  “He wants us to go west. He’ll catch up when he can.”

  Sabrina turned toward me. “Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.”

  “Sabrina…”

  “No. Don’t. Just don’t. You might be my father, and I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I do not answer to you. You don’t get to order me around and expect me to just meekly go along with whatever you say. I’m not going anywhere without you. You go after those raiders, I’m going with you.”

  I took a step forward and very slowly reached up to touch her face. “Sabrina, you are a pain in the ass. But you’re my daughter, and I love you, and I can’t put you in the kind of danger I’m walking into. You’re the only family I have left.”

  “Hey!” Eric and Elizabeth said at the same time. I held up a hand.

  “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

  Their hackles went down.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” Sabrina said, her voice growing husky, “that you’re the only family I have left?”

  I let out a sigh and pulled her to my chest. She did not resist. “Yes, it did. But here’s the thing: I can’t leave those people to die. I have to do something because if I don’t, no one else will.”

  Hicks pointed a finger at me and tilted his head. “Were you not here about ten seconds ago? You heard the part about me going after them, right?”

  I frowned at him. “You know what I mean.”

  Hicks rolled his eyes.

  “And I can’t help those people,” I continued, turning back to Sabrina, “if I’m constantly worried about you. I need you out of the line of fire. I won’t be able to concentrate otherwise. You come along, I’m a whole lot more likely to get killed. I know it’s a hard thing to hear, but it’s the truth.”

  Sabrina grabbed the back of my jacket and squeezed. “Well, at least you didn’t try to bullshit me.”

  “So you’ll stay?”

  “I thought you wanted me to go with Eric?”

  Another sigh. “You know what I mean.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  The first day on the trail I called General Jacobs’ secure line with the satellite phone. A polite digitized female voice answered and asked for my authorization code. I gave it. The voice told me to stand by and someone would be with me momentarily. The someone turned out to be a lieutenant with a steady, bookish voice who asked me for my name, unit, and the reason for my call.

  “My name is Gabriel Garrett,” I said. “I’m not active-duty military, but I’m registered in the Archive. I’ll wait while you look me up.”

  I could almost see the face puckering on the other side. “I’m sorry, sir, but if you’re not active-duty military you’ll need to-”

  “I’m a contractor,” I interrupted. “And I know contractors aren’t normally given this number, but General Jacobs gave it to me personally. So trust me, you want to look me up before you blow me off. Might save your career.”

  The lieutenant was silent a moment, then told me to hold and he would be back with me shortly. He sounded angry. I did not care. Eight years in the Marines, a stint with the CIA, and several more years with the top-secret arm of a mercenary outfit sanctioned by Homeland Security—not to mention all the wetwork I’ve done for General Jacobs since the Outbreak—has left me with very little patience for the self-importance of middle-management officer types. In fact, if I had wanted to, I could have taken a field commission as a colonel working directly for General Jacobs at Army Special Operations Command. Thing is, I didn’t want to. Hence my status as a highly-valued civilian contractor with a direct line to one of the most powerful men in the Union.

  “General Jacobs is away on assignment,” the young-sounding officer said. “Can I take a message?”

  “No. Whatever clearance you have, it’s not enough. Put me in touch with Jacobs’ chief of staff.”

  “I’m not authorized to do that, sir.” The voice was downright lemony. I had, after all, called his boss ‘Jacobs’ and not ‘General Jacobs’. He was probably not used to that level of familiarity pertaining to someone who could make or break his career with the stroke of a pen.

  “Then find someone who is.”

  A pause. “Listen, sir-”

  “No, you listen. I don’t have time for this shit. I have a priority message to give the general and he needs it yesterday. If you can’t get it done, go find someone who can. Because I guarantee you if he doesn’t get my report very fucking soon, heads are going to roll. Starting with yours. Get me?”

  Maybe it was my tone, or the confidence in my voice, but when the lieutenant spoke after an uncomfortable silence, he sounded subdued. “Of course,
sir. I’ll have to place you on hold, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “You hang up on me and I’ll have your liver on a platter.”

  “Yes sir.” The line went silent, but I could tell by the static it was still open.

  “Nice,” Hicks chuckled. He sat astride his horse as we followed the raiders’ trail southeast across the Kansas plains. “Not too subtle, but nice.”

  “I’m nothing if not effective.”

  “No argument there.”

  The line was quiet for nearly five minutes. Finally, a mature male voice picked up.

  “This is Colonel Frank Stephens. State your name and make your report.”

  “My name is Gabriel Garrett.” I gave the declaration time to sink in. The other voice did not reply for a few moments, which told me I had struck a nerve.

  “Garrett, huh? Heard about you.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  Stephens cleared his throat. “So what you got for me?”

  “You stationed in the Springs?”

  “I’m with ASOC, so yeah. Why?”

  “Ever heard of a caravan outfit goes under the name of Morningstar Transport? It’s one of the biggest outfits in the Springs, headed by a guy who calls himself Spike.”

  “Yeah, I heard of ‘em. Why?”

  “You might want to put in a call with the FTIC. They’ve been taken out by a band of raiders over two-hundred strong. Spike’s dead, and so are most of his people. Raiders took the trade and thirteen prisoners, all female, and are headed southeast. I’m on their trail with Sergeant Caleb Hicks, First Reconnaissance Expeditionary out of Fort McCray. He’s listed in the Archive among the same group of upstanding citizens as I am.”

  The sound of fingers clicking over a keyboard traveled across the line. I counted to six before Colonel Stephens spoke again.

  “I’ll need as many details as you can provide, Mr. Garrett.”

  So I did. When I finished, the colonel asked to speak with Caleb. His report was much the same as mine, although he punctuated his sentences with ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’. Not unwise for a sergeant speaking to a colonel. When he was finished, he held the phone out to me.

  “Says he wants to talk to you.”

  I took the handset and said, “Yes, Colonel?” No harm in being polite. My mother always told me one catches more flies with honey than with vinegar.

  “For now I need you to continue reconnaissance,” Stephens said. “Consider yourself on the clock. Full compensation per your usual fee upon completion of the mission.”

  “What constitutes completing the mission?” I asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know yet. But I’m damned sure Phil ain’t gonna be happy about this. He’ll want retribution, and that right soon.”

  The fact Colonel Stephens had called General Jacobs ‘Phil’ without a hitch in his voice told me all I needed to know about him.

  “I’m on it, Colonel.”

  “Call me with an update by 0900 tomorrow.”

  “Will do.”

  The line went dead.

  “So?” Hicks asked.

  “It seems we’re sanctioned.”

  The young soldier’s eyes brightened and narrowed all at once. “Perfect.”

  *****

  My update the next morning, and for the next two days, was pretty much the same. The raiders were headed steadily eastward. During the day, we stayed out of sight and tracked them from a couple of miles back. At night, we moved in. The prisoners were under heavy guard and kept chained together in a pair of wagons. Thus far, as near as we could tell, they had not been abused. I figured their captors wanted to keep them looking healthy in case they ran across a federal patrol. However, the farther we traveled from Wichita, the sooner the prisoners’ situation was likely to deteriorate. Raiders are not known for their profound sense of restraint.

  On the fifth day Caleb and I ate the last of our rations shortly before I made my report. This time, when I called in, I finally got General Jacobs on the line.

  “You certainly have a knack for finding trouble, Mr. Garrett,” he said.

  “Did Colonel Stephens brief you?”

  “He did. Sounds like you’re up to your ass in alligators again.”

  “Story of my life. Listen, we’re in a bad spot here. We’re out of food, and the guys we’re tracking aren’t getting any less horny. If we’re going to do something we had better do it soon. The prisoners are running out of time.”

  “I can get you a supply drop by tonight, but sending troops will take a couple of days to coordinate.”

  “I don’t need the Eighty-Second Airborne, General. A few skillful operators would do just fine.”

  The line was quiet for a few seconds. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Four men, a Chinook, and some extra ordnance. When the caravan stops for the night I’ll send in the drop coordinates. We’ll go in, hit them hard, and get the prisoners to the chopper.”

  “That simple?”

  “Of course not. But I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

  “Call me back in twenty minutes.”

  He hung up. I waited twenty long, impatient minutes and called back.

  “I can get you what you need,” Jacobs said. “But you’ll have to move tonight.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Any special instructions?”

  “Actually, yes. Quite a few.”

  I laid out my plan in general terms and told Jacobs what supplies I needed and what I wanted from the soldiers he was sending me.

  “Well, you’ve got balls. I’ll give you that much. Can I assume you’ll need operational control of the aircrew?”

  “If you can swing it, yes.”

  “Done.”

  I let out a relieved breath. “Thanks for the assist, General.”

  “Thank me when those prisoners are out of harm’s way. Anything else?”

  “No. That’s it.”

  “Good luck then.”

  The line went dead.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Chinook flew in three hours after nightfall.

  It landed in an unremarkable patch of field in a vast plain of unremarkable fields. I waited a short distance away while the twin rotors slowly spun to a stop before approaching with my hands in the air. Something moved in the darkness of the chopper’s cargo bay and I knew I had no less than two rifles aimed at my chest.

  “Arbiter,” I called out, hoping whoever briefed these men had given them the correct code word.

  “Mason,” A voice replied. “Approach and be recognized.”

  I did as ordered, hands still in the air. A pair of darkly painted faces peered at me from within the Chinook. The soldiers wore black helmets, black fatigues, NVGs, and were heavily armed.

  “You Garrett?” one of them asked.

  “That’s me.”

  “Name’s Lanning. This is Greer, Clark, and the guy behind me is Duncan.”

  Now that I was closer, I could see the men clearly. Lanning was tall, lean, and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Greer and Clark were both younger white guys of medium build. Duncan was black, stood about five foot six, and was built like a refrigerator. I estimated his biceps at roughly the diameter of my head.

  “You in charge?” I asked Lanning.

  “Ordinarily, yes. Colonel tells me I’m to follow your orders.”

  He did not sound happy.

  “Have you been briefed?”

  “Sure.”

  Lanning gave me the rundown. I had to correct a few details, but mostly the ops guys had gotten it right.

  “Now we’ve got that straightened out,” I said, “you have the supplies I asked for?”

  “Yeah,” Lanning said. “In the back.”

  I followed him in while Greer closed the door behind us. Lanning reached up and flipped a switch, bathing the interior of the Chinook in red light. A big, surly looking crewman stared down the barrel of a minigun aimed out a firing port and studiously i
gnored us. I returned the favor.

  Two large green fiberglass crates sat strapped to the floor of the cargo bay. I undid the tie-downs on one and opened it. Inside were high-powered radios, six LAW rockets, two grenade launchers, a small box of fragmentation grenades, another small box of high-explosive point-detonation shells, two SAWs, a few boxes of linked 5.56 ammo, stick-on infrared patches, and most importantly, four GPS tracking devices. I rooted down to the bottom of the box and found four large duffel bags. The other box held water and provisions for Hicks, me, and our horses.

  “Looks like it’s all here.”

  Lanning grunted. I went to the front of the chopper and spoke to one of the pilots. “Can we get a message out to Wichita, make sure they have a fix on the transmitters?”

  “Already done,” the pilot said. “Been tracking since we left the FOB.”

  “Perfect.”

  I turned and motioned to the soldiers. “Just so I know, what outfit are you with?”

  “Tenth S.F.,” Lanning said. “You?”

  “Marines. Scout sniper.”

  “You too old to be active duty,” Duncan said. He had a thick southern accent, one of the Gulf Coast states by the sound of it. “No offense.”

  “None taken. And you’re right. After the Marines I did some time in the intelligence community, then a merc outfit. Now I’m freelance.”

  “You a spook?” Lanning asked with more than a little distaste.

  “Not anymore. Think of me as a concerned citizen.”

  A snort. “Yeah. Sure. A concerned citizen who just happens to be on a first name basis with the head of ASOC.”

  “Listen,” I said. “Who I am is a lot less important than why we’re here. There are thirteen prisoners being held by a group of raiders over two-hundred strong. And it’s our job to get them out alive.”

  “No shit,” Greer said. “Didn’t we just review the briefing?”

  I took a long breath and spoke evenly. Dealing with special operations types is always a pissing contest. Too many alpha dogs in too little kennel.