Divided We Fall (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Book 6)

by W. J. Lundy

  “Dan! What the hell? Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Joe gasped.

  Some of the other men began to laugh. “Those that needed to know… know’ d,” the old man said before dropping into the hold. He reached down, lifted out a large duffle bag, and dropped it to the edge. He unzipped the bag, grabbing for two box magazines, then took a Ruger min-14 from the stack and handed it to one of the men. Quickly, he did the same with another. “You boys take these and head out to the cut; get up high and watch for traffic. Joe tells me that he saw some folks moving this way that might be up to no good.”

  “Should we stop ’em?” one of the men asked; he was a tall man with a clean-shaven face, wearing a tight gray T-shirt and jeans.

  “If what Joe says is true, this crew could be real dirty. Try to avoid ’em. But Kenny, if you see them, get a good count. I need to know numbers—vehicles and equipment. Then get your ass back here, okay?” Dan said.

  The men acknowledged the old man and left the barn, leaving just Joe and a straggly kid they called Watson. Joe didn’t like Watson; he thought the kid was lazy. The scraggly teen was the type who never left the house before everything happened, more comfortable with a video game controller than a hammer.

  Dan moved a rifle to the side and grabbed an old pump-action shotgun. Going back to the canvas bag, he retrieved a box, from which he grabbed a handful of green shells and, one by one, loaded them into the gun. Dan handed the shotgun to Joe, and then passed him the remaining box of shells. “Try not to lose this one,” Dan said.

  The old man grabbed the edges of the hold and hoisted himself out, then turned and tossed the canvas cover back over its contents.

  “Uhh, Dan? What do ya want me to do?” Joe asked.

  The old man ignored him and moved off to the side before lifting and closing the hatch. He dropped the lock into position and spun the dial, “Well, Joe, I been thinking on that. What to do with you and the kid.”

  “Come on now, Dan, you don’t want to go grouping me with Watson here,” Joe said.

  Dan twisted his jaw as if he was chewing a piece of old gum then rolled his eyes back, looking up at the ceiling of the old barn. “Watson, get back to the pole building; get the families ready to move up the mountain,” he said.

  Watson kicked at rocks while keeping his hands in his pockets. “What you want me to say to them, Dan?” Watson asked.

  “Didn’t I just tell ya? Get ’em ready to move—one bag each. I’ll let ’em know when; now go on.” Dan turned and walked to the barn door, moving straight for the cabin then stopped and looked back at Joe. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Joe stepped forward. Using the sling of the shotgun to put it over his shoulder, he wisely kept pace with Dan. When they arrived at the cabin, they found Amy standing on the porch. There was a lot of activity going on at the ranch—far more than usual—and it had obviously attracted the women’s attention. Amy was at home on the mountain ranch. Even though she was born and raised in the city, she found that the mountain life suited her. Tall with a tan complexion, she was strong from years of running, trying to keep up with her husband’s active military career.

  “What’s all the commotion, Dad?” she asked.

  Dan stopped and looked at her. “It could be nothing, but until I know otherwise, I think you should lead the families up to the other place.”

  Amy looked at him, surprised, then walked across the porch and leaned against a handrail. “That’s close to two days of walking; are you sure?”

  “Nah, I ain’t sure of much. But even if I am wrong, it don’t hurt to get these folks moving around some. And there’s provisions up at the lake spot that need rotatin’ anyhow. Just get the people up there and settled in. I’ll send for you in a week.”

  Amy stood upright and looked Dan in the eye. “What is it, Dan?”

  “Joe says he saw some people on the cut; they might not be friendly. I just need you to do this—get everyone to a safe spot so I can deal with the strangers.”

  Amy nodded and turned back to the cabin, letting the screen door shut behind her.

  Joe stood back, watching and growing frustrated. Dan checked his rifle and began following Amy into the house. “Hey, Dan, don’t ya think we should be doing more to get ready?”

  The old man kept moving toward the cabin. Entering the covered front porch, he put his hand on the knob and turned to look Joe in the eye. “Son, I’ve been getting ready for this my entire life.”

  Chapter 17

  The truck bounced through a patch of broken roadway and downed trees. Brad positioned himself high in the bucket to lean over the cab of the truck. Balancing on the piles of garbage as the big vehicle lumbered over potholes, he looked far to the east. The horizon was glowing bright orange from both the flames of the burning fire and the perimeter gate’s spotlights. The gunfire had decreased in the last hour; now only the occasional gunshot or burst of automatic weapons fire would break the air.

  He lowered his binoculars and moved his attention to the shoulder of the road. Primal silhouettes backlit by orange flames swirled in the tree lines, their hands rising to greet the passing vehicle. Some ran from the burning forest, escaping the flames, and leaving the cover of the trees to pursue them on the road. Some stayed back out of range, following the truck’s movements, while others swarmed in close, shadowing to it like parasites. Brad looked at the things near the shoulder and saw worn and ashen faces, their clothing smoldering, hair singed. They held no sign of humanity, like hollowed out mannequins with no soul and no want of anything other than to feed. The thought pushed a shiver through his body.

  “This shit is creepy, man. We gotta get out of here,” Axe mumbled.

  Brad turned and saw that the stocky soldier had moved up beside him, his rifle clutched tightly in his hands. The truck stopped suddenly and Brad fell forward against the cab. He watched as Axe banged into the bucket and nearly tumbled back into the loose bags of garbage before catching himself. Brad used a free arm to steady his body then strained to look ahead.

  His attention was caught by the sound of the driver’s window rolling down and Roberts shouting, “Sergeant, you need to see this.”

  Brad gripped the edge of the bucket and looked to the horizon. “Oh hell,” he gasped.

  “Where do they all come from?” Axe asked.

  The truck rested in the center of the empty road. Far in the distance, a deep crowd hundreds of Primals wide and at least a mile long was moving through the smoky mist. They were pouring out of the trees and marching to Combat Outpost Savannah, pushed forward by the fire. Brad felt Brooks’ presence beside him just as the SEAL snatched the binoculars from his hands.

  “I don’t think this was a diversion; whoever did this intended to wipe us out. We’re less than a mile from the gate, and that’s where the mass is headed.”

  Axe stepped back; Brad watched the younger man push away from the cab, his hands trembling. “We need to turn around and go back the other way.”

  Brooks reached into a cargo pocket on his left leg and removed a bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and handed it to Axe. “Here, take it easy, drink this,” Brooks said.

  “What the hell are you all talking about? Why would anyone want to wipe us out?” Axe sputtered.

  “Just drink,” Brooks said.

  Axe grabbed the bottle and gulped thirstily. When he stopped, he used his sleeves to wipe the water away from his chin, taking in deep breaths before handing the nearly empty bottle back. Brooks took it and put the cap back on then said, “Tell me, Axe, outside of this place, who else does Savannah have contact with?”

  “What do you mean? There isn’t anything else besides this ’cept a couple holdouts along the coast. Heard there was some kind of thing goin’ on in Texas, but nothing like this,” Axe said. “We’re it.”

  “Is that the consensus around camp then?” Brooks asked.

  “Consen-a-what?” asked Axe, his face screwed up like he was in pain.

  “Is that what e
veryone thinks?” Brad blurted out impatiently.

  Axe looked around and nodded. “Yeah—I mean we are all that’s left. There isn’t anything else out there; D.C. is gone, the president’s dead. Nothing.”

  Brooks grinned. “It’s not true, Axe; there are people left. Big groups of them from what I have heard, and not everyone is playing nice these days, either. In addition, there is something all of them want, and it’s located on Outpost Savannah. Something important.”

  Axe shot Brooks a confused glance. “What? You mean like food or something?”

  Brad let out a short chuckle and shook his head. “There could be a cure, or a way to help us get it.”

  “Damn! You serious? Then why the hell… I mean, why would someone do all this?” Axe asked.

  Brooks reached out and put a hand on Axe’s shoulder. “Because they either want it, or they want to keep us from getting it.”

  “Well…” Axe put his head down then snapped it back up. “We can’t let them get it, now can we?”

  Brooks shook his head. “No, Axe, we can’t.”

  “How we going to stop ’em? C’mon, there’s just five of us, and the whole outpost is being overrun.”

  “How many rounds you have left on the SAW?” Brooks asked.

  Axe shrugged and pulled the weapon in close to his chest. “Bout a box and a half.”

  “Good!” Brooks reached over the bucket and pounded his fist on the roof of the cab. “Let roll!”

  The truck’s gears ground and the oversized vehicle lurched forward. Looking to the side, Brad could see that Primals were being attracted to them and gathering on all sides, following them. “Earlier, you said you had a plan. Is this part of it?” Brad asked.

  “I lied; I don’t have a plan,” Brooks responded. “Let’s get eyes on the gate and see what’s shaking.”

  Brad clenched his eyes closed tight, trying to block out the smoke. He reached up and pulled his goggles down then grabbed the balaclava around his neck to pull it up over his mouth and nose. The smoke was growing thicker, forming heavy clouds that hung over the roadway. The dying of the sun brought on dark, oily blooms of smoke that glowed with a foul orange as the flames cut through. “This isn’t going to end well,” Brad whispered, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “No, I’m thinking not,” Brooks answered.

  The truck moved into a tight cluster. Roberts slowed slightly but maintained his course, pushing Primals that refused to move under the large wheels of the dump truck. The vehicle pitched slightly as the bodies crunched under its treads. Some Primals howled and some threw their bodies at the sides of the truck, but most just followed alongside, waiting for their moment. The crowd grew around them, morphing into a tightly packed cluster of burnt and singed bodies.

  “There are just so many of them,” Axe said.

  “Yeah, but it’ll make it harder to miss,” Brooks said.

  The gates of Savannah slowly became visible through the heavy smoke. The sandbag bunkers positioned outside the gate were abandoned. A Humvee sat burning, its entire frame engulfed in flame. Tall chain link fences reinforced with steel plates, tight strands of cable, and razor wire still stood, locked and secured. The mass of Primals pressed tightly against it, their bodies causing the gates to heave and pulse with their movements. Fires raged on the far side of the gates, and sporadic gunfire still rang out from somewhere inside the outpost while the thumping of a helicopter echoed from the south. Two tall watchtowers—one on each side of the gate—were empty, the tower windows shattered.

  “Main gate is abandoned,” Brad said.

  “Guards probably pulled back to defend the airfield,” Axe said. “We used to drill that all the time. The perimeter will shrink as areas fall.”

  The dump truck approached cautiously and stopped in the middle of the road still fifty meters from the gates. Brad pointed to a cluster of Primals on the far side of the fence. “Gates are closed; how did they get in?” he said.

  Brooks leaned over the side of the truck’s bucket and looked down; Primals in all directions clustered around them, pushing against the truck. Brooks pointed to the right of the gate; a small blacktop road followed the fence. “That maintenance road goes all the way around the camp. Let’s follow it. There must be a breach somewhere.”

  Brad smacked the top of the cab and relayed the instructions. Again, the truck heaved forward as it made its way to the maintenance road that ran parallel to the fence. Navigating slowly, the mass stayed glued to their sides. The truck passed the first of the abandoned bunkers then veered around and down, making a sharp turn between the bunker and the gates then onto the empty road. Brad looked behind and saw the mass shift and roll, heaving and following them onto the maintenance road.

  “Wait, stop!” Axe shouted.

  Brad slapped the top of the truck, causing Roberts to hit the brakes. He turned, looking at the pale face of Axe. “What?”

  Axe looked at them sheepishly. “If we drive to a hole in the fence, we’re going to lead all of these things right to it. We’ll let all of them in.”

  Brooks bit his lip, trying to conceal his surprise at Axe’s astute statement. He nodded then used his forearm to wipe away the sweat on his brow. “He’s right,” Brooks said. “We can’t stay in this truck.”

  Brooks jumped out of the bed and onto the cab of the truck; he skidded across its roof then dropped down on the vehicle’s hood. His movements frenzied the mob, their screams and moans increasing. Roberts rolled down the driver’s window and yelled out, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “See if you can get the front of the truck nice and close to the fence.”

  The truck lurched forward slowly, pushing the Primals out of the way. The front end touched the fence then screeched as it scraped against it. Brooks, kneeling on the hood, showed Roberts the palm of his hand to halt the truck’s movement. “Brad, get up here and cover me,” Brooks said.

  Brad pulled himself out of the bucket and onto the top of the cab; he unslung his rifle and watched the SEAL. Brooks tugged on his gloves, getting them tight; he then slung his rifle to his back. He swiveled his small assault pack around to his chest and readied a section of rope, counting it out and tying a knot at the halfway point of its length. He put his hands to the fence and tugged. “I’m going to climb up and over. If the crazies on the other side notice me, put them down. I’ll secure the far side then the rest of you join me.”

  Axe shook his head. “Hell no, I ain’t climbing no fence.”

  Brooks smiled back at him. “Sounds good; you stay back here and guard the truck. Roberts, get that windshield kicked out; I need you and Stretch over next—Brad, you got me covered?”

  Brad placed the stock of his rifle in his shoulder. “I got ya, buddy.”

  Brooks jumped and grabbed the fence. Digging in with the toes of his boots, he quickly scaled the near side and reached the top bar. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself over the top then straddled it and secured the rope. “You got me?” he asked, looking to Brad.

  Brad shot him quick thumbs up, and Brooks quickly rappelled down the other side. He dropped to the ground in a crouched stance, readying his rifle and moving out away from the fence. Brooks’ position on the ground enraged and attracted the Primals around them. The ones close enough to see pushed against the fence, causing it to sway. “Let’s go, Boone; you’re next,” Brad called out.

  The tall soldier pulled himself through the broken windshield. He pulled the rope to check its strength then, as Brooks had, he quickly scaled up and down the other side. Roberts climbed out and did the same. Brad turned to see Axe pacing the bucket.

  “Let’s go, Axe; waiting on you, buddy,” Brad said.

  “I ain’t good at climbing,” Axe answered.

  A suppressed gunshot and flash of light took Brad’s attention. Brooks was engaging a small group. Three bodies fell to the ground one after another. He looked up at Brad, waving his non-firing arm, urging them to hurry. “Let’s go, Axe! No time
for this,” Brad said.

  Axe moved to the front of the bucket and pulled himself onto the cab then crawled across and dropped to the hood. “I’m not sure I—”

  More suppressed gunfire from the far side cut him off. Brad saw Brooks firing at a larger group moving from the shadows. He lifted his own weapon and fired at those that were closest.

  “Move your ass!” Brad shouted. He kept his rifle on the closing Primals as more broke out of the shadows.

  “They’re on to us; we gotta beat feet!” Brooks said. “Let’s go, Brad; spider man over that damn thing!”

  Brad pulled down his rifle and spun it around to his back; he jumped to the hood, listening to the steady cadence of Brooks’ rifle. Looking up briefly, he could see Brooks had them under control for the moment. Axe was partway up the fence when Brad tightened the straps on his gloves and grabbed on, pulling himself up with his arms as he pushed with his feet. Scrambling, he was soon alongside Axe. Brad stretched and reached the top bar. Throwing a leg over the top, he locked himself in with his legs then tugging at the rope, he pulled with everything he had to try to help Axe reach the top.

  When he was close, Brad lay against the top bar and reached down for the stocky man’s harness. He strained and heaved. “Damn, you’re heavy,” he grunted.

  Axe was able to get his right arm on the bar; he pulled up and nearly tumbled over the far side before Brad was able to steady him. Axe was panting, his face covered in sweat. “I told you I wasn’t no good at climbing, Sergeant.”

  “No problem, no more climbing. Slide your ass down that rope; I’ll be right behind you.”

  Axe nodded his head and adjusted his grip on the rope. Grabbing the second section, he dropped his legs over the far side and slid down the rope nearly out of control. Brad heard him thump to the bottom. Not wasting time, Brad grabbed the rope and, gripping tight, dropped over the edge, quickly going hand over hand until his feet touched the damp grass.