The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

  “Shut up,” she teased, caressing my face.

  Clouds soon blotted out the moonlight as the storm rolled in. Jenna showed me various meanings of being intimate, as we forgot about the troubles of the world. The rest of the night was full of thunder, lightning and a heavy downpour. I slept like a baby.

  ***

  My mood, for reasons I’d rather not discuss, was much better the next morning. Everyone was up at 6:00 AM, preparing our caravan to move out.

  We said goodbye to the Taylors. Dobson left them one AR15 with two hundred rounds of ammunition. That surprised me, but we did bring a few extra rifles and thousands of .556 rounds on the journey.

  Richard thanked us and allowed us to replenish our water supply. They also threw in two large bags of dried beef from a cow they had butchered a week prior.

  Fish had discussed the route with us before we left. We were taking a wide arc to the west, avoiding the Bogdon Mill. Dobson hoped that any patrols they sent out would be too far away from our course to bump into us.

  By 7:00 AM, the sun had risen, though it was obscured by the clouds. The rain had stopped, but the aftermath from the storm the night before had left the air muggy and the ground muddy.

  Pittman rode in the turret on the back of Big Red. Daniel, Boomer and I sat in the back seat while Preacher and DJ were in the front. Karina was behind us in the CDC bus annoying Major Dobson, the Doctor, and Campbell.

  I missed Jenna even though she was driving a hundred yards in front of me in the F350 with Fish and Enrique. It’s silly, I know. But there was this growing anxiety when I thought about her. A feeling I had never felt before. It was both scary and exhilarating.

  Daniel hadn’t said a word to me all morning. Maybe he could tell Jenna and I were getting closer. I was never sure and was not going to ask him.

  Rain began to fall shortly after we left. Pittman made regular comments about the weather. Daniel ran him out a second poncho, but that did little to quell his misery.

  The showers brought another problem. One that Dobson and Campbell both feared. With the steady fall of rain, we were unable to fly the drones. That meant that if there were threats, be it scabs, zombies or the Bogdons, we would have to wait until they were in visual range of our vehicle train. If we could see them, they could see us. Even more problematic was if they saw us before we saw them. That was why Pittman had to ride on the back of Big Red. We needed the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree vantage.

  We drove down the dirt roads at a sluggish twenty miles an hour. It was bumpy, and the soaked ground wasn’t helping.

  The surrounding area was a mix of open fields, farmland and patches of dense woods. We didn’t see any signs of zombies, or evidence of scabs. The woods did leave plenty of places to hide, but if anything was slinking around in them, we were not attractive enough for them to reveal themselves.

  “The Bogdons have actually done a decent job keeping this area clear,” DJ remarked as we drove.

  The comment drove a spike in my chest. It was as if he was justifying their existence. I said nothing, though. Of all the people on this journey, he had the biggest reason for avoiding conflict.

  The big man tilted his head and shot me a look. I think his desired effect was for me to see the positive side of the brigands. The look on my face must have told him he had failed.

  DJ frowned and put his eyes back on the road.

  “Don’t worry, Christian,” he said. “Karma tends to always come back to haunt people like that.”

  I wanted to say “Maybe we were supposed to be that karma”, but again, I stayed silent. The horse was dead, and, at least for the time, I was going to let the matter go.

  We continued to trudge down the muddy road. The east side of the road was lined with a large wooded area while the west was an open farm field. Normally, two regular trucks would be hard-pressed to pass each other on the thin road, but with Big Red, it was a near impossibility.

  A mile ahead, the road curved to the east around the wooded area and out of sight.

  “I can’t wait until we hit pavement again,” Daniel muttered.

  I had to agree with him. Big Red wasn’t taking the bumps well. It’s one thing to absorb impacts, but at some points, the big fire engine would bounce. Pittman must have been covered in bruises.

  DJ sighed.

  “As soon as we get clear of—”

  “MOVEMENT!” Fish’s voice blared over the speaker.

  My first reaction was to check the woodline. I quickly searched, but saw nothing.

  “Up ahead,” Fish continued. “Stop!”

  The F350 was a good distance in front of us. I saw it skid to a halt and began to reverse back toward us. DJ pressed the brake and Big Red slowly slid to a stop, moving an extra few feet through the mud.

  I searched past the F350 and saw a vehicle rounding the woods to the north. It was too far away to see what type, but soon, another one appeared behind it. There was no question that they saw the giant fire engine less than a mile from them.

  Jenna reversed the truck all the way back to our location, angling the vehicle just in front of Big Red. With drainage ditches on either side, the F350 completely blocked off the small, muddy roadway.

  “Dammit!” Dobson cursed over the radio. “Fish, DJ, Plan Foxtrot!”

  Daniel gave me a quizzical look and I shrugged. I had no idea what ‘Plan Foxtrot’ was.

  I quickly turned on my personal radio and plugged in my ear piece.

  “I’m on it,” Pittman’s deep voice erupted in my ear.

  “What’s Plan Foxtrot?” Preacher asked as he grabbed his .22 rifle. Daniel pulled his 9mm from a holster lying next to him on the couch.

  “Worst case scenario,” DJ grumbled as he yanked his AK47 from the dashboard. “Christian, grab your dog and Daniel. Sneak into the woods as quick as possible. Stay down!”

  I didn’t hesitate. Grabbing my AR15, I tugged on Boomer’s handle. He quickly rose from the floorboard and followed me out of the truck. Daniel was next and quickly shut the door behind him.

  We ran down the bank and through the ditch.

  Fish and Enrique were exiting their truck and merging on the same path Daniel and I were headed. Boomer took the lead and darted into the woods. The tension was undoubtedly felt by the canine as he searched the area for danger.

  We all met up fifty feet in, easily concealed in the dense woods.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Fish, breathing heavily.

  He was screwing on a large suppressor to his .308 rifle. “Plan Foxtrot, kid.”

  “No shit,” Daniel said, huffing. “What is that?”

  “In the event that we get surprised by the Bogdons, we had a failsafe plan.” Fish nodded to Enrique.

  Enrique swung his AR15 around to his back and unsheathed his lawnmower blade, scanning the area for anything that wasn’t living.

  “What’s the plan and why didn’t I know about?” I asked.

  “Quiet!” Fish barked, pressing his hand to his ear piece.

  “They stopped,” DJ said over the comms. “Jenna, are you secure?”

  “Yep,” she replied. “Climbing on the back of Big Red now.”

  “Sit-Rep?” Dobson asked. He was short on breath. The Major didn’t join us, and I wasn’t sure where he was relocating to.

  “Hardback Hummer parked two hundred feet in front of the F350,” DJ answered. “A red Ford Explorer stopped right behind it. Hummer has turret. Think it’s a M240. Some asshole just popped his head out of the top and pointed it at us.”

  “Damn thing will turn Big Red into swiss cheese,” Fish muttered.

  I fired a M240 machinegun while in Army Basic Training. It was a heavy machinegun that fired large rounds with a lot of power. The weapon was small enough to carry in a squad, though between it and the ammunition, it was very cumbersome.

  “How many tangos?” Dobson asked.

  “Count four in the Hummer, two…maybe three in the SUV. No one has gotten out yet, other than said ass
hole,” DJ returned. I could hear equipment moving around as he spoke. “Preacher and I are vacating now.”

  “Roger that,” Dobson said, breathing heavily. “Fish?”

  “Package is secure, sir,” Fish grunted. “Recommend you let me loose.”

  I had an idea what that meant.

  “Roger,” Dobson agreed. “The rest of you, move south with Christian.”

  “Bullshit, Major!” I said, hitting my own transmit button. “Boomer and I are on Fish.”

  The Major returned with a slew of curses, but Fish just smirked.

  “Isn’t the point to keep you alive, kid?” the old sniper asked me halfheartedly.

  “I have a feeling that if you die, I die, along with everyone else,” I said.

  Fish didn’t need or want the convincing.

  He keyed his mic. “I got this Major. You do your part.”

  “Fish…” Dobson warned.

  “I got this!” Fish retorted and then glared at Enrique and Daniel. “Pablo, you and Doc stay within eyesight of us. Keep our backs covered. Kid, let’s go.”

  The two of us, led by Boomer, headed north through the woods.

  “What’s that look for?” Fish asked me as we marched as quietly as possible through the brush. I had a hard time concealing my excitement.

  “Can’t believe you agreed to letting me come with you,” I responded. I was being careful to avoid loose branches and leaves on the ground. It wasn’t easy.

  “I’ve spent a lot of energy making you into somewhat of a soldier. Might as well take advantage of it. Besides, who knows what’s creeping around in these woods. I need Boomer…and he hates me.” Fish sneered and checked on Daniel and Enrique. They were staying far enough away that we only caught glimpses of them between the trees.

  Suddenly, the air vibrated with the sound of a loudspeaker. My first thought was what dumbass would use a megaphone in the middle of the zombie apocalypse? But the Bogdons had cleaned up the farming community. They had live, baited traps for any zombie that came across their territory. Perhaps their confidence was deserved.

  “Hail, refugees!” A strong, confident voice said. “My name is Sergeant Burton. We are with the 82nd Airborne. There’s no need to be frightened. We are here to help.”

  I was reminded of Jamal, the small-time drug dealer who had a change of heart and rescued two women from a group of escaped convicts pretending to be U.S. Military. He arrived at Camp Holly two months prior, telling us of the miscreants. The similarities were too coincidental and I was confident these Bogdons were the same group he had escaped from.

  DJ was shouting back at the group of men, but he was too far away to make out more than a word or two.

  Fish slowed down and began to creep west, clicking his transmit button as he did so.

  “Give me enemy positions. Coming up on their 7 o’clock.”

  DJ was still talking when Jenna replied. “Three men in army fatigues standing around the HUMVEE, one in the turret. Three others next to the SUV behind them, wearing plain clothes.”

  “Armament?” Fish asked, slowing down to almost a crawl. I joined him, motioning Boomer to stay. His ears perked anxiously, but he obeyed.

  “Guys in uniform have M4s,” DJ cut in. “The other three have long rifles, probably side arms, too. They all seem itchy, Fish. Better hurry.”

  The man on the megaphone began to speak again.

  “We understand your fears. We saw some of your people run off into the woods. Tell them there is nothing to worry about. We have a refugee camp not that far off. You will be safe with us.”

  “Keep them busy a little longer, DJ,” Fish ordered and a moment later, we heard more shouting coming from Big Red.

  “Fish,” Dobson said in a whisper, “in position at their 3 o’clock. This is your call, First Sergeant.”

  “Sixty seconds,” Fish said as we finally crept into view of the road.

  We were still a hundred feet from the HUMVEE and SUV, but our line of sight was perfect. None were facing us. The SUV was parked at an angle, cutting off the Hummer from reversing on the road. That was good, except for the fact that the HUMVEE could most likely navigate over the drainage ditches if they wanted to flee.

  I could immediately tell these people were phony.

  The first of many signs were how the ones in uniform dressed. Not one had the bottom of their pants tucked or tied, instead they fell loosely around their boots. They also held their weapons like amateurs. The two near the rear of their vehicles were the exception. They may not have been military, but I could tell those people were comfortable with firearms. Probably avid hunters like Jenna was before the Awakening. We were in back country, after all.

  None were pointing their weapons directly at our convoy, with the exception of the man in the turret. The M240 machinegun was aimed directly at Big Red. The rest seemed to want to appear harmless in their charade.

  Fish stopped and began to unfasten his ammo pouches, leaving them open and ready for use.

  “Alright kid, you sure you’re up for this?” he asked with a frown as I mimicked him, loosening the straps on my own magazines.

  I began to get nervous and felt my heart pounding in my throat. This was going to be real, not like when I shot Cecil’s brother either. We were going to kill these people. Assassinate them. Murder them with intent. The idea of raiding the Bogdon Mill and the reality of facing off with them were two different things.

  The thought of the mill reminded me of the two women I saw on the drone footage. One or all of these men may have had their way with those poor girls. My father once told me sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reason. Hatred of what I had seen and what I knew these men had done resurfaced, blotting out my nervousness and hesitation.

  “Kid?” Fish whispered, grabbing my ammo vest.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, gathering myself.

  He pointed at the man in the turret. “Can you take him out with one shot?”

  I lifted my rifle, setting the ACOG triangle on the man’s head. He was standing tall above the turret, exposing most of his back. The guy could easily have lowered himself and still would have been accurate with the machinegun, but it came back to their inexperience and overconfidence.

  “I got him,” I assured.

  “Look at me,” Fish ordered as he gripped a spare magazine in his left hand.

  I complied, forcing a stoic composure.

  “First shot to the head, after that, go for body shots. Don’t try to be me,” he scoffed, and rapidly gave me orders. “After you have fired five times, change position. Keep changing position every two shots after that. Kneel, stand, lay down, move to another tree, never let them track you. We have suppressors and we’re well hidden in the shade. Chances are they spend the first ten seconds looking for us.”

  “Fish?” Dobson asked impatiently.

  “Hold,” Fish shot back and then returned to me, still speaking quickly. “In ten seconds, they’ll all be down or dead. Stay concealed until the all clear is given. Do not waste time thinking. Just move and shoot, and for Christ’s sake, do not forget to breathe. You get me?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. As soon as you shoot, I’ll join in. Don’t miss! If that 240 fires, it will chew through Big Red like butter,” he hissed and moved to another tree.

  I looked behind me. Enrique was ducking near a palmetto bush thirty feet away. Daniel was nowhere to be seen. Boomer, still apprehensive, hadn’t moved.

  I positioned myself as Fish reported our status to the Major.

  “Ten seconds. Turret Gunner is first, after that, we go live.”

  I aimed at my prey as Fish handed out targets and orders. Most of it was just garbled junk in my ear as I tried to focus, but I did hear him tell DJ to use his AK47 and hit the engine block of the SUV.

  The man on the megaphone was speaking again, but I didn’t comprehend what he was saying. My ears pounded with each beat of my heart as I zeroed in on the back of the man’
s head.

  I couldn’t tell you if two or ten seconds passed before I squeezed the trigger.

  CHAPTER 7

  Good Men Do Nothing

  August 8th Morning

  My rifle kicked. The suppressed shot flew true to its mark, hitting the man in the turret on the bottom half of his skull. His head popped forward as a mist of red flew from his face.

  Within a second of my shot, I heard Fish’s suppressed .308 rattle as it discharged round after round.

  I obeyed Fish and didn’t think, changing targets immediately. The other men stood in wonder after the first shot, not comprehending what had happened. Within two seconds, four more were down. Fish had spent his first two shots on the men in civilian clothes who were closer to us and obvious threats.

  The men mistakenly thought they were being attacked from Big Red. The three survivors, after a moment of hesitation, hid behind the HUMVEE and began to return fire. Their weapons sounded like nuclear blasts compared to our suppressed rifles.

  I moved my aim to one of the uniformed men who was now running for what he thought was cover. Firing three rounds, I caught him in the waist and upper body just as he knelt by the rear tire of the military truck. His body contorted, as if confused on which wound to grasp, and he fell to the ground.

  Those of our group that were around Big Red spat their own fire in return, though they were far enough away that we couldn’t hear the discharge of their suppressed weapons. The zing and zips of bullets flying down the road gave them away, along with sharp thunks as rounds hit the road and vehicles.

  I moved to get a better angle, and fired two more rounds, missing the last man in civilian clothes as he ducked into the passenger seat of the SUV.

  Tiny sparks erupted on the hood of the Explorer as DJ’s AK47 ripped through the front end of the truck. The powerful .762 rounds made short work of the engine.

  The man inside the SUV lifted his head and I raised my rifle to meet his gaze. For a second, I thought he was looking directly at me. Before I could squeeze the trigger, his face twisted and he fell out of view.