A voice over the walkie-talkie called back that everyone was loaded in.
“All ready to go, Brother Larry,” Donavan said. “Brother Larry?”
“Huh,” Larry replied, deep in thought. “Hurry up then, we’re already an hour late.”
“One more thing, Sir. Once we open those gates, any Wiper spies hiding in the woods may give away our plans.”
“No need to worry. I sent a special team out this morning to clear them out.”
Donavan smiled, and Larry waved his hand outside the passenger window. Two men pulled open the main gate and saluted as the convoy rumbled past and over the bridge. The attack was under way.
•••
The streets of Salt Lake City were deserted. Of people that was. The rusting hulks of abandoned cars, on the other hand, were hardly in short supply. Many were lining the roads, their noses turned to look away like peasants before a passing king. That was how Larry felt at the head of the long column of cars.
An equal number was speeding parallel to him down State Street. He could see them now on his left, and if all went well they’d converge on the hotel and do the bloody business that needed to be done. It was clear driving through town that a path had been carved through cluttered intersections, likely by the Wipers as they cleaned the city out of every last morsel of food. The sights of weeds growing through gashes in the pavement and buildings with large cracks running up the sides, some crumbling in places, was rather shocking for Larry. Mostly since this was the first time he’d been beyond the compound walls in weeks, if at all. There’d never been a need to venture out into danger before. That was something the people below him did. Except riding at the head of a strike force was different. There was glory in that, and Larry was lapping up every bit of it. He was Julius, taming the wild Gauls.
Soon, the top of the Grand America came into view. Not nearly as white as when Larry first saw it driving in all those weeks ago, but certainly still an impressive sight.
“Two more streets then take a left,” Bud said. The man was weaponless, of course. They needed manpower sure, but Larry was no fool. He reached down and felt for the Browning 9 mm at his side. Four magazines rested in the left pocket of the cargo pants he was wearing. The last time he’d used a pistol had been to kill three men during his life-and-death struggle to escape the hell hole that was New York City. Which was to say, firing a gun was nothing new to him. That wasn’t what was worrying him, however. The silence in the streets was doing that just fine. A running gun battle to the hotel. That’s what he’d expected, what Donavan and Callahan had suggested was the most likely scenario. They would race through the gauntlets and ambushes and storm the Grand America, the few cars in the rear forming a protective cordon around them. The truck window was open, a cool early morning wind splashing Larry’s face and nothing but the sound of the engine.
“Here it is,” Bud called out. The hotel took up an entire block, and tires screeched as the truck tore around the corner. They made another quick left and saw the overhang and the hotel’s main entrance. Just beyond that was a grassy area and a large domed fence covering a pit in the ground. That must have been the arena, where Carole had fought to free Russell and the other guy – Josh? – the poor slob who hadn’t made it.
Lou swore under his breath and pointed at the body dangling from the lip of the overhang.
Ahead of them, the second group of cars screeched up to the entrance, and men and women began pouring out, waiting for the assault to begin.
Larry popped the door and jumped out. Beside him, Callahan was scanning the rooftops with his M60, searching for Wipers.
The truth was, for all the war gaming he’d done in his head, Larry didn’t have the foggiest idea in hell what he was doing. He’d expected ambushes along the way. None had come. Then he’d imagined the Wipers surging out at them from inside the hotel, the colonists riddling them with semi-automatic fire. But that hadn’t happened either. Now a darker, more frightening prospect began to emerge. The very real possibility that they’d have to go in after them. A tangle of people with little combat experience pushing through a series of dark corridors. If the Wipers were waiting inside, then it would be Larry and his small army who were suddenly at a disadvantage.
Lou pulled the charging handle of his Hello Kitty AR-15 as he stopped next to Larry. He was trying not to look at the dead body. “Place is like a ghost town, and I don’t like it one bit.”
Neither did Larry. He turned to Donavan. “Half the group stays by the vehicles and guards the perimeter. The rest move in.” And even as he sent the colonists forward, a single thought kept tugging an invisible string at the back of his mind: Where the hell are the Wipers?
Jeffereys
Peering through the scope of his Remington M-24SWS .308, Jeffereys was growing more confident that he and his men hadn’t yet been spotted. They’d set out from the Grand America the night before, 450 strong, with the objective of assaulting Ely State Prison and capturing as many of the Alabama’s crew members as they could. Above all else, their mission was to capture those capable of firing the nuclear warheads. No doubt, once they had these men, convincing them to cooperate with such a plan would be difficult, perhaps impossible, but Alvarez had assured Jeffereys that his powers of persuasion were not to be underestimated.
Driving through the desert on their way there, the long line of cars and trucks appeared to snake behind them for miles. Now, the bulk of Jeffereys’ force was taking cover along the road, beyond the ridge line, awaiting his signal.
He steadied his breathing and levelled the scope’s crosshairs so they rested over one of the two guards standing by the main gate. Like Petty Officer Lewis, the men were dressed in blue and gray camo. This one in particular was scratching his balls when Jeffereys pulled the trigger. The muzzle kicked up a spray of dust as the rifle let out a sound like the crack of a whip. A moment later, the sailor collapsed to the ground, a spray of blood fanning the wall behind him. Jeffereys worked the bolt and put his eye to the scope again to find the second sailor. He’d disappeared into the guard house, presumably taking cover and radioing for help.
Through the eyepiece, Jeffereys could see that the guard house had a large glass window facing out. Inside, a desk and a panel of electric switches on the wall beside it. And there poking above the table top was the crest of the second sailor’s head. Jeffereys took careful aim, adjusting for wind speed, distance and gently squeezed the trigger. A hole in the glass appeared, obscuring his view of the target. But the blood now splashed against the back wall told him all he needed to know.
The shot from Jeffereys’ rifle was the sound they’d been waiting for, and he watched as the main attack force came charging over the ridge at full speed, a cloud of dust rising behind the dozens of vehicles as they tore on. Their job was to ram the gates, assault the tower guards, and then swoop into the prison itself.
Lewis had made it perfectly clear they wouldn’t be up against Navy Seals or Marines. Most of the men based at the prison were non-combat petty officers, engineers, sonar and fire control technicians. A prospect that gave Jeffereys full confidence that in a matter of minutes the battle would be over and that Commander Zhou and his remaining men would belong to them.
The fifth vehicle in the column racing for the prison was the same Humvee they’d captured in town. It peeled away from the others and headed across the open field and directly for Jeffereys. Sailors in the towers were already opening fire on the assault force. Rising to his feet, Jeffereys waved to the Humvee. One of the back doors swung open when it skidded next to him.
“So far, so good,” Jeffereys said, handing his rifle to one of the slavers and crawling inside. A second later, they tore off to rejoin the attack.
Even bouncing over rough terrain, it was clear the first few vehicles had breached the prison’s main gate. Cracks in the plan, however, were already starting to reveal themselves.
A large plume of black smoke billowed from one of the cars, likely engaged
from a tower above. The problem was the road that led from the ridge ran along the perimeter fence and was vulnerable to enemy fire.
The other cars were moving to go around it, but it was gobbling up precious time, risking further fire from above.
Jeffereys got on the radio. “Go around the wreck, Goddammit.” He shouted. This was a shock and awe campaign. There weren’t any voters Alvarez needed to impress with low casualty rates. It was about getting the job done. High losses weren’t an issue, but failure was. Jeffereys climbed through the hole in the Humvee’s roof to man the .50-cal. He called for the truck to stop, and when it did, less than a hundred yards from the gate, he opened up on the nearest tower. He could see a sailor firing down on his troops with an automatic weapon. The truck rocked violently as his machine gun spit out bullets capable of chopping a man in half. Short bursts seemed to work best, and Jeffereys adjusted his fire as he watched puffs of concrete and glass explode around the shooter in the tower. At one point, the sailor took a direct hit to the chest and was flung back. Two more cars in their convoy were in flames as Jeffereys worked on the next tower. Once he knocked that one out, his men would no longer be running such a deadly gauntlet. But he needed to hurry, since the handful of trucks that had already breached the wall was now coming under heavy fire from inside the prison.
It took close to 50 rounds and several precious minutes before Jeffereys was able to silence the second tower with his .50-cal. Half a dozen of their own vehicles had either burst into flames or driven off the road, with most of the occupants dead or dying. A few spilled out unharmed and ran toward the objective.
Jeffereys ordered the driver forward, and the Humvee lumbered on, motoring past the gate where the sight made the blood in his veins boil. Most of the initial wave that had crested their attack lay dead in the morning sun. Enemy fire was landing all around, some of it hitting the Humvee from windows and doorways along the prison’s ground level. But Jeffereys was thankful no one was shooting down on them from the rooftop. More and more vehicles streamed into the grounds behind him, engaging the remaining towers. Within another 10 minutes, the rest of Jeffereys’ force had formed a semicircle around the prison, preparing to choke it off. According to Petty Officer Lewis, the submariners kept their own vehicles – mostly Humvees – inside an inner courtyard. Jeffereys’ main concern was that they’d try to break out and escape. He needed to send a final group to capture those vehicles and close the noose. But first, he would try to appeal to their sense of self-preservation. Jeffereys retrieved the megaphone from inside his Humvee and rose back up through the gun turret.
“Commander Zhou,” he said, as bullets whizzed by his head. “Your men are surrounded. If you surrender now, no one else will be harmed.” Sporadic firing continued before Jeffereys repeated the message. A minute later, the firing had stopped altogether. It was starting to look like Alvarez might get his boomer after all.
Finn
At first, it sounded like the engine of a Humvee had backfired, but it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Finn to realize they were under attack. Sailors streamed toward the open windows, firing at an enemy Finn couldn’t see. Other men in blue and gray fatigues raced upstairs to the second story, presumably to gain the higher ground. Standing in the middle of the room was Commander Zhou, barking orders.
“Bring up the Javelins!”
That’s when they heard the voice over the loudspeaker, telling them that if they surrendered, no one would be harmed. The man behind the voice sounded thin and weaselly.
“Hold your fire,” Zhou called out.
“You’re not thinking of surrendering, are you?” Finn asked in horror.
Zhou ignored Finn’s question. “How long till that Javelin’s in place?”
“Thirty seconds, Sir,” came a sailor’s reply.
“Regardless what’s happened in the world,” Zhou said. “We’re still the United States Navy. They sent over their demands. I’m giving the man my answer.” Zhou called out to the missile team. “Fire when ready.”
Finn and Joanne raced to the set of double doors just in time to see the Javelin missile streak down from the second floor window and strike the front of the Humvee. The truck itself must have seen the attack right before because its tires kicked up clouds of white smoke as it tried to move out of the way. Wild .50-cal shots slammed into the building. They were aiming for the fire team.
A man in black leather, holding a megaphone, scrambled through the ceiling hatch and onto the pavement right as the impact flipped the back of the truck into the air. The explosion picked him up and tossed him several feet. Whether he was killed or not, Finn couldn’t tell, although anyone left within the Humvee was surely dead.
The sailors inside the prison let out a cheer and gave each other high-fives.
“Suck on that, bitch!” one of them shouted.
Then came the sound of a car engine revving. Finn glanced back outside, and what he saw then made his heart lodge in his throat. One of the Wipers in a Camaro was coming right for them, aiming to use his car as a battering ram. Finn grabbed Joanne by the arm and pulled her out of the way just as the car burst through the set of double doors and directly into the prison’s front lobby. The car came directly at Zhou, and the commander surely would have died if Foster hadn’t tackled him to safety.
The Camaro and its driver continued at full speed until he crashed into the office, destroying everything inside, including the warden’s computer.
But right now there wasn’t time to worry about that. Wipers were streaming into the prison. An all-out gun battle was underway with sailors and Wipers falling all around them.
Finn picked up an M-4 from one of the dead. He had to get Joanne to safety before they were overrun.
That’s when he saw Foster and Commander Zhou pinned down in a recessed doorway. He couldn’t just leave them. There was an office right off the main entrance. Finn kicked the door in and shoved Joanne inside.
“Where are you going?”
“Hide in here. Don’t move unless I come get you myself.”
He slammed the door shut and raced for the Camaro. Peeling the man’s head back, he saw that the driver inside was dead, but the engine was still running. Finn pulled the Wiper out, slid into the driver’s seat, put the car into reverse and punched the gas. Tires screeched against the smooth concrete floor as the car shot backwards. Many of the Wipers were still moving through the narrow confines of the main entrance when they saw Finn coming. A few managed to get off a handful of shots, and Finn ducked under the seat for cover right as the car thudded into bodies and then the steel door frame.
More shots from Wipers outside, cutting through the Camaro’s thin metal frame. Before him, the floor of the prison was littered with Wipers, dead and dying. Finn scrambled through the car’s open window and ran for Zhou and Foster, already emerging from the doorway.
“You one crazy white boy!” Foster said as they took off to get Joanne and rally their men for a counterattack.
Larry
Unlike his idol, the great Julius Caesar, Larry Nowak wasn’t the type to lead his men into battle in person. If the Wipers had charged out from the Grand America as they arrived, he’d have been the first to scurry behind the pickup and open fire, but rushing inside first? No, siree. That was a job for underlings. Donavan and Lou, in particular.
And on they went, drawing the rest of the armed colonists in with them. Bud was nearby, weaponless, but looking like he wanted nothing more than to join them. He was about to move in when Larry held him back. Bud turned. “You’re not gonna let them go in alone, are you?”
There were others around in earshot. Colonists who’d stayed behind to guard the vehicles and whether he meant to or not, Bud’s little question was threatening to make Larry look like a real pussy.
“Of course not,” he barked in reply.
“I’ll need a weapon.”
“You’ll do it Russian style and grab a gun from the first corpse you see.”
/> Larry and Bud quick-timed it toward the front entrance and were just coming under the roundabout’s overhang when gunfire erupted from inside. It was loud as hell. Much louder than Larry could have anticipated.
Had they caught them sleeping, Larry wondered pulling back the slide on his Browning 9 mm.
They reached the front entrance, and Larry dropped to one knee. “The ballroom, where is it?” he asked. This was the place Russell said Alvarez had stashed the food.
“Down that hall to the right.”
A few colonists were hunkered behind them, presumably too afraid to enter what was sounding like a fierce firefight.
“We might have just whacked a hornet’s nest,” Bud said with an almost crazed look in his eyes. It looked like he wanted nothing more than to find a machine gun and mow down every Wiper he could find, Alvarez included.
Digging down deep, Larry rose to his feet and pushed his way inside. Even though it was early morning, the hotel’s interior was filled with shadow and a rank sewery smell that nearly turned his stomach. This was hell on Earth, no doubt about it. Gun smoke clogged the hallway, adding to the illusion that the two men had stepped out of the real world and into Hades itself.
The ground floor opened into a three-way intersection. On the left was the check-in counter. Straight ahead a hallway which lead to a bank of elevators and perhaps a dinning room. To the right was another stretch of hallway and at the end, the ballroom and the stockpile of food they’d come here to claim in the first place. It wasn’t any surprise then that most of the chaotic sounds of gunfire and the screams of the wounded were coming from that direction.
Primal Shift: Volume 2 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 17