Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death

by Lundy, W. J.

  Jorgensen paused, scratching his chin. “If I do this, you have to give me assurances that my people will be safe.”

  “They will be safer than they are now with them out there,” Brooks said.

  “I need more than that. We need weapons like those ones you had up there that you took from their dead,” Jorgensen said.

  Sean gave Jorgensen a hard stare. “I tell you what George, you take us to their camp, and I’ll give you first choice of war souvenirs.”

  “Their camp may hold over a hundred men. I see here, what … seven, maybe eight fighters? I’m sure you understand why it is hard for me to trust you.”

  “Leave that to us, just get us to the camp so we can see what we are dealing with,” Sean said.

  “And you promise you will arm and protect my people?”

  “You have my word,” Sean said.

  “Do you have a pen?” Jorgensen asked.

  Jeremiah reached into a trough that flanked the table and tossed Jorgensen a red grease marker. Jorgensen picked up the pen and stared at the map. He circled an elevated wooded area where two main roads intersected. “I saw their camp here,” he said, then moved his finger down a long road towards a coastal area which was marked with objects identifying manmade structures. “I suspect the main body of their people are here, in this fishing village. I know from news reports before things went dark that several freighters had anchored in this bay. The village is protected by cliffs, but easily accessible by the road.”

  “You said there could be a hundred of them, how do you know this?” Brooks asked.

  Jorgensen looked across the table to Brooks, then to Alex. “Alex, would you mind leaving the room? Could you join the doctor, please?”

  “Why? The doctor is fine,” Alex protested.

  “Alex has seemed to handle himself pretty good, why not let him stay?” Brad asked.

  “Some things you cannot un-see, and some things you cannot un-hear,” Jorgensen mumbled.

  Alex glared at him. “I watched my parents slaughtered, what could be worse?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as Jorgensen stared at the map, contemplating his next words. Sean finally spoke, breaking the tension. “Please George, continue.”

  “Okay, but Alex, talk of this does not leave the room. Do you understand, boy?”

  Alex nodded his head yes.

  “I need to hear you speak it. If the people in the factory hear … They will be scared. We can’t have that, Alex.”

  “I understand, I won’t repeat it,” Alex blurted out.

  Jorgensen took in a deep breath and exhaled. “After we found the father and the boy dead, and the girls missing ...” Jorgensen paused again, looking at Alex before continuing, “I decided to make another attempt at finding their camp, learning more about them. I left the factory. It is common for me to be gone days at a time on a hunt. No one is ever concerned as long as I return with fresh meat. This time was different. I followed the roads to here then crossed into the high grounds,” Jorgensen said, tracing his route on the map.

  “I made it to this point, just above the intersection and their camp,” he pointed. “I arrived just before dark and I was afraid to move after the sun fell for fear of the Buhmann. I got my rest in the high branches of a pine tree. Occasionally I could see lights from their buildings when they would open doors, but they were quiet. I suspect they fear the Buhmann as much as we do.

  “As the sun came up I found I had picked a perfect vantage point to view the intersection and the camp. But this is no camp.”

  “What are you saying?” Brad asked.

  “They use this place to hold the road, looking like an official checkpoint. I watched them stop a car, a family. They pulled them from the vehicle and executed the males before dragging off the females to a waiting car that took them down the road to the coast. Some of them are dressed as policemen, others in military uniforms.”

  “How long did you stay?” Brooks asked.

  “I watched them through the day. They stopped three cars, killing the occupants and taking their belongings. They piled the dead in a trench, stripping them of their clothing, and parking their vehicles in a lot.

  “Many times one of their own cars would approach the barricade. They would leave with three to four men, presumably on their patrols to scavenge supplies. For the most part the vehicles went to the south and away from the factory. I counted at least fifty armed men between those in the vehicles and those working the gates.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Alex asked.

  “Your uncle knows, and Francis too. They thought it best to keep it quiet until we had a solution. We didn’t want the people to scatter and flee the safety of the factory.”

  Sean reached forward and placed a single .308 round on its end over the marked intersection on the map. “Well now you have a solution.”

  “But still you are only seven, and they are so many,” Jorgensen said.

  Brooks laughed. “We prefer target-rich environments.”

  Sean turned to Alex. “You will need to return the doctor to the factory, make sure he checks in on Hahn.”

  “No, I will go with you, to the camp,” Alex said eagerly.

  “No, not this time. Take the doctor. I need you to make sure he gets back safely. Parker, you go with him, I’m sure Hahn would be happy to see you,” Sean said, looking across the table to the soldier who had remained silent.

  “Roger, Chief,” Parker answered.

  “Jorgensen, we will travel at first light. Hope you packed extra underwear, because I will need you to stay over tonight. Brad, hate to pick on you, but I want you and Brooks to roll with me. I think four is the magic number for this little operation,” Sean said.

  “And what is the op exactly?” Brooks asked.

  Sean looked across the table to Brooks and Brad. “Let’s just get eyes on before we put anything in stone, but pack for a faceoff with the devil.” Sean stood up from the table and walked towards the door. “That’s all I’ve got, anyone want to show me where I can get some chow?”

  Brad stayed behind, examining the map as the rest of them walked out of the workshop. He found himself alone with Chelsea. She walked around the table and stood next to him at the corner. “Brad, you just got back, why are you leaving again?” she asked, looking him in the eye.

  “It’s what we do, you heard George’s story,” Brad said.

  “That’s bullshit, this isn’t what you do, and that’s all behind you now. You don’t have to do any of this, Brad. Stay here, stay with me.”

  “Not yet Chelsea, I can’t quit on them yet,” Brad said, looking away from her, not able to say it to her face.

  “Then when, when does it all end?”

  “Chelsea, if this works, we might find a ship. We could make it back to the States, we could get home.”

  “At what cost, Brad? There is no more home, it’s all lost,” she said, beginning to raise her voice.

  Brad put his hands on the table and retrieved the .308 round Sean had placed there. He fumbled with the round, tumbling it in his fingers. “I have to find out, I want to see it for myself.”

  “Where does that leave me, Brad, am I just supposed to stay here on this farm while you go out and get yourself killed? What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought maybe things would be different when you came back,” Chelsea said, her voice cracking, a tear falling down her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” Brad said, watching as Chelsea left the room, leaving him alone. He sat there silently for a while, trying to collect his thoughts. There were too many things happening at once, too many to comprehend. The last thing he wanted to do was to go back out into the cold, dark woods to face the primals again … and even worse, the men who seemed to be terrorizing the roads to the south.

  “Damn it!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the table. “Of course I don’t want to go, fuck yeah I’d rather stay here. Why can’t she under
stand that I don’t have a choice?” he said to himself.

  He couldn’t leave Sean and Brooks to do this alone. He would have to push it all back, back to the furthest part of his brain. Time to shut down and get back on mission. Sean was making the calls now, and he was okay with that. Brad was content with being the good soldier and following orders for a bit longer, as long as they kept moving towards the goal of getting home.

  26.

  When Brad left the workshop he saw Doctor Ericson and Alex gathered at the bottom of the ladder with Specialist Parker and Mrs. Murphy. Ericson was giving last minute instructions to the nurse on the care of the men. He had promised to return the following day, and if Hahn was able to travel he would bring him to the farm so he could be with the rest of the men.

  Jorgensen walked into the barn to tell them the truck was at the bottom of the hill and they needed to get moving. They all headed for the barn door. Alex stopped when he saw Brad at the back of the room and turned back towards him. He extended the unslung the 870 shotgun and went to hand it back. “Thank you for letting me carry this,” Alex said.

  “Keep it,” Brad said, slapping the boy on the back.

  “Wow, really? Thank you Brad. I’ll be seeing you soon, okay?”

  “Yeah, you betcha, Alex,” Brad said, following them outside. He watched the party follow the drive back out and just into the trees, Jorgensen walking the group most of the way. Brad watched them exchange handshakes and hugs before Jorgensen turned and headed back towards Brad, who was waiting outside the barn.

  “You ate?” Jorgensen asked.

  “No, not yet, you?”

  “Nope, was fixin’ to, though. Care if I join you? Mrs. Murphy said there was food laid out in the main house.”

  “I’m following you, then,” Brad said.

  Brad followed Jorgensen through a back door in the farmhouse. They entered into an old plank mudroom, then down a hallway. They saw they were tracking in clods of dirt and snow so they stopped to strip their boots before continuing into the house. There were few lights burning in the house so they followed the low glow of oil lamps to lead them to the kitchen.

  As promised, food was laid out on an antique kitchen table. Thomas Murphy and his younger brother William were standing over a kitchen island opening canned jars of vegetables. “Hey Thomas, was wondering where you were hiding,” Brad said jokingly.

  “Hey Brad, I was meaning to make it out to the barn to welcome you, been busy most of the day. Dad has us working pretty hard. It’s not easy feeding so many,” Thomas said.

  “Well make sure the guys are doing their share,” Brad said.

  “Oh they been great, Nelson is getting pretty good with the animals too,” William added.

  “Good to hear. What’s on the menu?”

  “Nothing special, I’m afraid. It’s a weekday … I think? Anyhow, we tend to eat better on Sundays. Weekdays it’s dried meats and canned potatoes,” Thomas said.

  “Well hell boys, turns out them be some of my favorite eats,” Jorgensen said, lifting a plate. “Load me up, friends.”

  “Shit, who doesn’t like meat and potatoes,” Brad laughed, grabbing a plate of his own.

  He found a spot at the table and quietly ate his dinner. William brought him a cup of warm tea and a glass of water. “You all are doing pretty well out here, aren’t ya?” Brad said.

  Thomas finished rinsing the jars and wiped his hands with a towel. He carried the oil lamp to the table and sat down, joining the rest of them. “We have done surprisingly well. These things are hard to explain. After the first days the wild unpredictable movement kinda ceased. We don’t see them too far from the cities and villages now unless they are pursuing something.”

  William checked the window and pulled the curtains tight, ensuring they were closed. “Nighttime is the most critical. That’s when the smart ones are moving. We don’t burn fires, or venture out past dark.”

  “We share the same experiences, boys,” Jorgensen said. “At the factory, we don’t burn wood after dark. The dumb ones, the creepers, they don’t seem to care at all about wood smoke. They are mostly attracted to sight and sounds. But the Buhmann, they are different. They will track you, they can smell you, and they can associate a wood fire with prey. Have to be careful with them ones.”

  Brad finished the rest of his food and placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Where did the others go?” he asked.

  “Dad is in the attic, standing first watch. I’d imagine the rest are cleaning up … readying to lock in for the night. Everyone else already ate. We go to bed early here, we have to be up with the sun to take advantage of the daylight hours,” William said.

  “I guess we should be moving to the barn as well then, don’t ya think George?” Brad said.

  “Aye, don’t want to get locked out in the cold now do we,” Jorgensen joked as he chugged the last of his tea.

  “Thank you for the meal, boys, good night,” Brad said.

  “Wait a second,” William said as he ran down a hall and then came back, carrying a pair of old sleeping bags. “Most of the others already had choice of Mom’s good blankets and the nice bags, but you are welcome to these if you need one.”

  “I’d be most grateful,” Jorgensen said, taking a bag and passing the other to Brad. “I wasn’t planning for an overnight trip.”

  The two men made their way back to the barn just as the last of the daylight began to fade. Joseph was standing watch at the door when they arrived. He welcomed them inside but asked them to keep their voices low. They observed serious light and sound discipline once the sun went down. Brad nodded and moved towards the ladder to the loft.

  He climbed to the top and found his pack where he had left it earlier. Looking around, he could see all of the others had turned in for the night. Their shapes covered the loft floor. Piles of clothing and boots lay next to their sleeping forms. A small crack of light bled from under the canvas shelter that made do as their infirmary. The soft glow of leaked light was the only light in the entire space. Brad watched as Jorgensen made his way into the infirmary tent. As he lifted the flap and passed inside, Brad caught a glimpse of Chelsea sitting on Kelli’s bed. She didn’t look up and probably wouldn’t have seen him standing in the dark anyhow.

  He moved about, looking for a spot on the floor to call his own. Nearly every inch of board was occupied. Brad moved closer to the tent and saw that there was a narrow gap of maybe three feet between the edge of the canvas wall and the barn wall itself. “Guess this will have to do,” Brad whispered to himself as he moved into the narrow alley. He unrolled the sleeping bag, choosing to use it as a cushion rather than get inside.

  Brad dug though his ruck, removing a heavy wool blanket he had procured from the factory as well as his poncho liner. He quietly spread them out in the dark, finally folding his coat as a pillow. Brad stripped out of his clothing, choosing to sleep in his shorts and undershirt. He felt safe in this elevated position surrounded by his men. He pulled the poncho liner over his shoulders and tried to find sleep.

  He heard noise, the sounds of laughter. Brad struggled to open his eyes, finding his eyelids heavy. He could feel the sunlight on his face. He sat up in the bed. He was back in the house, in the middle of the village. He heard the laughter. He could smell bacon.

  Brad smiled and got to his feet. He wasn’t in his boots, no uniform. He was dressed in his boxers and a brown T-shirt. He stretched his arms and moved down the hallway and into the living room, admiring the family photos as he walked towards the kitchen.

  As he moved through the living room he saw a man sitting at the head of the table, a young child next to him, smiling. They asked Brad to have a seat, it was time to eat. Brad moved to the table and sat with them. Listening to the child laugh, the father smiled proudly. In walked a woman holding a large tray of bacon and eggs. She smiled at Brad, offering him the first serving. Brad smiled and lifted his arm to take a large spoon.

  When Brad raised his hand he was holdi
ng the silenced MKII Pistol. “No!” Brad screamed, trying to let go of it, but had no control of his body. He screamed, fighting his own muscles as the pistol swung towards the face of the father. Brad couldn’t control his movements. His finger depressed the trigger rapidly, and he watched in horror as the slide retracted back and forth, spitting spent brass from the receiver. Rounds impacted the man’s face; he flew back and out of his chair.

  “No!” Brad continued to scream as his arm swung left, now aiming the pistol into the laughing face of the mother. Again he felt the trigger pull as the pistol bucked, rounds hitting the woman over and over in the neck and head. The child continued to laugh as Brad’s arm moved right, the pistol going in the child’s direction. He couldn’t control his actions. Brad screamed in agony, trying to override his muscles; he struggled to drop the pistol, to lower his arm.

  Brad woke in the dark, his heart pounding. He felt pressure. His hand was being held softly and pushed back towards his body. Another hand touched his face and brushed his hair. He went to leap forward but heard a soft whisper. It was Chelsea, telling him it was okay. He relaxed and lay back, trying to breathe. She ran her fingers through his hair, then leaned over and kissed him softly on the forehead.

  Chelsea lifted the blanket and crawled in next to him, placing her back against his chest. She pulled his arm over her hip, pressing her warm body close to him. Brad squeezed her hand and pulled her tight, pressing his face close against her shoulder, smelling her hair and listening to her breathe. He was relaxed, he felt safe and warm. He closed his eyes yet didn’t want to sleep, instead wanting to stay in the moment, embracing the feelings of warmth and love that he had been without for so long.

  27.

  When he woke, she was gone. Brad rolled to his back, wondering if it had all been a dream. He sat up and dressed, pulling on his thermals and uniform. He folded the blankets and rolled up the sleeping bag, then reached for his rucksack, preparing to pack it for the coming patrol. Resting on the top was a single folded slip of paper. Brad grabbed it and unfolded it.