"You think your little raid can achieve anything? My men have yours cornered and, even now, reinforcements are on their way."
Said shook his head. "You are a liar, Father. I can tell because I see your lips moving."
The shotgun trembled in Azari's hand as he fought to control his rage. Sam saw his finger begin to close on the trigger. While he focused entirely on his son, Sam, without thinking, brought her handgun to bear and shot.
Said yelled and ran to kneel before his father as the report faded to be replaced by the background noise of gunfire.
"Father! I am so sorry." Said passed his hand over Azari's chest, then gazed at his fingers, soaked in blood, candlelight flickering off the slick. "No!"
Sam watched as her friend collapsed in tears.
"Be a man!" Azari spat, his chest heaving. "I told you she … was … a … who…"
Azari went silent and, for a few moments, all Sam could hear were Said's sobs and the rattle of gunfire.
"We've got to go," she said, putting her hand on Said's shoulder. He yanked it away.
"You killed my father!"
"He was about to shoot you!"
Said collapsed in sobs.
"Come on, we have to let them know he's dead. Then the fighting will stop!"
He showed no sign of moving, so she got down beside him and put her arms around his chest. This time, he didn't push her away. "I'm sorry, but it was you or him. Please, let's stop the fighting."
She felt him relax a little, though he still heaved in his grief.
"He was a monster," he managed. "But he was my father, and I loved him for all of that. I didn't think I loved him until now. He was all I had."
She hugged him closer. "No, you've got me."
"But you killed him."
Sam couldn't tell if there was venom in his words, so she stayed where she was for a few more moments before another burst of gunfire reminded her of the ongoing battle.
He must have noticed it too, because he got up, pulling her with him. "We had better stop the fighting."
"Be careful," Sam said. "Don't let your grief cloud your judgment. Please."
He nodded, though he didn't make eye contact, then he looked once more on the face of his father, leaned down to shut his eyes, and walked purposefully away.
They followed the sound of gunfire. Zak's people had pushed Azari's fighters back within the compound until they were only just around the corner from the living quarters.
Said strode into view and called out "Ahmed! You know me. I have returned. My father is dead. Now, put down your weapons, and none of you will be harmed. You are my people now."
By the time Said finished saying this, half a dozen assault rifles were pointing directly at him, the remaining three or four keeping their weapons trained on the corner Zak's team had used for cover.
The one Said had addressed as Ahmed was the first to lower his rifle and stare at the young man. "Is it true, young master?"
"I am sorry, my friend."
"And they did this?"
Said shook his head. "No. My father sought to kill me. He did not succeed."
"It was you?" Ahmed looked with disbelief at Said, then at Sam. She knew, in that instant, that if Said told the truth, she would be dead before he could stop his friend.
Said sighed. "Yes. I am sorry for it, but he would not listen to reason."
"He has been … erratic … since you left. I … I am glad he did not kill you." Ahmed turned to the others, then called along the corridor. "We will yield if you guarantee our safety and freedom." He put his hand on the shoulder of the fighter nearest to him and nodded.
Zak's voice echoed from around the corner. "You have my personal guarantee. Said will vouch for me, I trust."
"I do," Said acknowledged.
Ahmed put his rifle down as Zak appeared in the candlelight, hands raised. "I'm sorry for your fallen," he said. "We will help all we can as we attend to our injured. Now, I think we need to talk."
Chapter 6: Murder
Devon caught up with Gert's convoy on the Great Basin Highway. He'd spotted a truck stationary beside the road and was just slowing down when, without warning, two shots punched into his radiator, sending steam into the air. Three figures ran toward the car, weaving along the road as if they expected at any moment to come under fire, and Devon remembered—he was driving a Land Rover. They must have thought they had been followed by the Sons.
Devon rolled down the window and put his left hand out as he called, "It's me! Devon!"
The figures stopped, turned to each other, then waited with guns raised.
There was nothing else for it. He lowered his hand very slowly and pushed the door open. He kept his eyes on the shooters, but they were just too far away to make out their faces. Their barrels followed him as he got out, inch by inch.
"Devon!" Gert lowered his gun and came running over. "Hey, where's Ricky?"
Devon shook his friend's hand. "He blew himself up."
"He what?"
"He got caught priming the last bomb. I shot his guard to give him time to get away, but he set it off."
Gert sighed and shook his head. "Ah, I always said he had a death wish. It's a pity. He was a good man. And, so far, his sacrifice worked. When I saw this Land Rover, I thought maybe we'd been spotted."
"No, I haven't seen anyone, and the explosions kept them pretty busy." Devon reached into the car and pulled out his pack. "Is Jessie with you?"
Gert shook his head. "She's driving the other truck. You brought your own food?" Gert said, pointing at Roger's head which was sticking out of the top of the bag.
"I reckon he'd be pretty tough. Joe asked me to fetch him from their place. To cheer Martha up. But, look, did you stop because you'd spotted me?"
Gert's smile disappeared. "No, we're out of fuel. I've sent the others ahead to Springs."
"Well, you might as well use whatever's in the tank. I'll ride along with you—this thing's had it."
They pushed the Land Rover along the highway until it was alongside the truck and Devon pulled out the siphon kit before connecting the two together and pumping the bulb. He gazed across the flat, arid plain at the mountains sitting on the horizon. They looked as though they still had snow at the peaks, but, as he forced his tired eyes to focus, he could see the white was merely a bank of clouds hugging the mountain tops.
As he listened to the swishing and gurgling of the diesel, he turned slowly south, the mountains receding—or were they simply smaller?—until he was looking back along the highway to where it took a gentle bend to the right before heading arrow-straight along the basin. Two shapes were moving along it. He cursed under his breath and called Gert over.
"They will catch us," the Dutchman said. "And even if not, they will know where we're going. I will wait here and ambush them."
Devon sighed. "I'll stay with you."
"You've done enough, my friend."
"I'm staying. Let's get out of sight."
That was easier said than done. Gert estimated they had no more than ten minutes before the chasing vehicles would catch up with them, but the landscape offered no cover. So, Gert ordered the other fighters who'd stayed behind to dig a trench just deep enough for the two of them to lay flat on their bellies so they could then be covered again.
Devon positioned the assault rifle between the fronds of a low bush and glanced across at Gert. "We'd better hope they're watching the truck, because if they look directly at us, they'll see us."
"Yeah, but I bet I'll get the first shot in anyway. What happens next, that's the tough part. There might be four in each car. Better hope not."
They watched as the fighters who'd buried them ran back to the truck which was, by now, idling. They jumped in the back and it pulled away, heading along the highway as quickly as possible.
"You know, Jessie's right about you," Gert said as the rumble of the truck faded. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to have you with me, but you don't have to take on every missi
on."
"Pot calling the kettle black?"
"What?"
Devon chuckled as he glanced across at the Dutchman. "I heard the phrase a lot in London. I think they thought it was extra funny because, well, look at me. It means you take as many risks as me."
"A risk is only a risk if you have something to lose," Gert said in a monotone voice. "And I no longer care much whether I live or die."
"I'm sorry. Don't give it away; you're needed."
Gert didn't respond, but merely tipped his head to one side and put his finger to his lips.
Sure enough, the quiet of wind and rustling grass was giving way to the bronchial rattle of the pursuing Land Rovers. "Get ready," Gert said. "We will get only one chance and they'll be past us before we know it."
Devon couldn't see far along the road, so they were relying on having just enough warning to be able to raise their weapons and bring the cars to a halt.
Driving abreast, two battered Land Rovers streaked along the road at high speed chasing the truck.
"Now! You take the far one," Gert said.
Devon got onto his knees, sighted along the barrel and squeezed, sending a volley at the fast-moving wheels. The third shot burst a front tire as, at almost the exact same moment, the nearer Land Rover lost control and swerved into the front of the one Devon had hit.
Devon's target tipped and rolled off the road as Gert ran toward the nearer one, which had come to a halt. The Dutchman pulled out his sidearm and, with the calm composure of a machine, pointed into the car and fired until all movement ceased.
By this time, Devon was approaching his target. The driver's door faced the sky and a masked face appeared, head wobbling as if stunned by the impact. Devon was just about to follow Gert's lead and shoot into the cabin when the driver raised his arms and called out, "We surrender! We surrender!"
Devon edged closer, assault rifle at eye level as the figure emerged from the smashed side window.
"Please, don't shoot."
It was the voice of a woman. Maybe that was what stopped Devon, even as adrenaline coursed through his body, even as his finger pressed against the trigger, wanting so much to squeeze.
"Throw your weapon down," Devon snapped. She reached into her belt and, very slowly, pulled out a handgun and cast it away. "Who else is in there?"
She looked down into the car. "Only Lewis, but he is injured."
Gert stalked past and brought his handgun up.
"No! Gert! No!" Devon pushed him to one side, and the shot went wide.
The Dutchman rounded on Devon, snarling. "No prisoners!"
"Gert! This is not how we do things. This is not us."
"It is me!"
Devon grabbed for his weapon and, for a horrific moment, thought Gert was going to shoot him. But the fury disappeared as Gert's eyes focused on his friend.
"We cannot take prisoners," he said, the rage draining from his voice.
Devon looked across at the woman who stood, terrified, waiting for these two men—one sane, one apparently mad—to decide her fate. "We'll take the cars and their weapons. Leave them to walk back.”
"But Lewis can't walk!" she said.
Devon watched as she climbed out. "I don't care. If you want to live, pull him out of the car and help us get it upright again."
It took all three of them to right the car, and the woman seemed reconciled with her fate until she saw what had happened to her colleagues in the other vehicle. "You are animals! You executed them."
"Just count yourself lucky my friend here is more forgiving than me," Gert snarled. "Bury them yourself, if you like, but your best chance is to get walking and leave them and your injured friend. Maybe you could get back in time to rescue him."
They pulled the bloody bodies out of the second Land Rover and Gert got into the driver's seat, wiping the blood from the steering wheel. "You take the other one," he said.
Devon climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. Gert signaled for Devon to drive on.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him as he put his foot down, accelerating along the lonely highway, hoping to see the back end of the bus. He glanced in the side mirror. Odd. Gert's vehicle hadn't moved yet.
Then he heard the crack of small arms fire and, when he looked again, Gert's car was moving along the highway, but there was no sign of the woman.
Springs had changed a lot since Devon had been there last. The brothel, however, still took pride of place as they wound their way along the back road into the center of the town. The blackened ruins had been swept away and roughly constructed log houses took their place.
He followed the truck past small groups of people busy in the fields or domestic chores until they passed into a larger area that had the feel of being a different place altogether. Here the houses were closer together and arranged in circular clusters, but he was torn from his observations when he spotted a familiar figure waving the vehicles inside.
"Devon! Well, I sure am pleased to see you. Welcome to New Hope. Otis ain't too keen on the name, but there ain't a whole heap he can do about it."
Devon stopped the car, got out and took Sheriff Rusty Kaminski by the hand. His hair was longer and, perhaps, whiter than before, but the bushy beard that ran down to the top of his checkered shirt suited him. "Looks like you've been busy."
"We have, and we're gonna get busier, too, if all I've heard turns out true. Not sure what we're gonna do with everyone, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, you'd better run along and see Jessie. Seems to me she can't make up her mind whether to fret about you or cuss about you. Follow the road along and you'll see her soon enough. She's gettin' folks settled in."
Devon smiled, jumped back in the car and caught up with the truck as it pulled in. His good mood evaporated as Gert appeared.
"You shot her," Devon said. It wasn't a question.
"Devon, if she'd gotten back to her friends, she'd have told them where we are. The longer we stay off the radar of the Sons, the better."
Devon shook his head. "You shot an unarmed woman, Gert. Nothing justifies that." He stalked away without turning back, almost running into Jade as she ran across his path.
"Dev! So lit you're ok. Go see Jess."
She scampered away without another word, and Devon swung around, searching for Jessie in the crowds. Then he saw her, clutching Dorothy on one hip and waving her free arm in various directions. The people she was talking to moved away, satisfied at last, it seemed, and then she turned to see him. And in that moment as they recognized each other, he knew, without a doubt, that he loved this woman with all his heart. And it scared him to death.
They sat around an open fire as night fell, the air rich with the aroma of barbequing meat. Rusty who, it seemed, was de facto mayor of New Hope had chosen a steer to be sacrificed to the gods of good fortune that had seen so many citizens escape to here. Small groups of hunters had been sent north, south and west to scout for signs of the Sons of Solomon and to round up any livestock they found. Their richest prize was the herd of castrated bulls they'd found grazing the rich grass beside a stream. They'd brought back fifty head that had, tonight, become forty-nine.
Rusty wiped his lips and looked up at the darkening sky. "Jeez, that was good eatin'. Haven't had beef for months."
"Me neither," Devon said. He finished his mouthful and waited for the sheriff to stop making appreciative noises. "So, is this area all Hopers?"
Rusty nodded. "Mainly. Things got a little too prickly with Otis and some of the Springs folk. Most have been fine, but I decided we'd draw a line at the end of this lane and take everything to the north for ourselves."
"That was risky."
"No. I'd worked out old Otis by that time. Blows hard, but he's used to bein' a bully and I ain't the kind to be intimidated. I drew the line and dared him to cross it. I've dealt with his kind often enough to be pretty sure he'd stay on his side. After all, it's got the brothel in it." Rusty smiled. "Though we see more of the girls up
here than he does. I reckon if we give it a few months, everyone will be on this side of the line. Except Otis."
Jessie sat down on the blanket beside Devon and snuggled in to his chest. "Do you have to talk shop? Can't we have one night off?"
"I just want to know how things stand so I can sleep easy," Devon said, speaking into the top of her head, then sneezing when he swallowed a stray strand of her hair.
"We're doin' okay," Rusty said. "I've had a message from Hick. Says he'll be here tomorrow, and a day later we'll be overrun with Mormons."
Devon settled back, looking up at the stars. "So, Marianna's plan is coming together. Where is she, by the way?"
"Locked up on Gert's orders."
Devon scowled. "I'm not sure I trust his judgment anymore."
"I know what happened," Jessie said. "He came to find me and told me all about it."
"You're not going to take his side, are you?"
He felt her head move against his chest. "No, but I understand that he made a tough decision. It's people like him who keep us safe, Dev."
"Maybe. But if we get any more brutal, how are we better than the Sons?"
"We don't suffocate innocent old people," Jessie said.
"No, but apparently we shoot unarmed women," Devon responded. "And what about Scriver?"
"He's recovering slowly. He's locked up with Marianna. But, can we talk about them tomorrow?" She raised herself onto her elbows and turned her face up to look at him. "Shall we go for a walk, just you and me?"
Devon groaned. "I'm tired, Jess. Can't we just stay here?"
"For a clever fella, you sure are an idiot sometimes," Rusty said, chuckling. "The lady wants to go for a walk on this warm night. Prob'ly somewhere private, like."
So, they walked.
Chapter 7: Promise
Marshall Scriver was sitting up on his makeshift bed as Devon came into the room with Jessie. Marianna sat by the window, and it was obvious that the two of them had been deep in conversation before being disturbed.
"Ah, Devon. I owe you and your …"
Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6) Page 5