Last Victory: Book 6 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 6)

by Kevin Partner

A roar. A grunt. The shadow departed and a chubby hand reached down. "C'mon, boss, we gotta move."

  Brain hoisted Hick to his feet and dragged him into the trench that had sheltered him from the grenade. As he passed behind the row of sandbags, he saw the dust-covered bodies of at least four attackers. Including one with grizzly hair.

  Five of them gathered at the end of the trench.

  "How many are there?" Hick asked.

  Kris Ritter, who crouched beside him shrugged. "No idea. They're all in the command post—where the grenade came from."

  "We've gotta get in there or they'll outflank us."

  "There's no way—"

  "Now you just listen to me," Hick said, heart pounding against his chest. "If we don't take this bridge, then the whole attack is over. We lose. That's the end of it."

  Ritter shook her head. "But what can we do? We're pinned down."

  "I'll play decoy."

  It was Brain's voice, and he ignored Hick's orders to come back. "Damn you, Brain, you ain't got the brain you were born with!" He watched the fat rear of his henchman disappear back the way they'd come, then turned to the others. "Come on. As soon as they start shootin' at Brain, we gotta attack."

  "I can't do it!" a young man on Hick's other side cried.

  Hick patted him on the arm. "What's your name, son?"

  "Paul."

  "Then let me tell you, Paul, if you don't move when I say, I'll put a bullet in your brain. You got me?"

  Nod.

  "Good man," Hick said, as the shooting began again from above them. "Now MOVE!"

  Four of them erupted from the end of the trench, as Hick saw from the corner of his eye the bulky shape of Brain running in front of the command post. An arm appeared, and a grenade flew through the air.

  But they were inside. Paul fell as soon as they reached the entrance, Hick pumping two shots into his attacker.

  BANG!

  Debris showered into the command post as Hick threw himself at the grenade thrower. It was a woman. In one hand she held a pin and in the other a round object.

  He pistol-whipped her with the Glock, then leaped up. "Get out of here!" He'd just made it out of the entrance when …

  WHOOMF!

  The command post became a pillar of dust as Hick threw himself to the ground.

  And then silence but for the pitter-patter of shrapnel landing around them.

  "You okay, boss?"

  Hick could barely hear over the ringing in his ears, but he rolled over to see Brain looking down at him.

  "Oh, golly gee! You made it!"

  Again, Brain helped Hick to his feet. Other shapes moved, but the enemy were all dead.

  "And guess what, boss? Zak aiten't dead. A bullet nicked his leg, that's all."

  Hick looked across to where Zak's unmistakable bulk moved from body to body, checking for signs of life. His lower left leg was scarlet.

  "Come on, Brain, we better check there's no guards hidin'," Hick said.

  In the relative silence, he noticed there was no sound of gunfire coming from the north. So, Said had either succeeded and was heading into town or he'd been killed. Better hope for the former.

  They found no surviving guards, so Hick ran to the bridge and waved up at the hills to let the convoy know it was secure. Within minutes, he saw the dust thrown up by the trucks and cars as they came down from the hills.

  There was no going back now.

  Chapter 16: Assault

  Said swung his leg over the back of the motorbike and flicked the stand into place before running the back of his hand over his eyes to wipe away the dust.

  He watched as the last of the three bikes came to a halt. Aside from himself, four fighters had survived the attack on the roadblock. They had done well, catching the enemy entirely unawares, but despite that, two of his father's former soldiers had died, both shot as they took on a small group of the enemy who'd taken cover behind a car.

  "Ahmed, how is your arm?" he asked the man who'd ridden pillion on his bike.

  "The wound is slight, leader," he said, patting the dark stain on his camouflage jacket.

  Said nodded to him and to each of the others. He was proud of them all. "Let us say a moment's prayer for Sajid and Thomas. Loyal comrades. Their deaths shall not be in vain."

  They stood for a moment, heads bowed, and then Said drew in a deep breath. "Now, we will leave the bikes there," he said, pointing to a rusting metal barn that, though he didn't know it, had been where Devon and Ricky had hidden their car before the bombing raid three weeks ago.

  Once the bikes were hidden, Said gathered his fighters together. "Our mission is a simple one, though it will not be easy. The enemy has built a defensive position at an intersection on the highway. It is our task to take that position and hold it."

  "For how long, leader?"

  "For as long as we can, or until our comrades arrive from the south. Resistance forces will be attacking the positions at the school."

  Ahmed looked doubtful. "But how can we be sure they have gotten across the bridge?"

  "Paul Hickman is leading the attack on the bridge. He will not fail."

  "But he is kafir, leader. How can we trust him?"

  Said put his hand on Ahmed's uninjured shoulder and looked up into his brutal, bearded face. "So was our comrade Thomas. You know this is not about which god each of us worships, or whether we believe in one at all. This is about fighting back against those who destroyed everything and seek to dominate us."

  "But, your father … he …"

  "I know. I loved my father, but he was wrong in this. Come, my friend, we will do this and then, our duty fulfilled, we shall return to our vineyard and live in peace."

  Ahmed smiled. "I would like to believe that is possible."

  "Then believe it and follow me."

  Said patted him again, and then barked orders to the others and led them along the dirt track toward town. His father, if he had made it to Jannah, could be looking on him now in wonder. The mild, hesitant boy had vanished, replaced by a decisive young leader. No, not vanished, but hidden somewhere safe within a new protective shell harder than diamonds. For a moment, he wondered whether this was the journey his father had taken to become the brute Said had loathed. Maybe the same ending awaited him. But he didn't have time for such introspection or doubt. He had a task to complete or die in the attempt.

  #

  Cassie Miller peeked out from the entrance to the alley and scanned left and right. Behind her lay hidden the forty or so other members of the resistance. It was a minor miracle that they all had projectile weapons, though these included a couple of air pistols and a small crossbow. Everything depended on surprise.

  And surprise would be hard to achieve as the town was like a kicked-over anthill since the first sounds of gunfire from the north. But if their mission was to have any hope of success, they had to strike at the right moment. Too early, and, even if they took over the gun emplacements, the enemy could regroup and overwhelm them. Too late and, well, it would be too late.

  She'd split their group into two, both led by veterans who knew how to operate a machine gun. Chances were high that, once they had taken the positions, they'd need to use them to defend themselves.

  If all was going to plan, the main force of their citizen army had crossed the bridge and would be passing Miller's Farm on its way into the city. So, that gave them twenty minutes or so.

  If all was going to plan.

  And if it wasn't … Cassie filed that thought under Unhelpful and turned to the man behind her. His name was Matt, and, in his previous life, he'd installed broadband and cable. Prematurely balding, he'd stopped shaving his head and tufts of brown hair framed the skin of his crown like a monk's tonsure. All of this was covered by a black canvas hat beneath which nervous eyes peeped from within the frames of plastic glasses.

  "Ready?"

  "As I'll ever be," he responded, choosing item number one in the Big Book of Cliché Responses.

 
; "It'll be okay."

  He smiled. They both knew it was an empty promise but chose to share the delusion.

  An old, white-bearded face emerged from the deep shadows of the alley. "We ready, Miss Miller?"

  "I think so, Ellis," she responded. She'd long ago given up asking him to use her first name. Ellis Pietersen was a former sergeant of an engineer's battalion—she forgot the exact unit and company designations. Now in his late sixties, he was the most experienced veteran they had, and she was in his hands.

  Pietersen reflexively checked his Beretta M9 yet again, then eased himself alongside Cassie, bringing with him the distinct aroma of marijuana. Good grief, were they following a man who was as high as a kite into battle? "It's okay," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Helps with the shakes. MS. When I move, follow me."

  He looked left and right, his eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. High, sick and blind. In the distance, the crackle of sporadic gunfire seemed to be coming from all directions. So, something was happening, though whether they were winning or losing she didn't know.

  Pietersen slipped onto the sidewalk, stooping as he moved past the row of dark ranch houses on this side of the road, Cassie following as close as she could, and behind her she heard the gentle thumping of boots on the concrete.

  Of the two teams, hers had the tougher task. They were attacking the position on the other side of the school, so they had to make their way in front of it without being discovered. Their only hope of success lay in surprising the guards.

  A row of ranch houses ran at right angles to the main highway, and they scampered across in small groups. In the distance, she could see vehicles moving and soldiers running. It would only take one of them to spot her team.

  She climbed over the rotten white fence of the first house and into its backyard, helping the others over it as quickly as possible.

  "Damn dogs," Pietersen said, wiping his shoe in the dirt. "Careful where you step."

  She could hear barking from within the house, and a window lit up as a drape was pulled to one side. A face looked out, directly at Cassie. It was a woman, eyes wide with fear and surprise. Cassie put a finger to her lips and, after a moment, the woman nodded and disappeared. The barking stopped.

  The gunfire was getting closer, though Cassie guessed it was still only on the outskirts. Time was running out. "Ellis!" she hissed. "We've got to move quicker!"

  "We can go quick or we can go quiet," he said. "We can't do both. Most of these folks have never done anythin' like this before. They ain't soldiers."

  "Then we go quick."

  #

  Hick sat in the front seat of the second truck. He leaned out of the window and sighted down the barrel of his assault rifle, scanning the street for more movement. Ahead, the truck of Dickie Stokes made its slow way along the highway toward town. Too slow. If they didn't pick up the pace, they'd arrive too late.

  Joe Bowie drove the truck, and his wife Martha sat between them, hunting rifle on her lap. It might have been a squeeze, but Martha was a shadow of the woman she'd once been. In size, if not in spirit.

  Hick glanced into the side mirror to see the convoy of cars, pickup trucks and motorbikes following. Zak's curly gray hair flapped out from underneath a German-style helmet as he sat astride a Harley.

  They'd only encountered sporadic resistance so far, and Zak had led his group of "Hell's Angels" on surgical strikes to eliminate each one. Hick made a mental note to find out more about the man because the story Sam had given him was surely the abridged version.

  They passed the first ranch house on the southern city limits. A man named Norbert had lived there on his own for as long as Hick could remember. The place was obviously empty. Norbert hadn't been among the prisoners Gert had rescued, so Hick imagined the poor old recluse was now rotting beneath the earth of the mining company.

  Bang! Crack! Battabattabatta!

  Dickie's truck swerved to the right and Hick brought his rifle around as, in the flashing light, he saw at least three barrels poking out from the darkness beside the house.

  With a roar, Zak's bike accelerated past as Hick fired off a volley at where he'd seen the guns. One of Zak's followers fell from his bike, but the fight was over quickly in a short burst of gunfire and urgent calls.

  Hick got down and ran over to the leading truck. He pulled open the passenger door, and the body of a man fell to the floor.

  "Gabriel!" Dickie called, his voice shrill with panic.

  Hick kneeled beside the form. The man's head was at a horrifying angle and his legs were splayed unnaturally.

  "He's gone," Hick said as Dickie appeared beside him. "Look, I'm sorry, but we've got to move on. We'll come back for him when we can."

  "No! We'll bury him properly before we go."

  Hick looked up into the crazed eyes. "Are you insane? If we stop now, our people in the city will die. They're waiting for us. We're going too slow as it is."

  "That is not my problem. I answer only for my own people."

  "Elliot wanted you to help us."

  "He is not here, is he? We will go to him and then work out what to do."

  Hick pulled the knife from his belt. "Like hell you will."

  "Paul."

  It was Zak's voice. He loomed over the three figures—one dead, two alive for now. He held out his hand to Dickie. "Come with me, Dickie."

  The old man looked relieved and allowed Zak to help him to his feet. "Jon, are you fit enough to hold position here?"

  Paul turned to see the man Zak was talking to. It was the rider who'd fallen from his bike. He was being tended by two others and now sat on the sidewalk with his back against a picket fence. A wide red circle spread across the bandage tied to his leg. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just can't walk far."

  "Mr. Stokes will stay with you."

  "What?" Dickie's mouth gaped in panic. "No! You can't make me!"

  Zak brought his handgun up under the old man's chin. "So help me Jesus, I will blow your head off if you say another word of dissent. Now, go sit with Jon."

  Silently, and visibly shaking, Dickie allowed himself to be led to the side of the road.

  "If he tries to leave you, shoot him," Zak said.

  Jon nodded, smiling. "With pleasure."

  Once Hick had dragged the body of Gabriel onto the sidewalk, he followed Zak to the back of the truck.

  "I am taking command here," Zak was saying. "We agreed to liberate Hope and all the reasons we made that promise are still the same as they were. If we give it a hundred percent, then we will win. If we hesitate, then we all die. Anyone who wants to stay here with your glorious former leader can get off right now, but they needn't think we're gonna come back for them anytime soon."

  No one moved.

  "Good. Now strap yourselves in."

  As Zak turned away, Hick caught hold of his arm. "You're taking command?"

  "Only of the outsiders. The Hopers are all yours. Shall we continue with the plan?"

  "Yeah, such as it is. But put your foot on the gas or we'll miss the party."

  Zak nodded. "What about Scriver? Do you think he'll come?"

  Hick had no answer; he merely shrugged and headed for his truck.

  #

  Ahmed died in the attack on the roadblock at the intersection, cut almost in half as the defenders swung the machine gun around. Too late to stop Said's men from getting in among them, but just in time to make mincemeat of Ahmed.

  Said killed the machine gunner himself. A single shot to the head, and then his men were making their way along the back of the barricade like avenging angels, scattering the defense then picking them off. The guards had been looking north along the highway, in the direction of the roadblock Said and his team had taken an hour or so ago. No doubt a motorized force had gone that way to retake it, but Said had skirted around them and now possessed the key to the northward approach to Hope.

  Four of them survived to hold the barricade and it wouldn't be long before the soldiers to their s
outh realized this, and then it would be a bitter fight. He said a silent prayer that Hick was coming that way and then called to his men to find the best cover they could and to watch for movement from both directions.

  #

  Cassie followed Pietersen as he crossed the last of the backyards. In the distance, she could hear gunfire crackling, though she couldn't tell what direction it was coming from. It certainly wasn't only from the south, so that, at least, suggested the plan was underway. Whether it was working was another matter.

  The veteran kept low as he slipped along the outside wall of the last ranch house, Cassie following him, looking out of the sides of her eyes so she could see more clearly in the gathering darkness.

  "Hey, who's there?"

  Pietersen threw himself at the guard who'd appeared around the end of the house. The guard yelled. Dammit, the element of surprise was gone!

  "Come on!" Cassie called to those following her and, leaping over Pietersen as he subdued the guard, she ran for the sandbagged position in front of the school.

  She felt others running alongside her, the tension released like a busted spring. She didn't think about what she would do when she reached the dugout. As a nineteen-year-old farm girl, her prospects had once been confined to getting married and having kids, not raining death on enemy soldiers in a trench outside the school she'd graduated from only a year before.

  Maybe she suddenly realized how terrified she was, even if subconsciously, because figures were running past her left and right. Even Pietersen overtook her by the time they arrived at the dugout. He took five others around to the other end, cutting off the escape route for the soldiers caught looking south when their enemy burst out from cover.

  Smoke and thunder filled the air, her ears ringing, her throat raw. Her head felt as though it might explode in the chaos of movement and noise. Pietersen went down, kicked by a big man in combat pants and Cassie, any semblance of rational thought long departed, threw herself on the attacker's back, reaching into her belt for her hunting knife.

  Rage overwhelmed her as she stabbed down at the writhing figure below. Again and again and again. Voices shouted; some in anger, some in pain, some in terror. Then a hand grabbed her shoulder, and she slashed up, barely missing Pietersen.