“Is that…” Tank started.
“A SAW,” Connor finished. “I think it’ll fit your tastes.”
“Oh, hell yeah!” Tank said, and went over to take the large gun from Connor. “Oh, baby!”
The M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW, had a bipod, IR laser, suppressor, and Trijicon 4x32 ACOG scope. Tank lifted the gun into the air, smiling.
“It’s lighter than I thought it’d be,” Tank said.
“That’s because it looks like it’s the new lightweight variant,” Connor said. “It’s probably only fifteen pounds. But wait till you have the full two-hundred-round drum magazine. Then it’ll push twenty!”
“I don’t care,” Tank said. “This thing is a beast!”
“And look at these,” James said, showing Tank the ACRs.
“Damn, those are sexy,” Tank said.
“Right?” James said.
“Enough ogling,” Connor said. “Let’s get our gear together.”
They spent a few minutes setting aside what they were going to use. James organized all the extra gear into black canvas bags so every bag would have a little of everything. Tank and Connor then loaded the bags into the back of the Hummer. After that, they put some extra supplies—mainly ammunition—in four backpacks they’d found. That left them with ten fully loaded bags and one partial. Grabbing some of the boxes of MREs, protein bars, and water from the middle pavilion, they filled the back of the Hummer. Once done, they went back inside the last pavilion to change.
There was a first aid kit inside and Connor quickly redressed James’s side and ear while Tank put on one of the unused Kryptek Typhon uniforms. Connor’s shoulder had barely bled since the last time they’d bandaged it so James just put a Band-Aid on it. Having done that, they changed into matching uniforms, respectfully removing the nametags. The brothers outfitted themselves with plate carriers, complete with body armor and loaded with suppressed Berretta M9 handguns, six ACR magazines, four handgun magazines, a flashbang and boot knife. They then slipped on helmets with headsets and NVGs. Both of them held their newly acquired ACRs. Tank was similarly outfitted, minus all the 5.56 ammunition on his plate carrier. Instead, he had a fragmentation grenade and two flashbangs. He’d be carrying his extra two-hundred-round drum magazines for the SAW in his backpack.
“I feel like we might actually stand a chance now,” James said.
“Wolf Pack!” Connor said, “What is your profession?”
“HA-OOH! HA-OOH! HA-OOH!” James and Tank yelled at the same time, lifting their guns into the air.
“Perfect,” Connor said. “Get acquainted with your new toys. Then, we roll out.”
“What the hell was that?” Chloe asked from outside in the Hummer.
“Just a little motivational speech,” Tank said.
“It just sounded like yelling,” Chloe said.
“Exactly,” James said.
“You three are incorrigible,” Chloe said.
“So, what’s the plan?” Tank asked as he checked his SAW.
“I found their base, more than likely,” Connor said.
“Okay,” James said. “Chloe will stay up here with the Hummer and we’ll go down into the hideout, find where they’re keeping our group, and extract them.”
“That should be our first priority,” Connor said. “Then we can worry about killing the Reclaimers. Even though these things are suppressed, they’ll still be loud enough for anyone awake to hear.”
“Exactly,” James said. “We’ll need to be quick and quiet.”
“Time to go kick some Reclaimer ass!” Tank said.
12
The Wolfe
Post-outbreak day seven, late afternoon
Emmett Wolfe lay on a ridge east of Sheridan, Wyoming, looking down on a large group of ranch buildings spread out in the bottom of a valley six hundred yards away, although now it resembled more of a compound than a ranch. The driveway came down from the red gravel road a mile away to the northwest. The driveway snaked past a collection of six buildings to the south, with a single large house to the north, and then continued up a little hill to the east where it ended in a “T.” North of the “T” was a house and detached garage, south were three outbuildings—a large pole barn, covered carport, and a stable with a pen. The six buildings south of the driveway consisted of a small house, garage, two small barns, stable, and small shed. Between the stable and one of the barns was a large, fenced-in pen. In a semi-circle next to the small house was a group of six RVs. This seemed to be where most of the Reclaimers lived.
The large house north of the main collection of buildings seemed to be reserved for the higher-ranked members. Only six Reclaimers had entered there, along with the leader. Farther east and up the driveway where the other buildings sat was the large pole barn where his daughter and the rest of the captives were being held. North of that sat a detached garage where they were keeping the children.
The sun was sinking in the sky behind him, which gave him the perfect angle so his shadow would prevent the optics from glinting in the light. There were thirty-seven people living and working on this compound. Fifteen of those were always out—ten at the ambush spot and five scouts in the surrounding hills. They’d only left one blind spot and that was where he lay. It’d taken him most of the morning to climb up to this vantage point and look down on the inner workings of the Reclaimers. They held tight security, just not tight enough. The bush he was hidden in was big enough to conceal a person. They were smart, but they weren’t professionals. They weren’t trained to hunt people—to find weaknesses and exploit them.
Emmett was.
Case in point was how they’d botched taking him captive the evening before. Any professional could have seen what needed to be done and how to avoid it. Their technique would work on ninety-five percent of the population, but not him. All he’d had to do was offer his wrists in a way that he would be able to slip out of the zip ties. The man doing it had obliged by looping the zip tie around his wrist and tightening it as much as he could. Then he’d move on to the next one in line, never noticing that Emmett had his fists clenched tightly. That was the problem with having to restrain fourteen adults before they tried something. The Reclaimers had rushed and done a sloppy job. It’d been their undoing.
He pulled up the binoculars he’d taken and gazed down at the valley—studying his prey. These people, the Reclaimers, were an eclectic group of murderers. Some seemed more afraid of their own people than what was around them. The others went around bullying that group, their bloodlust insatiable. Then, there was the woman in charge. She hadn’t been at the ambush on the interstate but Emmett still knew who she was.
This woman carried herself with an air of authority and had an aura of danger to her. The power she had over other people and the fear she caused them was a drug to her. He’d seen it overseas with the leaders of the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Seeing her more throughout the afternoon had just confirmed what he’d first thought. She was a tyrant, lording over her people with fear. He’d thought about sneaking in and ending her life, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of his daughter being a hostage to a group of murderers. Getting her out was his first and main objective. Rescuing everyone else was secondary.
The events of yesterday played over in his mind and he wondered once again if he’d made the right call—not that there had been much of a choice with almost three dozen armed hostiles pointing at least six RPGs at their vehicles. There hadn’t been many options. On the other hand, if he hadn’t escaped, maybe he could’ve rescued his daughter more readily. That was a horrible notion, however, since he’d then be in the same place as her. At least now he could sneak in and rescue her. There’d been a few moments throughout the day when he’d almost gone in, but every time he’d waited, and it’d proven to be the right choice. There were just too many people down there, walking around. Without the cover of darkness, it would be almost impossible to infiltrate and execute a successful
extraction. So he waited, impatiently, for the right moment.
Late in the evening, he caught a glimpse of something red out of the corner of his binoculars. A young woman with bright red hair was walking with the leader. Watching the way she walked and held herself, he wasn’t surprised when he caught a glimpse of her face. It was Ana. She was free and walking alongside the leader with a handgun. What was going on down there? They both walked up to the pole barn where the captives were held. The guards opened the door for them and Ana strode in with the leader at her heels. The door shut. He watched the building for a few minutes, trying to judge what was going on. Had Ana betrayed them and joined the Reclaimers? No, that wouldn’t happen.
Something popped down in the valley. He was over six hundred yards away, but the sound was unmistakable—a gunshot, small arms, probably a pistol. A little while later, the leader and Ana walked out of the barn. They paused outside the door and then continued down into the main collection of buildings. They entered the small house there, and a minute later the leader emerged without Ana. Was she being held captive there? Or maybe was she staying there of her own free will. Emmett couldn’t be sure it was Ana who’d fired the shot, but she was the one who’d walked in and out with the gun. He hadn’t noticed anyone else down there shooting at the time. What did that leave as possibilities? Either Ana had betrayed them or was playing along. He wouldn’t assume anything until he could talk to her. Then he would work with that information.
For the hundredth time that day, he thought of what could be happening to his daughter. He wanted to rush in and free her, but it wouldn’t do her a bit of good if he got himself killed. For all he knew, James and Connor were dead and he was his daughter’s only hope. So he waited and prayed she was safe. To distract himself and maybe understand more about his enemy, he worked through their capture yesterday.
After the initial ambush, they’d separated the adults from the kids. Then a man named Max had given a speech about how they’d trespassed and would need to pay the price in blood. When his speech concluded, he’d grabbed Hank and gone back into the bus. That was when the big man had come over and restrained them, then loaded them up into vehicles. The Reclaimers hadn’t planned for so many and they’d had to load Emmett into the last truck with three Reclaimers and no other prisoners.
Slipping his restraints had been quick and simple. The man next to him went down first with his own knife to his throat. Then, when the man in the passenger’s seat had tried to aim his handgun at him, Emmett had grabbed his hand, redirecting it at the driver. When the Reclaimer fired, the driver had been hit. The truck swerved and Emmett gained the handgun. Switching his grip on it, he shot the man in the passenger seat, then finished off the driver.
The truck had crashed into a ditch. They hadn’t been driving fast and he’d recovered quickly, getting out of the truck and grabbing a black bag from the bed. On his way out, he grabbed the passenger’s rifle and took off into the creek bottom, east of the road. The driver of the vehicle in front of them hadn’t been paying attention because he never turned around. Emmett had taken the time to get away from the scene while following the road from cover beside it.
After half an hour, the Reclaimers had returned to check on the missing vehicle. On their way back to their base, he’d tried following them but had lost them shortly after. It’d taken him all night to find where they’d gone. He’d checked over three dozen houses and a few different back roads along the way before he’d stumbled onto this place.
Now, he was lying on the ridge, waiting for night to fall. All the guns and gear he had were still in the black bag hidden under a bush down the ridge behind him—all but a Bushmaster ACR combat rifle. He’d chosen that as his main weapon for the assault and it lay next to him now. It was decked out with an angled foregrip, tactical light, IR laser, suppressor, and Trijicon 4x32 ACOG scope with a red dot on top. Where these people had gotten a weapon like that, he couldn’t imagine. He’d thought maybe it was just a tasteful individual who’d had it. But when he’d opened the black bag, he’d realized that assumption was wrong. This bag held another Bushmaster ACR DMR, a black plate carrier, a couple of Beretta 9mm handguns, magazines for all of them, and a tactical helmet with NVGs and headset attached.
The gear was beyond anything these simple civilians should have, especially around Sheridan, Wyoming, of all places. There had to be a military or government outpost around here somewhere, or they had raided one somewhere. Emmett was glad for it. Even though it meant the Reclaimers were well armed, so was he. He itched to put the gear to use. All those people needed one thing—a bullet to the head—and he was going to give it to them. Unconsciously, he almost stood up to go down, but stopped himself.
Easy now, Emmett told himself, you’ll get your chance. You’ve waited way too long to rush in with only a few hours left to wait. Patience.
The sun had set behind the Bighorn Mountains in the distance and darkness was beginning to creep in. Only a little while longer. Then, he would sweep into the compound like one of the ten plagues and rescue his daughter, killing anyone who got in his way. His years of training were the only thing holding him together now. Inside, the father in him was screaming to go down there and save his little girl, but he tempered the desire. He would get his chance, and when he did, neither heaven nor hell would stand in his way.
Part 2
13
The Best Laid Plans
Post-outbreak day eight, early morning
Tank followed behind James and Connor, breathing heavily. It wasn’t that he was out of shape—well, actually he was. But it was also because those two skinny bastards in front of him had been doing this their whole lives. They would hike the mountains and hills with a bunch of gear on their backs almost every day in the fall, for crying out loud. Not him. Oh no, he spent most of his time at his desk or at work. He did go for a walk most days, but a walk in the city couldn’t compare to practically running around the hills with fifty pounds of gear. It wasn’t that he was struggling physically, much. They were just moving a little too fast and his asthma was on the fritz. Plus, he did happen to be carrying an almost twenty-pound gun with at least fifteen pounds in his backpack, not to mention the helmet and twenty-pound plate carrier.
After a mile of walking quickly, he was struggling, but he didn’t let it slow him. He just kept going right behind them. He even kept pace with them when they seemed to move faster up the hillside. Near the top, the brothers dropped to the ground, crawling the rest of the way to the ridgeline. It didn’t matter that it was night and no one would be able to see them without optical aid like the night vision they were wearing right now. The Andderson brothers didn’t take chances. They played it as safe as possible, yet weren’t afraid to act. It was why Tank felt safe, knowing they had his back, and they felt safe knowing he had their backs. Not once had they looked back to make sure everything was good. After all these years of being friends, they trusted him with their lives, even though they’d never before been in a situation where their lives were actually on the line.
They were his best friends in the world, brothers-from-another-mother, but they weren’t blood. Growing up, he hadn’t had anyone who had his back at home. It had just been him. When his mom remarried after the divorce, he’d acquired a step-brother who was older than Tank, and they’d never been close. James and Connor had always been more of his brothers than anyone else. Hell, they felt more like family than a lot of his extended family did.
That thought surprised him and he felt a familiar discomfort rising up. He sometimes felt that he was intruding by being friends with them. There was a bond between the two of them that nothing could break, and they had invited him into that bond. It was like he was their actual brother and they always treated him as such. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was the third wheel at times. Not now, though. He wasn’t worried about all that crap. It was time to act—time to make some heads pop.
Tank took a knee on the ba
ck side of the ridge below the brothers and looked behind him, checking their six. The darkness was illuminated in green. He’d never tried night vision in real life, only in video games. It was way kickass! The thing he hadn’t expected was the lack of depth perception. Determining the distance of things was extremely difficult, and it took him awhile to get used to it. He’d almost stumbled a few times in the first few hundred yards or so, but he had the hang of it now. The coast was clear behind them—no Reclaimers and no undead.
He felt a little bad for Chloe, having left her all alone on the hilltop. She had one of the ACRs and a handgun, so she should be safe. But thinking about her brought their hug to the forefront of his mind, and he smiled. He’d acted on a whim, trusting his feelings. He was a bit confused though. He’d thought he hated her, so when had he begun to grow fond of her? No matter. He’d think about that later, but right now he had to focus on the task at hand. They had some people to rescue and some payback to hand out at the end of a barrel.
“What do you think?” James asked.
“There are a lot of buildings down there,” Connor said.
“Looks like some sort of ranch,” James said.
Tank crouch-walked up to them, sticking to the cover of a conveniently placed bush.
“I bet they’re in one of those,” Tank said, pointing at a collection of three outbuildings east of the main collection of buildings.
“What makes you think that?” James asked.
“Look at all those buildings,” Tank said, pointing at a group of six closely placed buildings. “See all the RVs parked around them? That makes me think those are the living quarters, but those buildings over there are off by themselves, in the open.”
“The logic is sound,” Connor said.
“Your guess is as good as any,” James said. “We can start at those, then move north to that lone house and then head down to the rest.”
The Brother's Creed_Book 3_Wolf Pack Page 9