"It ain't a wild goose chase," Hick snapped at Kaminski. Then, turning to Hawkins, "Yeah, we did better than most. I must admit, though I'd listened to the report of what they'd seen here, this feels a whole lot worse now I've seen it with my own eyes."
"Believe me, Mr. Hickman, this is not us at our worst. We have made progress, but, as my daughter explained, we're being hampered by our sick. I'm glad you've agreed to help us. I'm forever in your debt."
Hickman nodded, drawing Hawkins close. He smelled rose on her. "While we're pleased to give you succor, Madam Mayor, these are … difficult times and in fairness to our own folks, we agreed an exchange with your daughter."
The mayor stepped back a little from him, her face stiffening. "What sort of an exchange? We have very little to offer."
"You have the contents of the National Guard armory."
She flushed and cursed under her breath. "My daughter had no right to tell you about that."
"Well, the cat's just about out of the bag and halfway across the road by now, Madam Mayor. And the weapons in that armory will help secure my people, and those you send us. Seems like a fair exchange to me."
Hawkins turned away and gazed across at the church. "Some people say it was a miracle that the church survived. Saved by God, they say. But then, the Lutheran church two blocks down wasn't so blessed. Either God's a Catholic or it came through that night because it was being repaired and the power was out. Why don't you come with me and I can show you how things are here?"
Hickman, surprised by the sudden change in direction, glanced across at Kaminski who shrugged before following the mayor as she moved away. The sheriff was right, Hick thought, she was a sharp one.
The church was a modern one of cream and deep gray with a spire at one corner that looked like a missile on a launchpad with doorways between its rotors. Inside, people moved back and forth across a black stone floor between the groups of chairs that had been arranged in rectangles, blankets neatly placed between them. Hick couldn't help but be impressed by the quiet efficiency of the operation as his gaze swept the interior, settling on the statue nailed to a cross behind the altar.
He was examining the tortured expression on the face of Jesus when he realized that Hawkins was talking to him.
"I'm sorry, Madam Mayor."
Her expression of annoyance vanished. "Are you okay?"
Hickman blinked and tore his gaze away from the altar. "Yeah, thank you. I dunno … I guess comin' inside here just freaked me out a little."
"It does make you wonder, doesn't it?"
"I guess it does." Paul Hickman was not a philosophical man. He had his beliefs, and had tended, on balance, to think the God of the Old Testament had it about right most of the time. But now that he was living through the modern-day equivalent of the flood, he was being forced to reevaluate, just a little. And he didn't like it one bit. "So, what are you using the church for?"
"Mainly as a place for people to gather during the day. We keep it as warm as possible, though our supplies of oil are running low. Come on." She led them through a door and emerged into a second, smaller room. A group of people stood looking down at something on a large table in its center. They turned as Hawkins entered and a small African-American man with thick black glasses and a harried expression bustled over.
"Madam Mayor, I'm glad you've joined us. Mr. Roscoff is being … well, Mr. Roscoff."
"Nelson, I'd like to introduce the council leader of Hope, Mr. Hickman, and their sheriff, Mr. Kaminski. Gentlemen, this is Nelson Banks, my deputy."
The little man nodded at Hick and then squinted in Rusty's direction. "Hope doesn't have a sheriff."
"It does now," Kaminski said, with a little heat, but Hawkins had led them across to the table and was gesturing at the roughly drawn map.
"So, what's the problem, Gerard?" She looked up at an acerbic-looking man of middle years whose balding head was inefficiently concealed behind a comb-over plastered in place with hair grease. Hick would bet good money the man was an accountant. Or an undertaker.
Gerard Roscoff rubbed his hands—not to warm them; surely he must be cold blooded—and contrived an expression of exquisite agony. "Well, Madam Mayor, far be it from me to question your plans, but I feel we must accept the reality of the situation." He spoke in a manner than would have made Uriah Heep seem assertive.
"Which is?"
"That we cannot include the hospital in the citadel."
Hawkins sighed. "Firstly, Mr. Roscoff, please don't call it that. We're not constructing Minas Tirith."
"I'm sure I'm sorry, Madam Mayor. But we don't have the manpower—I'm sorry: humanpower I should say—to secure such a large perimeter. I believe I did raise such an objection during the planning stage, but I'm afraid that it has become clear it's quite hopeless."
Hickman groaned inwardly. He recognized this particular species: Homo serpens, the human snake. Best lop off its head or, failing that, defang it. Why Hawkins had given the man a role in planning what was obviously the new city Libby had mentioned he had no idea.
"Nelson, did we agree to set the perimeter as shown on this map, with the church on one corner and the hospital in the other?"
"We did, Madam Mayor."
"Then that is what must happen. If anyone currently on the project team wishes to resign their post so that a more able replacement can be appointed, then I'd be happy to consider that."
At this, she looked directly into Roscoff's watery eyes until, after a few seconds, he glanced away.
"Good," she said. "Now, don't let me detain you."
When they'd shuffled out, she gazed down at the map. "I keep hoping he'll resign, but he likes power far too much for that."
"Does he have a point?" Hickman asked.
"Mr. Hickman, if we confined ourselves to what appears possible, then we would achieve nothing. Look at this map of the city. I want to seal off this area." She indicated where a Sharpie had been used to mark out a crude square. "This is where we are, and here's the hospital—the one I took you and Devon to, Rusty."
"A fourth of that area is the park," Hickman said.
She nodded. "Yes, I intend to turn that into fields for growing our own food. We have some farmers among the survivors and our numbers are small at present. How many survived in Hope?"
"Just about everyone," Kaminski said, then glanced across as Hick gasped. "Well, what's the point in denying it to Mayor Hawkins here? Libby knows and soon enough she would too."
Hickman scowled. He generally held on to information as tight as a Scotsman's wallet, but Kaminski was right.
"Everyone? So, a couple of thousand or so? How are you feeding them all?"
"With difficulty. But look, Madam Mayor, though this is all very interesting, we came here for a purpose and I'd like to get on with it, if it's all the same to you."
Hawkins grunted. "Well, I see my plans for rebuilding Ezra are of less interest to you than the armory. I guess that's what you really want to talk about?"
Hickman went to answer when he felt and heard a massive thump from outside.
"Oh heavens, they're back." Before Hick could ask who “they” were, she'd run back into the church hall, the cacophony of panic echoing through the now-open door.
Chapter 6: Rusty
"It's the hospital!"
They were in the parking lot of the church, and Mayor Hawkins was pointing at a plume of smoke rising into the air beyond it.
"Please, help us," she said, as Hickman and Kaminski joined them, Jenson running up behind.
Hick watched as figures ran out from the church and gathered around the mayor. "Who's attacking?"
"Bandits. They've hit the hospital, or what's left of it, before. All our sickest and most vulnerable are there. I've stationed guards, but it looks as though they've found more powerful weapons."
"Why the hospital?"
"Drugs, Mr. Hickman. Will you take us across there in your truck?"
What could he say? He didn't have the we
apons from the armory—though they sure would have come in handy right about now—and she wasn't likely to hand them over if the folks she was planning to send to Hope had been wiped out by bandits first. "We'll leave one truck here," he said and directed them into the one he'd arrived in. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck here without transport. Well, the last thing other than getting himself killed in the fight, and he had no intention of that happening.
Hick drove the truck out of the parking lot and onto the frost-lined road outside. He put his foot down, aiming toward the snowcapped mountains that marked the other side of the valley Ezra occupied. As the church slipped away to his right, the charred remains of a row of ranch houses on the left reminded him of the true state of the world right now. He patted the Glock 41 in his pocket while making a silent promise that he'd keep some other patsy between him and the line of fire this time. The battle at Miller's Farm had been enough action for a lifetime.
They passed Garnet's Park on the right and he tried to imagine the frosty field turned over to rows of beans and other vegetables and, quite unbidden, his conversation with Ward McAndrew came back to him. Would it be so bad to go back to an earlier, simpler time? If it meant back-breaking work like some medieval peasant, then his answer was an unequivocal yes, it would be bad. Heck, he wasn't sure how he'd have managed without his seat warmer today.
"Slow it down," Hawkins barked through the curtain. "The hospital's just around the corner. Better get out here."
The crack, crack of small-arms fire punctuated the air as Hick jumped out. He ran around the back and pulled open one of the doors. Brain jumped down and stood beside Hick, panting as a dozen others climbed out of the truck. "So, what's the plan, boss?"
"I dunno. We'll have to follow her lead. Just stay out of trouble, okay?"
Asking Brain to stay out of trouble was like telling a tom cat not to pee on the rug; you felt like you had to do it, but you knew it was a waste of breath.
Crack-crack-crack.
Bang!
Mayor Hawkins appeared from the other side of the truck. "Sounds as though the shots are coming from the back of the building, which means they've probably come across country. I'll take half of us and go left, along the front, and try to get in that way. Sheriff, will you lead the rest out back and see if you can pin down the attackers?"
Rusty blinked with surprise. "Sure, Madam Mayor, but what do you know about them? You said they'd been here before?"
She shook her head. "Just a group of wasters trying to steal from us, but it sounds as though they're better armed this time. Be careful, Rusty." She touched his arm, then ran off along the road with a motley collection of men and women who had an even motlier collection of weapons at her tail.
Hickman looked at those who remained. Their squad was made up of himself, Rusty, Brain and Jenson along with a half-dozen others—four men, two women. Most looked frightened, determined and likely to be pretty darned useless in a fight.
Rusty did a quick weapons audit and relegated one older man to guarding the truck when he discovered he was packing nothing more than a .303 air rifle. "Come on then," he said. "Follow me and stay low. We gotta see what's occurring before we do anythin' about it."
Hickman didn't like following anyone, except into the firing line, so he obediently nodded and let the silly old fool lead.
They jogged along the road, boots crunching on the gravelly debris cast onto the road on the night of the firestorm. From ahead of them, the sounds of gunfire echoed along the deserted street.
"Good grief," Hickman said as they reached the end of the avenue and he caught sight of the hospital. It was nothing more than a burned-out shell, with the only indication it was a hospital at all being the sign saying Copper Creek Hospital that stood outside. "This isn't being used, surely?"
Rusty, who was crouching behind the wreck of a Corolla, turned back to him. "It's the birthing clinic next door. I saw it when Devon and me were here."
Bang!
Hickman threw himself to the ground, then immediately rolled over until he was behind the cover of the burned-out car. He squinted in the direction the noise had come from. No sign of movement. His heart thumped against his ribs and he panted, drawing wet, cold, oily air into his lungs as he desperately searched for whoever was hurling the Molotov cocktails.
"I don't reckon it was aimed at us," Rusty hissed at him. "Let's get over to that truck. We might get a view around the back."
Hickman glanced over at the back end of a Ford pickup whose cab had disintegrated. It looked like a hell of a long way to run. "Right," he said. "After you, Sheriff."
Rusty grunted derisively, gestured to the others and tore across the asphalt as Hickman watched and slowly got to his feet. Once the last of the others reached the cover of the pickup, he jogged across to join them.
"There," Rusty said, peering around the wreckage of the cab and gesturing into the distance.
The rear of the hospital looked as though it had been pretty messy before the firestorm and it was a total wasteland now. A handful of metal sheds sat in the yellow-red frosty soil, doors blown open, with blackened, molten ends of cables flapping in the breeze from the electricity towers that ran along what was, effectively, Ezra's eastern border. The pristine mountains served to bring this man made corruption on the landscape into even greater relief.
There they were. Two trucks parked parallel to the rear of the hospital.
Crack, crack, crack.
Rounds spat from behind them, but Hickman could instantly see that it was just covering fire; figures were moving from hiding place to hiding place between the trucks and the building.
Crack.
Smoke was rising from where the defenders must have been, though he couldn't see from that angle.
A figure ran, black against the blues and whites of the mountains, drew his arm back, and hurled something.
Whoomph!
Hick ducked, but bobbed up again almost instantly. Figures began moving across the ground from the trucks, unopposed by defending fire. They were yelling as they ran, as if they'd been worked up into a frenzy. Smoke rose into the sky from above the entrance. He cursed under his breath. They were in. And if he was to have any chance of getting the keys to the armory, he needed to act now.
"Come on!" he called, darting out and gambling on the attackers' attention being focused on getting inside the building.
Crack, crack.
Several attacking figures ducked down, but most ran on into the entrance. Hick could see it now as he crouched beside one of the metal sheds. Kaminski drew up beside him, heaving in deep breaths of cold mountain air. Hick tapped him and pointed at the nearest vehicle. "You take a few and grab that there truck. I don't reckon there's many left to defend it."
"What … are … you gonna do?"
"I'll take the rest and attack them from behind. Looks to me as though the hospital's on fire, so we ain't got no time to waste. Go!"
Kaminski got to his feet, pointed to three others, including Jenson Bowie, and ran away, skirting the back of the shed.
Hickman looked into the dimwitted but excited face of Brain, gave a little sigh and ran for it.
He tore across the asphalt, heading for a group of barrels that the enemy had used for cover. Footsteps followed him. The thunk, thunk of Brain and the scampering of the others. Five of them crouched behind the rusting barrels that leaked black onto the ground and saturated the air. For a moment, Hickman wondered whether it was wise to be firing a weapon in such an atmosphere, but it was too late for a health and safety check.
Most of the attackers gathered around the entrance, covering their comrades as they tried to break in. Hick guessed that the mayor had made her way through from the front of the hospital to reinforce the defenders. He also guessed that the attackers were hoping to smoke them out, though they wouldn't want to burn the hospital down entirely.
Crack, crack, crack-crack.
Shots from behind. Rusty was attacking the trucks. Sou
nded as though the attack on the hospital was well enough organized that the commander had left guards to protect their means of escape.
"Are you ready?"
Brain, who kneeled with his shotgun leaning on the top of the barrel, simply smiled and nodded. Beside him were three people Hick knew nothing about except that they were about to fight together. Two men—one in lumberjack plaid, the other wearing a camouflage jacket that had seen better days—one woman enveloped in a thick cream coat that was now spattered with dirt and oil. Each had handguns that Hick didn't recognize, and all were looking at him.
"You two target those fellas on the left," he said to the woman and the lumberjack, "and the rest of us will hit the ones on the right. Shoot fast, make every round count. We got the element of surprise, but that won't last long. What is it?"
The lumberjack—a pale young man with a ridiculous beard—seemed to be in a state of shock. "I ain't never shot no one before."
"Oh, it's easy," Brain said. "Just line 'em up and squeeeeze the trigger."
Hickman rolled his eyes. "Look, son, it's them or us. If we don't stop them, what d'you think's gonna happen to the people in that hospital? Including your mayor? Now, are you with us?"
Reluctantly, the lumberjack nodded and turned around to aim his gun toward the entrance.
"Now!"
Suddenly, the universe was full of smoke, hands jumping like jackrabbits and the ear-splitting concussive punch of six guns firing near simultaneously.
"Wowee! I got one!"
Again, Hick felt the exotic mix of terror and elation that seemed to supercharge him. Heart racing, eyes wide, hands moving fast, he felt more alive than ever before as he took life, shapes falling as his gun kicked.
Four were dead or wounded before the hospital attackers had a chance to react, but then the barrels reverberated to the chunk of impacts. "Ow!" Brain fell backward, clutching his leg. "It went right through!"
"Quick. Head for that shed. We're sitting ducks here."
"I can't boss, it's too far."
"Not you, Brain. You crawl back toward the truck—Rusty should have it under control by now."
Last Dawn Page 5