Ash: Rise of the Republic (5 page)

The catwalk ran along all four sides of the
cavernous space, with two adjoining walkways crossing in the
middle. He motioned to his team to ‘follow silently’ and set off
along the closest wall, heading toward the glow.

As they moved closer, it became clear that
the smoke and the light were emanating from an oil drum. A cooking
fire was blazing inside; a glistening haunch of meat sizzling and
popping above it on a spit. A ragged figure standing nearby took a
long swig from a bottle and threw several chunks of wood into the
barrel. He poked the meat with a long knife.

“A couple more minutes and we can eat,” his
voice drifted up to them. “We’d better get our fill before the rest
of the boys get back. If the raid went sour they’re gonna be
hungry.”

A dozen outlaws could be seen lounging
around in the dim glow of the cookfire, drinking from jugs, playing
cards, and sharpening knives.

“I hope they found a fat farm somewhere!”
one of them wined. “That skinny moonshiner sure didn’t keep much
food around. I hate drinkin’ on an empty stomach.”

“At least he had these two little piglets,”
replied the cook, nodding toward the back wall. “If anyone wants
another go you better get at it! I’m going to start carving that
one up soon so’s I have something hot for the boys when they roll
in.”

One of the card players scoffed and shook
his head. “She’s been dead for an hour! You’re the only nasty piece
of work in this outfit who likes cold trim.”

“My momma always said: cold trim is better
than no trim!” replied the shaggy cook, displaying his black teeth
in a crazed grin. The feeble jest set off a round of guffaws from
his drunken brethren.

The Captain, disgusted, gestured at his
rangers to ‘standby, observe’ and moved along the catwalk to the
back wall, hoping he wouldn’t find what he thought he would.

Behind a stack of crates, he could just make
out a grisly scene. There were two small pale figures. One was
hanging from a tall metal tripod by the wrists, head back, mouth
open, long blonde hair matted with blood and hanging limp. The skin
had been peeled from much of the body, the abdomen an empty cavity.
The floor and the crates nearby were slick with blood. One leg
ended at the knee. The other was lying face first on a low table,
bent at the waist. Her ankles were bound to the table legs. She was
very still.

There was a stairway leading down to the
warehouse floor nearby. Careful in the dim light, he slowly made
his way down until he was hidden by the crates. He quickly checked
for signs of life, hoping the card player was wrong. Her skin was
cold to the touch. There was more blood coating her legs, still
drying. Cursing under his breath, he made good time back to his
waiting rangers.

His voice was hard as he ordered: “Change of
plans. Casper, you and your brother get to work. Don’t bother
scaring them out of here. Put a couple in the middle of them. I
don’t want any of those animals getting out of here alive. I want
this whole place to burn. Stone, Legs, let’s get back outside.
There’s a whole lot more of these fuckers and they’re due back any
minute.”

As the trio moved back toward the entrance,
the twins started pulling Molotov cocktails out of their bags,
arranging them in loose pockets up and down the front of their
combat vests. Pulling out a small butane torch, Casper hurried to
the center walkway and moved across the opposite catwalk. At the
entrance, the Captain halted his troops and looked back to see two
sparks of flickering light leave opposite sides of the warehouse
simultaneously. They arced toward the orange glow on the floor.
When they reached the ground, there was a strangely delicate tinkle
of breaking glass and then flames bloomed and a scream erupted from
the haze. He heard pounding steps along each catwalk and then
another pair of flames arced down into the mess of bedding and
refuse cluttering the floor. Knowing the two young pyros would do a
thorough job, he turned with a smile and climbed out of the window
into the dimming evening light.

As he emerged, a bullet whistled past his
head and ricocheted off the sheet metal behind him with a deafening
spang. Thinking his sharpshooter had jumped the gun, he frantically
waved at the tree line at the top of the ash drift, “Cease
fire!”

Deb, squatting behind a pile of crates to
his right, shot out a leg and tripped him as he moved forward. He
hit the ground just as a burst of gunfire erupted from the trees.
He rolled behind cover next to his wife. His two grunts were behind
another pile of crates, patiently waiting for a chance to return
fire. Glancing back at the entryway, he could see the hazy interior
getting much brighter. Legs snapped a quick look at the situation
unfolding outside, hoping for an opportunity to exit the rapidly
warming warehouse. The Captain held up a hand, commanding him to
hold.

“Those boys are gonna cook if we can’t get
them out quick! I want covering fire, on my mark!” barked the
Captain, readying his weapon, waiting for a lull in the crackle of
fire from the ridge. “You boys scramble once we start
shooting!”

A few seconds later, the Captain shouted and
four rifles snapped up and loosed a deafening volley of automatic
fire at the tree line. The four rangers in the warehouse quickly
slipped out the door under the covering fire from their comrades
and took places behind the line of crates.

“Casper, Pirate, keep eyes on that door! I
don’t want any of those sick fucks behind us while we deal with
their friends!” shouted the Captain.

Casper smiled at him and held up a small
device with a short antenna. The Captain returned the smile. “Good
thinking! Go ahead!”

“Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!” The
skinny demolitions expert looked right and left and pressed two
switches on his detonator. A pair of muffled thumps rattled the
sheet metal skin of the warehouse. The shaped charges he had placed
on the catwalk on either side of the door neatly severed the
section under the entryway and sent it crashing to the flames
below, dooming the men inside.

The majority of his troop momentarily safe,
the Captain turned to his wife. He had to yell to be heard over the
rattle of shots from the ridge. “What happened?”

“We heard a scream and a shot from over
there.” She jerked her thumb at the tree line. “And then bullets
started hitting all around us. We took cover and you walked out
straight into it. You know the rest.” She was clearly frustrated at
the suddenly dire circumstances.

“Any sign of Jennings and Mol?” the Captain
knew what the answer would be. Deb shook her head, a dark look in
her eyes.

“Stone, I need you with Blue, find us a
route out of here and then get me some eyes on what we’re up
against. I’m thinking this is a ‘live to fight another day’
situation. Send me a signal when you have a way out.” The young man
next to him nodded calmly and prepared to run. “Covering fire on
three!”

There was another sudden burst of automatic
fire. The scout disappeared around the corner of the warehouse.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, we’re
pulling out?” growled Deb, “What about those two kids up
there?”

“Listen: there are digs for nearly two
hundred men in that smoking heap of shit. Seems like we caught them
coming home from a big raid. These kids are tough, but two hundred
is a bite they won’t be able to chew, not all at once,” the Captain
said, gruffly, “plus I think we lost the bikes, and most of the
provisions with them. It’s a long walk back to Campus from
here.”

A shout from the tree line made him pause. A
tall, burly man, shirtless, bald, and heavily scarred, was standing
in the open, his huge, cruel knife pressed into the neck of an
equally tall, slender girl. He held her head back with a firm grip
on her long red hair. She screamed in terror, breaking the
Captain’s heart and causing Deb’s face to redden in fury. The rest
of the troop tensed and growled in indignation.

“Hold your fire,” he warned his rangers,
“looks like they want to talk.”

A short man in ragged clothes was scrambling
down the slope of the drift, unarmed. At the bottom he started
walking slowly toward them, a crooked smile on his face.

“Hello there friends, I’d like a word!” He
was waving at them genially as if they were old friends. He kept
smiling and beckoned them over. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite!”

The Captain stood, laid his rifle on the
crate in front of him, and started forward. He approached the small
man warily.

“I’m Captain McLelland, 1st Ranger Company,
RNT. You men are interfering with the pursuit and apprehension of a
number of dangerous felons. That girl you’re holding hostage is a
peace officer commissioned by the Governor himself. Have your
friends over there release her, lay down their weapons, and march
down here with their hands where we can see them,” he said curtly,
flashing his badge and placing his hand on his holstered
revolver.

The man looked quizzically at him for a
moment and then shook with laughter. “When the Chief finds himself
a filly like that he don’t just let it go! As for the guns, you’re
welcome to march up there and take em if you think your badge will
scare somma them animals! In fact, please do! I love a good laugh!”
he said, chuckling and grinning, showing off a mouthful of broken,
yellowed teeth. He danced a few jigged steps in delight as he
laughed, then stopped. The mirth fell from his face and his voice
suddenly dripped with menace. “Nah. He sent me down here to make
our demands, not listen to yours!

“Ok, what’ll you have?” asked the Captain,
leveling a cool gaze at the shorter man.

“The Chief left his son in charge of the
camp when he left. He’s willing to let you lot go (except for the
girl of course) if you send him up. We saw you come out with those
kids. What you do, tie our boys up in there?”

Before the Captain could reply, flames burst
from several of the upper windows of the warehouse. He heard a howl
of rage from the ridge. He and the small man turned to look as the
big bald savage holding Mol shouted an order into the trees. He
looked straight at the Captain and slowly sawed his wicked blade
across Mol’s pale neck. She squirmed horribly and a panicked gurgle
escaped her lips as blood welled past the dark blade. The man
tightened his grip on her hair and ripped the knife back, nearly
severing her head. He shoved her twitching body down the slope and
turned to head back into the trees.

The Captain’s eyes began to mist red with
rage. He drew his revolver, pressed it to the temple of the small
dirty man next to him, and casually pulled the trigger. He turned
the big pistol toward the man on the ridge and snapped off a long
shot. He cursed as it went wide and the murderer ducked into the
bushes untouched, still howling. Fire erupted from both lines as
the Captain turned and ran back to his shocked troop.

When he ducked back behind his crate, he
turned to see the big savage walk back out of the trees. Blood
covered his bare chest. He screamed at the rangers and hurled a
round, dripping projectile toward them. It landed a few feet from
their cover, rolling twice before coming to rest facing them, still
blinking.

“Holy shit! Jenny!” cried Legs in grief at
the sight of his comrade’s severed head. He leveled his rifle and
fired wildly at the tree line, screaming.

“Grumps, get him under control! It’s time to
bug out folks!” Deb nudged her husband, pointing to the flare that
had appeared in the sky above the warehouse.

“Casper, Pirate, pop smoke!” shouted the
Captain, “Prepare to withdraw by twos under cover like we
practiced! Rally on Blue once you get past the warehouse. We’re
right behind you, keep moving, don’t forget to cover your
partner.

Once the smoke from the twins’ grenades
reached a sufficient density, the Captain gave the command and the
first pair scrambled around the corner of the warehouse under a
hail of covering fire. Two by two, the rangers escaped behind the
building until only the Captain and his wife were left.

“You see the scars on that big one?” he
asked her as he pulled his detonator out of his pocket. He keyed in
a command and an enormous explosion rocked the copse of dead trees
where they had left their bikes. The violent blast momentarily
disrupted the steady fire from the outlaws and the two seasoned
rangers made their escape around the building.

Rounding the warehouse, the Captain scanned
the tree line for a moment. A piece of blue cloth caught on a dead
branch fifty yards away fluttered in the light breeze. He tapped
his wife, nodded at the sign, and quickly made his way across the
open to join his troop.

After doing a head count and checking for
injuries, he nodded at the pair of scouts and they set off to the
south through the trees in the fading light, quickly out pacing the
shouts and crashes of their more numerous but undisciplined
pursuers. Two miles later, they reached Blue’s escape plan: a storm
drain outlet hidden by a deadfall. There was a short,
claustrophobic crawl before they were safe in a small, lightless
chamber. They cracked chemlights and made camp for the night. As
they settled in to check their gear and clean their weapons, the
Captain pulled his whiskey bottle from his pack and cleared his
throat.

“I want everyone to take a moment to mourn
your fallen friends,” He began, “and then I need you to store that
pain away and start thinking. Think about what happened. Think
about every step you took and how you could have done it better.
Think about how those two could have avoided capture, think about
how hungry it’s going to get for the next few days. What I don’t
want you thinking about is revenge. Not because I don’t think you
deserve it, we all do. No, none of you is going to get revenge
because that big bald son of a bitch is mine. His name is Werner.
We have history.”