Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus (15 page)

“Indeed. But that would be folly. It occurs to me that perhaps we should relieve him of the weapons and supplies that rightfully belong to their conquerors as spoils of war, and to the People. But Major, you overestimate the danger posed by these rebels. The head has been cut off the snake, and though it may squirm for a while, it is no longer dangerous, and death comes for it soon. Already I have ordered your men to move in on dozens of their supply caches, which we learned of through the weak-minded agent of the 20s. In war, a single mistake can spell disaster as they will soon learn. By the end of this glorious day, the Resistance will be barely a memory of the past.”

The Major pinched his nose and then, possibly remembering who he was speaking to, he straightened up again. “And of course, Colonel, we will remove Spyder’s head as well, yes? That is another snake that needs killing.”

Ree waved his hand at the Major dismissively. “Of course, of course. Now go practice cutting heads off of infidels, or whatever you do when you aren’t being useful. I have planning to do.”

Major Mohamed stiffened, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, but then regained his composure. He saluted, spun crisply, and walked out of the tent.

Colonel Ree allowed himself to smile. Of course the Major would suffer insult without retribution. Not only was he weak, like all the sand-eaters, but without Korea’s and China’s military aid, and the American imperialistic arms manufacturers who sold to whoever had money, they would still be killing each other with swords in the desert, not carving up the rich carcass of America with their “allies.” The Glorious Leader was wise indeed to have made the so-called “Axis of Evil” a reality. Ree silently thanked the former President who gave the Leader that idea with his silly rhetoric, and the later President who made it so easy for all this to happen.

“When the evil of Capitalism seeks to appease the righteous wrath of the noble People, they only compound the interest they must pay in blood when their time of reckoning arrives. So says our Great Leader, praise his wisdom and courage.”

Ree then removed a bottle of Bourbon from his desk—one of several guilty pleasures—and poured a glass to celebrate the demise of the Resistance, and the glory he would receive as the instrument of their doom. Ree allowed himself to smile again. As always, it was no reflex, but the conscious decision of a disciplined mind. Still, a grin seemed appropriate, just now. He allowed his grin to broaden.

“I shouldn’t doubt our Great Leader will reward my ingenuity, but what to humbly suggest for that reward? Hmm. I hear Virginia is beautiful and lush…”

- 18 -

0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9

CASSY AND THE clan continued north of the airport for several hours after starting out just before dawn. Then, coming to the woody banks of Hammer Creek, they paused to decide how to proceed.

Cassy, with a faraway look in her eyes, said aloud, “I love this area. My husband and I used to come here often to fish, either at Speedwell Forge Lake or at Conestoga River, back past the airport. They drained the lake a couple years ago, but they refilled and restocked it with fish a few months ago. Fishing used to be good there. My husband always went for the Walleyes, and I went after the smallmouth bass. Usually, we had bass for dinner…”

Frank stood next to her, unusually quiet. Finally, he replied, “You’ve never spoken of your husband before.”

“Nor will I again,” replied Cassy with her jaw clenched.

Frank diplomatically changed the subject. “I doubt those fish are safe to eat now, and the water’s probably bad, too. Damn invaders. Mary was right last night—that goo
must
have gotten into the water. And it’s probably poisoning the water table as well unless it breaks down on its own.”

Cassy rubbed her eyes with the thumb and index finger of her left hand. Goddamn invaders and that crap they sprayed. They all ought to rot in hell. The thought cheered her somewhat, and she said, “We’ll need water eventually, but I think we can make it until we get to my farm even if we run out of water. Ethan can try to figure out the sludge when we get there. It’s not too far now. So, what next, fearless leader?”

Cassy had said that last word with a forced smile. Frank was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to get burdened by her damn problems on top of all the other weight riding on his broad shoulders. Such nice shoulders, but of course a catch like Frank already had a woman. Mary was a great person, and they seemed happy together, so she buried the wistful thought.

“Now we have to get across the creek,” prodded Frank. “It’s not too deep this time of year, thankfully, but it’s still either wade across or find a bridge. I don’t think we should swim in it. Who knows what got sprayed upriver.”

“There’s a small bridge just north of us at Brunnerville Road. There’s nothing but light farming on the other side, so there’s lots of cover and not a lot of people. Then it’s a straight shot to my place, but we’ll go around and come in from the far side, hidden, so we don’t get seen, and we have cover if someone’s squatting.”

Cassy heard Michael grunt in approval from somewhere behind them, and felt unreasonably proud of that. She cheerfully recognized it as the same pride Mary had felt at Cassy’s praise yesterday. If the Leatherneck approved of her idea, it must be sound, although of course the devil would be in the details. She was sure Michael could handle those, though, and she looked forward to learning more from him. The man was quiet, but he sure knew his stuff.

A half hour later they were looking at the bridge from the cover of trees and scattered shrubs. Michael, in front, crouched motionless facing the bridge. The clan huddled a dozen paces behind him, waiting patiently for his decision. Some fifteen minutes later, an eternity to Cassy, he raised his hand and motioned the clan to gather. Cassy shuffled forward, staying as low as possible, as did the others.

When they were all crouched by Michael, he said in a low voice, “It looks clear. We’ve got about a hundred yards of open ground before the next cover.” He pointed to a copse of trees north and just east, on the far side of the bridge. “I haven’t seen movement anywhere, which is good, but those trees make an awesome ambush spot. I imagine the enemy is still thin on the ground here and haven’t solidified their positions. We have to get to those trees, regroup, and then we should be clear. But getting there will be risky.”

Cassy wanted to ask why he never whispered but always spoke in a low voice instead, but this wasn’t the time. Like the others, she nodded her understanding. Without being told, everyone took up their familiar positions. The clan was getting the hang of this, she thought with pride.

She heard the countdown, and on “three” they moved out across the bridge in a single rush, moving fast in a low crouch. But rather than continue down the road as she’d expected, Michael led them to the right, east away from the road by about twenty yards before veering north once more toward the trees, and the clan followed. She had the sudden thought that if there were an ambush ahead, it would likely have the road targeted for the kill zone, and a jolt of adrenaline shot up her spine. Thank God she’d met the clan. No way in hell she’d have made it home on her own, despite all her training and preparation.

They were fifty yards from the trees when Cassy heard the
bang
of a rifle report. Michael dropped onto his stomach shouting, “Down, down!” and the clan followed suit. A half second later the copse of trees lit up with flashes, and the air became thick with the hum of bullets whizzing overhead. Little tufts of dirt flew up all around them as the enemy laid down heavy fire.

To the left, along the road, Cassy heard a series of explosions. She looked over and saw that they were going off in a chain, all along the road—it had been mined. Why the fuck did they ignite them, or whatever, when the clan wasn’t on the road? Well, fuck her shoulder, it was time to try out her fucking rock and roll death rifle. She swung her M4, which so far had been mere decoration, forward and planted it firmly into her wounded shoulder. Part of her wondered why it didn’t hurt. Time to fire. She aimed for one of the flashes in the woods and fired a single round. She was rewarded with a scream from the tree line, but then by God, she felt her damn shoulder. Ice picks were being jammed into the socket. But Cassy gritted her teeth and kept taking single, aimed shots whenever she could get her head up before being pinned down again.

Michael, in the lead still, was the main target. He seemed to be hiding behind a tiny rock, lying as flat as he could. To his left, Cassy saw Jed crawl on his belly like a snake toward the trees. When he was twenty feet away from her, Cassy saw Michael throw something toward him, and he scooped it with his arm and drew it to himself. Then Michael laid down heavy fire of his own, but Cassy saw that he wasn’t aiming. This must be suppressive fire, she thought, and fired off the rest of her magazine toward the enemy. The rest of the clan followed suit. The enemy fire dwindled to nothing for a precious few seconds.

Cassy reloaded as fast as she could with her throbbing shoulder, and as the clan paused to reload the ambushers resumed firing. Cassy felt the wind of a bullet passing inches from her head and went completely prone. As she flopped down flat, her shoulder struck a small rock and a burst of pain mushroomed from her wound. She saw stars and realized she was close to blacking out, so she squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing, trying to ignore the deadly whir of enemy bullets all around her.

* * *

Peter watched the battle through his scope as the spy and her new friends struggled against whoever was in those trees. She deserved whatever she got, dammit, but he sensed they were getting closer to wherever they were headed—they hadn’t even stopped to refill their water at the creek. But no, God would never let the bitch die now, not when he was so close to learning the location of their base, so close to becoming the savior and leader of all his own people. And yet from his position he couldn’t even see the ambushers, much less do anything to help the spy survive the trap she was in. She and her cronies were on their own.

To their left, Peter saw the one he called “Cowboy” crawling ahead toward the ambushers. The soldier guy threw something small toward Cowboy, who scooped it up under a hail of enemy fire. To their right, “Geek” was pinned down, as was “Soldier.” Things looked grim for the spy and her people. Peter grinned and cursed at the same time.

There was a motion in the trees, and Peter saw something small fly through the air toward Soldier, but it landed well short. It exploded, sending dirt and shrapnel all around—a grenade, poorly thrown.

In the few seconds of dust and smoke cover, Cowboy leapt to his feet and dashed ahead, then flopped down again onto his belly. He was now within the ambusher’s grenade range, if they’d seen him. Reckless. On the other hand, now Cowboy was within grenade range too, if he had one. But of course a grenade
must
be what Soldier had thrown to him. Nothing else would make sense of what they were doing. Where the fuck did they get a grenade?

As if on cue, everyone in the spy’s group opened fire at once, save for Cowboy and Geek. The ambushers’ fire petered out to nothing for a moment, and in that time, Soldier threw something small toward Geek, who scooped it up. Where the hell was Soldier coming up with them? They couldn’t possibly have too many more.

They all then stopped fire at once, and Peter saw they were reloading. The ambushers once again fired on the group, and the exchange of shots resumed. The next minute or two would determine everything, and Peter gulped. God, let that bitch survive—she still had a purpose to serve. Fuck the rest of ‘em.

- 19 -

0930 HOURS - ZERO DAY +9

ETHAN LAY AS flat as he could after grabbing the grenade Michael had thrown him, ignoring the warm wetness that flowed between his legs. He’d pissed himself when he exposed himself long enough to grab the grenade. Thank God he’d thought to give a couple of those to Michael from his bunker’s secret stash of mil-grade gear. It had been a tough choice due to weight issues, but Ethan figured Michael had the training to make it worth the added bulk. Now the extra weight might pay for itself and then some.

The enemy didn’t seem to know he was there, nor Jed on the other side of the clan’s position—all the enemy fire was toward Michael and the rest. Ethan thanked his lucky stars he had thought to ditch his bulky backpack at the first sign of enemy contact, and that Michael had the good sense to stay off the road. Those mines would have ended things real quick if they’d been in that kill zone when they went off. Maybe them setting off the mines meant they had set them off in a panic, and if so, that meant they weren’t facing crack troops. Probably, that was the only reason the clan still lived.

Ethan considered their tactical position, as best he knew how. Michael was their only real soldier with actual combat experience, but he was pinned down tight. Even so, he’d had the steel to take fire while signaling Ethan and Jed what he had planned, and then again every time he sent a grenade to one of them. Goddamn, Michael had a set of brass balls, endangering himself and his family like that to set up this flanking maneuver. Of course, the entire clan was pinned down, so likely this was their only hope to survive. Michael sure was cool under pressure… Best not to screw this up, yeah. They wouldn’t get a second chance.

His heart raced, and the sound of its beating almost drowned out the sounds of battle, but he forced himself to stay perfectly still, focused only on Michael. He’d soon give the signal that would spell victory or death for the clan. Do or die time. Ethan noticed the sounds of shooting taking on an almost rhythmic pattern—fire, receive enemy fire, fire again—a deadly dance that had a sort of raw beauty to it. Nothing at all like the ebb and flow of battle during his video game binges. There was no respawn point here. Beautiful and terrible, this waltz of death was mesmerizing.