Divided We Fall (8 page)

Chapter
14

The roar of the
fire made its way down the narrow main street. Brad moved close to the window
and looked out, the distant sky glowing orange. Black smoke seemed to fold over
on itself as it boiled and rolled on the wind, growing thicker by the moment.
Brooks leaned over the windowsill and fired suppressed shots into the street
below, knocking down approaching Primals. Distant explosions and firefights
echoed like a Fourth of July celebration from the direction of Savannah.

Brooks had met up
with Brad and the team in the brick storefront less than an hour earlier.
Covered in soot and smoke, Brooks managed to break away from his scouting
mission without being followed. He pulled his rifle from the window and dropped
the magazine. “That’s the last of ’em. But they’re gonna keep coming,” Brooks
said. He moved up beside Brad and followed his gaze to the distant smoke then
said, “Wind is the only thing keeping the fire off us—for now, anyway. If the
wind direction shifts, we’re going to be in some trouble.”

Brad nodded and
pulled back from the window. He found a dusty chair and dragged it away from
the wall before dropping into it. “How far did you follow them?” he asked.

“Not far; too many Primals
once I got over the hilltop, hundreds—maybe thousands—of them moving down
toward the base. I’m sure they’re at the fences by now… probably explains the
arty shots we’re hearing. I cut through the heavier woods ’til I lost them then
turned back and headed for Main Street. There’s a shitload of movement out
there. Good thing you all are so noisy and leave an easy trail; I would have
walked right past this place on a normal day.”

Brad shook his head
at the offhanded comment and asked, “Did you see who was shooting at us?”

“No, but whoever it
is, it’s a bold move starting this fire then leading those Primals to the
outpost.”

“Leading?” Brad
asked.

Brooks pushed
rounds down into the magazine to top it off then smacked the magazine’s spine
against the palm of his hand before locking it back into his M4. “You don’t
think this was by chance, do ya? The fire, these Primals, the ambush… I’m
guessing they lit the fire back behind the neighboring cities then drove up
ahead and guided their movement right to the outpost.”

Brad looked down at
his boots. “But why?” he questioned.

“I don’t know.
Nobody can take down Savannah without destroying it, and if crazies overrun the
place, who would want it? This has got to be a diversion for something.”

“A diversion for
what? What would they—Ella,” Brad said.

Brooks pursed his
lips; he turned back to the window and raised his rifle, using the scope to
look at the distant intersections. “We need to get back most ricky-tick. I have
a feeling things are going to go sideways in a hurry.”

The machine gunner,
Axe, walked into the room, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor. “Sergeant,
it seems clear downstairs; can we get out of here?” he said in a booming drawl.

Brad turned back
toward the husky soldier. “How are the others?”

“We good, Sergeant,
but not too anxious to spend the night in Primal Central. Roberts was saying he
knew of a big old dump truck up the street,” Axe said. “You think maybe we
could drive it back?”

Brad turned to
Brooks who shrugged his shoulders. “Beats walking, I suppose… and if we can’t
go through the Primals, why not go over ’em.”

Brad climbed to his
feet and reached for his assault pack. “Okay, let’s get moving then.”

“Alright,
Sergeant,” said Axe then turned and thumped back down the stairs to the lower
level, his boots seeming to stomp on every step. Brooks turned to face Brad
with a grin on his face. “See? Noisy as hell.”

“I know, I know. So
we have a plan then?” Brad asked.

“Uh huh,” said
Brooks, moving to the doorway. He turned and looked down the stairs, waiting
for Brad to catch up. “But let’s see what this truck looks like first.”

Brad followed
Brooks down the stairs and into the storefront at the bottom. The building was
long and narrow. With knocked-over clothing racks and garments lying everywhere,
it was obvious that it was formerly some sort of consignment store. Roberts was
at the store’s front display window with a lanky soldier next to him; Lanky was
wearing a worn coonskin cap on his head.

“Soldier, what the
hell you got on your grape?” Brad asked.

“Just a hat,
Sergeant. I lost my patrol cap when we were running back there,” Lanky said.

“And that’s all you
could come up with? No, no, don’t even answer that.” Brad stepped closer to the
tall soldier and saw
Boone
on the man’s nametape. “You any relation to
Daniel?” Brad said.

“Nah, well… heck, I
don’t know… maybe,” Boone said.

Brooks moved them
to the side and looked out into the street. “I don’t care who you’re related to.
Where is this dump truck?”

Roberts put on his
pack. “It’s an old tri-axel sitting by a big garbage pile, just up the street
at the end of this block on the right. It’s one of our landmarks when we patrol
this area.”

Brooks put his hand
on the handle to the front door. “Okay, Roberts, you’re on me. Brad, take up
the rear with Noisy Boy and Stretch. We move fast and quiet; try to keep
fingers off the weapons unless we have to. Any questions?”

Axe raised a hand.
“I’m guessing Boone is Stretch, but who is Noisy Boy?”

Brooks made a
motion of his palm slapping his forehead. He looked at Roberts and received a
nod in reply. “I got it,” Roberts said.

Brooks held the
door open, allowing Roberts to slip out and disappear to the right. Brooks
handed the door off to Boone and followed Roberts into the street. Brad reached
back, tapped Axe on the shoulder, and motioned him forward. Axe stepped to the
door and stumbled ahead, slapping and knocking over a stool.

“Guess we know who
Noisy Boy is now,” Boone chuckled.

Axe shook his head
at the comment and moved out. Brad ordered them ahead, taking the door from
Boone and following close behind. Roberts and Brooks were already at the end of
the block. The smoke was growing thicker and obscuring their vision. The
roadway was surprisingly clear; abandoned vehicles that had been blocking the
streets were pushed to the sides, and wreckage and barriers were removed. Brad
turned his attention far ahead and watched as Brooks crouched and looked around
the corner. Roberts moved on, crossing the street before turning to wave the
others up. Brad walked swiftly, turning every few seconds to check their back
trail.

Brooks was still at
the corner when Brad reached his position, whereas the others had already
crossed the street. Brooks acknowledged Brad then they ran across together to
join the rest of the group.

“How much farther?”
Brad asked.

Roberts looked back
over his shoulder then pointed to an empty lot. “It’s right here, around this
corner; can’t ya smell it?”

The sweet stench of
rotting garbage blended heavily with the regular rot of the small town. Brad
held Axe back to cover the rear while the rest of the men stacked up on the
corner building. Brad moved to the front with Brooks and peeked around to look
where Roberts pointed. Beyond the building was a blacktop parking lot entirely
covered and piled with garbage. A partially filled dump truck sat backed up to
the enormous mound of garbage. Another remnant of the fall, the truck was most
likely brought here in an attempt to move the village’s waste—obviously, a
failed operation—and the now abandoned truck sat as an empty reminder of the
town’s failure.

As Roberts
described, it was a tall, flat-sided dump truck with three large tires under
the bucket and a high set cab. The truck looked new, the paint still glossy,
the cab doors closed, and windows intact. A white sticker on the door noted the
name of a now extinct gravel hauling company.

“Looks to be in
good shape; think we can get it rolling?” Brad asked Brooks.

Brooks looked
around. “Think the keys are in it?”

Boone pressed ahead
and looked at the truck. “I don’t need keys, Sergeant; we got trucks and
tractors like that on the farm at home. I can get it going.”

Brad turned to
Boone and smacked him on the coonskin cap. “Well, get after it then. Take
Roberts with you to watch your back.”

Boone grinned,
showing a wide gap in his front teeth, then stepped around the corner and ran
to the truck with Roberts close behind. The two soldiers stopped hard when a
long burst of machine gun fire ripped from Axe’s position. Brad spun around,
ready to admonish the SAW gunner when he saw a horde closing from out of the
smoke.

“Holy shit!” Brad
shouted, raising his own rifle and letting loose a volley of rounds. “Where the
hell did they come from?”

Brooks reached
down, pulled Axe to his feet by the back of his vest, and yelled “Too many! Get
to the truck!”

Axe kept his finger
down, walking backwards with Brooks towing him along. Strafing the street, he
kept the mob suppressed, knocking down the lead runners while slowing the rest.
Brooks made the corner and let go of Axe’s vest then dropped in beside him and
joined the fight, allowing Axe precious moments to reload. Once clear of the
street, Brad stepped out to the right and took up a kneeling firing position,
putting rounds down range. He glanced back during a reload and saw that Roberts
and Boone were entering the truck’s cab; they slammed the door shut behind them
and opened the side window. Roberts leaned his rifle out and prepared to open
fire.

“Got you covered!
Go, go, go!” Roberts shouted.

Brad slapped Brooks
on the shoulder to let him know he was peeling off, and then sprinted for the
truck. At the rear gate, he jumped and caught the back steel grating of the
dump truck’s swinging gate. He climbed, and digging with his feet, pulled
himself to the top. Spilling over the edge, he scrambled back to his feet and
looked over the side. The mass was building and widening at the street’s face;
Brad could see them swarming from the soldiers’ blind spots.

Brad raised his
rifle and aimed at the corner position, laying down deadly fire over the heads
of Axe and Brooks. Brooks looked back to see Brad on line then moved back
again, taking Axe with him. He turned and shoved Axe ahead, then sprinted. Brad
kept the Primals back as his friends ran for the truck. Roberts fired from the
cab, creating an effective crossfire. Through his peripheral vision, Brad saw
Axe jump for the gate; he caught the edge but could not pull himself up. Brooks
grabbed his boot and heaved him up. Axe pulled and scrambled before flipping
over the ledge and crashing in the garbage at Brad’s feet.

As the horde closed
in, Brad threw a grenade at the corner, the blast knocking a hole in the
closing mob. He turned and saw Brooks’ gloved hands reach for the gate. Brad
let his rifle hang from the sling, leapt to the gate, and caught Brooks’ hands.
Using his legs, he pulled his friend into the truck moments before the mob
rebounded and crashed into it. Brad dropped and collapsed back with exhaustion,
listening to the roar of the crowd surrounding the truck.

Brad lay back in
bags of rotting garbage. “Is everyone okay?” Brad gasped over the screams of
the Primals. Axe rolled over and pushed himself to his knees; he franticly
wrestled with a large black bag and tossed it out of the truck. “Can they get
in here?” he asked.

Brooks eased
himself up and looked over the gate. He glanced back at the others. “If they
could, they already would be.”

The truck vibrated
and coughed before black smoke belched from the large stacks behind the cab.
The truck’s gears ground and squelched then shuddered as the truck lurched
back. Brad climbed over the bags of garbage to the front. The large dump truck’s
bucket blocked his view into the cab. He moved to the front corner of the
bucket, climbed to the top, and yelled over the edge, “Just drive and get us
the hell out of here.”

Roberts must have
heard his shout; the truck crept back, bumping around as it crushed bodies
under the big wheels. Again, gears ground as the oversized vehicle changed
direction, and then lurched forward. Roberts guided the truck onto Main Street
and headed in the direction of Savannah. Once in the center of the road, the
truck’s speed increased, creating separation on the pack following.

The speed helped
move the stink of the garbage away from the men. Brad looked around the pile
and saw Axe at the tail end of the truck, his T-Shirt pulled up over his face
and his head hanging out the back.

“You might want to
pull your head back into the bucket. We still don’t know if there are any more
shooters out there,” Brooks warned.

Axe put his hand to
his mouth and eased back before clumsily falling over and rolling into bags of
garbage. He flailed violently, grabbed the bags in his arms, and threw them out
of the bucket. Brooks and Brad both burst into unsympathetic laughter watching
the big man struggle.

Brad reached out
and pulled Axe’s flailing body back to a seated position. “Calm down there,
hero; save it for the Primals.”

Axe brushed a
blackened banana peel off his sleeve then put his head back. “I’m sorry—I just
have a weak stomach, is all.”

Brooks reached into
his breast pocket and removed a small, Chap Stick-looking tube. He stretched
out his arm to Axe. Axe shot him a sideways glance. “Ughh… no thanks; my lips
are fine, and I’m not into sharing lipstick.”

“It’s menthol… for
under your nose, dumbass. Rub it on your upper lip; it’ll help with the
stench.”

Axe took the tube
apprehensively and wiped it over his lip as suggested. He took in a deep breath
through his nose then coughed, clenching his eyes shut. Brooks snatched the
tube back from Axe. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? How’s a goofy
bastard such as yourself survive the apocalypse?”