Divided We Fall (9 page)

Axe shook it off.
“That ain’t nice, bro,” he said. “I got lucky, I guess… luckier than most.”

“You been with this
bunch long?” Brad asked.

Axe leaned up against
the tailgate, being more careful to keep his head concealed behind the steel.
“What… you mean Roberts and Boone? Nah, I only been with this group for a
little over a week. I worked in supply, but there’s a bunch of us on the base
these days, and civilians been taking up that work lately. I asked to be moved
out here.”

Brooks laughed.
“Well, that was stupid.”

“Yeah, tell me
about it,” Axe said. “Don’t matter—I wasn’t any good at that logistics shit,
anyhow.”

The truck suddenly
stopped with a jolt, the engine still running.

“Why’d we stop?”
Axe asked.

Brad grabbed the
top of the bucket and rose to his feet; they were at the ambush site. The LAV
at the front of the column was still burning, its back hatch open with an
exposed body lying at the entrance. Behind it sat the destroyed HEMMET with its
cab windows shattered by gunfire and its tires boiling in orange flame. The M2
Bradley parked to the rear had also suffered the same fate. The wire still
wrapped around the perimeter showed Brad where the Primals had broken through; men
in uniform lay dead inside its perimeter. With nowhere to go, the gunfire would
have kept them pushed back and unable to fight the Primals, the anti-tank
rockets destroying their only protection.

“You think they’re all
dead?” Axe whispered, moving up from behind.

Brooks spoke up.
“Some got out; I saw them move away on foot. Whoever did this probably wanted
them to lead the Primals back to Savannah. Nobody here had a chance; this was a
deliberate and well-planned ambush. Those vehicles were killed with multiple
AT4s. There were a couple machine guns there… and there,” Brooks pointed at the
tree lines, “to keep heads down while the Primals moved in.”

Axe looked at
Brooks. “How do you know all of that?”

“Outside of hearing
it, I saw the disposed AT tubes and piles of brass. The guys who did this were
well equipped.” Brooks pointed a finger back in the direction of the small town,
at a large group of Primals following them. “We might want to stay ahead of
that.”

Brad reached over
the bed and slapped at its side. “Keep going,” he shouted.

Chapter
15

Already soaked in
sweat, Shane watched the sky grow dark with the fading of the sun. He hated the
night but knew its shadows would protect them, conceal their movement, and make
it easier to hide. With the dark, the flashes of light became more prevalent.
The tracer fire, muzzle flashes, and exploding mortars painted a picture as it
cast shadows through the sparse woods they’d entered while the concussions of
explosions echoed and bounced off the heavy cloud cover. They were surrounded;
fighting raged on all sides. Smoke, mixed with fog, slowed their movements to a
crawl; the Primals or men in black could be meters away and they wouldn`t know
it.

The team patrolled
ahead through the ever-thickening smoke toward the sounds of the heaviest
fighting, hoping to reach friendly lines or an Army patrol. Ella began coughing
uncontrollably; Chelsea pulled her to the side and sat her near a low, broken
stone wall. Sean saw them and raised a fist then lowered his palm, pushing them
to a resting stop. The group bunched up, taking shelter behind the wall. Sean
opened a water bottle and took a short drink before passing it back to the
others. Chelsea sat next to Ella, rubbing her back, the young girl wheezing
from the thick smoke and holding her sleeve over her face. Shane could see she
was hurting; even though it wasn’t her way to complain, he could see the pain
in the little girl’s tear–filled eyes.

Joey Villegas came
to their side and removed his uniform top then ripped the bottom off his brown
T-shirt. He used his share of the water to dampen the bit of cloth before tying
it over Ella’s face. “There you go, niñita; now you look like a real outlaw. This
will help you breathe strong,” he whispered.

Shane put a hand on
Joey’s shoulder. “Thank you; I owe you a new shirt.”

The Marine rifleman
tried to force a smile but failed. “No worries. If we don’t get through this
shit, you can have the rest of this one,” he said, pulling his uniform top back
on. Joey moved away and knelt near Sean. “Chief, we can’t stay here. This smoke
is fucking with my eyes too; I can’t see shit. We need to find a place to hide
or get back to friendlies.”

Sean leaned out,
peeking beyond the wall, then pulled back and sat against the barrier, looking
at the group. “The fighting is getting heavier toward main base.”

A volley of rounds
snapped in the woods behind them. The sound of moans and men’s screams joined
the fray. Shane tensed up, feeling anxious to be traveling again. The noise
seemed to be closing in on them. He checked his rifle to take his thoughts off
the dangers and to steel his mind. Shane moved closer and pressed against the
wall near Ella. She was curled against Chelsea now, her eyes closed but not
asleep. She sensed his stare and opened her eyes to look back at him. Shane
removed his glove and put a hand on her head. She grabbed his finger and held
it before closing her eyes again.

“I got her,”
Chelsea said, looking at him. Shane nodded as he took back his hand, pulled his
glove on again, and turned to look into the darkness.

When Sean and Joey
approached then leaned over them, Shane looked up. Sean knelt down, placing his
head close to Shane and Chelsea. “Change of plans; we’re going to cut west and
make a break straight for the perimeter fence.”

“What if the walls
are down?” Shane asked.

Sean looked away,
searching the night. “The perimeter is close, and there are towers and bunkers
on the perimeter, but main thing is they are clear of trees; we have to get to
someplace that won’t burn.”

Chelsea helped Ella
to her feet and readied her rifle. “I’m with you, Chief. Let’s just get out of
here.”

Ella gasped. Shane
watched her eyes grow large, and he turned his head. He spun and saw a group of
Primals dressed in rags lurch out of the smoke. Not wanting to fire his rifle
and alert more, he pushed off with his feet, swinging the butt of his rifle as
he moved. The weapon connected under the jaw of a charging man. Shane felt the
man’s head give and his momentum carrying him forward. The man struggled
underneath him. Shane used his left forearm to pin the Primal to the ground
while he rained down elbows to the Primal’s face with his right. He struck
until the thing stopped moving beneath him.

Shane looked around,
expecting to see more attack. Sean was standing over the body of another, a
thin band of smoke rising from his MP5. He grabbed at Shane’s collar and tugged
him to his feet. “Come on; we got to move now!” Sean said.

Shane stumbled to
his feet; he could just make out the figure of Chelsea breaking away through the
smoke. He turned and jogged ahead to catch up, the sound of Sean’s suppressed
submachine gun clacking behind him. A bright flash and a gunshot cracked just
to the front, followed by another long burst of rifle fire.

“Oh hell, we’re in
it now,” Sean yelled. Shane felt the push from behind as Sean moved him
forward. “Pick up the pace, we gotta break contact.”

Shane watched
Chelsea continue to the left, her rifle up and firing into the smoke with Ella
moving beside her with a firm hold on her pocket. He sprinted to their side,
grabbed the girl with one hand, and swung her over his left shoulder; he felt
her tiny hands grip his neck in a tight hold. Shane let his rifle hang from its
sling and drew his pistol. He jogged ahead, firing rounds at anything that
moved to his front. Behind him, he could hear Joey’s rifle and the crashing of
brush; he hoped it was the team following but didn’t dare to look back.

He ran ahead fast,
dodging branches. Light glowed from the trees to his front in the direction of
the perimeter fences and the field that surrounded it. Shane paused and looked
behind, flashes of light let him know the group was still there following him.
A figure burst from the tree line to his front right. Not bothering to identify
it, he raised his pistol and fired two quick shots, knocking it back. Ella
flinched and squeezed his neck. Shane strode ahead and leapt over the downed
body, moving slower now and trying to focus his eyes in the changing light. He
cut through the final rows of brush and suddenly found himself in waist-high
grass.

He spotted an empty
watchtower ahead and to the left. Shane turned back and saw Chelsea just behind
him; he raised his pistol and pointed to the tower. He saw the recognition in
Chelsea’s face as she passed him and headed off at a slow jog. Screams erupted
to the far right. In the distance near the fence, he could barely make out the
bobbing shadows of an approaching mob. A long section of fence was gone, the
twisted bits of chain link clanking as the frenzied horde moved over it. Shane
stuffed his pistol into its holster and drew a frag grenade; he pulled the pin
and lobbed it underhanded in a high swooping arc toward the void in the fences.
He hollered, “Frag out,” then increased the pace, chasing Chelsea to the
watchtower.

Within seconds, the
grenade exploded. Shane used his hand to cover Ella’s head as he sprinted for
the tower. He reached the bottom and saw Chelsea already halfway up the tower’s
ladder. More gunfire to the rear let him know that Sean and Joey were engaging
the mob. Shane grabbed a rung and started climbing, struggling with the ladder
as he tried to maneuver his arms and body around Ella, who was now trembling
against his chest. Feet from the top, he saw Chelsea looking down from the
hatch; she stretched her arms out, ready to grab Ella.

“No,” he shouted up
at her, “put fire on the mob; give them cover!”

Chelsea looked away
and disappeared from the tower’s hatch. He gripped the rungs tight and took in
a deep breath. Shane reached up and gripped the next rung, pulling with his
arms as he pushed with his legs. He cleared the hatch and dropped to his side,
crawling away from the opening. He peeled Ella from his chest and placed her in
a corner. She scrambled into the small space, placed her hands over her head,
and huddled in the dark. He heard Chelsea’s suppressed rifle as its flashes streamed
light through the tower windows.

Shane forced
himself up to his knees then to his feet; he stepped onto the tower’s catwalk
and raised his weapon. Searching the ground, he saw the parting of the tall
grass as the Primals broke through the breach in the fence. To the right, he
spotted Sean and Joey in the tree line, firing swiftly. Tracers leaving Joey’s
weapon sent red lasers of light, which disappeared as the rounds tore through
the advancing Primals. Seeing that the men in the trees were losing ground,
Shane pulled the last grenade from his vest and threw it hard at the break in
the fence. The explosion boomed and blew open a hole in the charging crazies.

The men on the
ground took advantage of the explosion and raced for the tower. Shane got back
on his rifle and fired into the lead runners, trying to create a separation so
Sean and Joey could get to the tower. He watched as Chelsea paused to reload;
she slapped a magazine home and continued firing. “They aren’t going to make
it!” she shouted.

Shane looked down
and saw that she was right… there were too many; a branch of the mob had broken
away and was on a path to intercept Sean. Shane adjusted his fire to the
smaller group, his own tracer fire catching Sean’s attention. He saw the larger
mob close to within ten meters. Shane clenched his teeth, knowing they would
not outrun them to the tower’s steps. He gripped his rifle and fired
desperately, trying to give his friends cover.

A pair broke ahead
from the crowd running nearly vertical to Sean and Joey; he saw Joey smack it
away with the spike of his tomahawk. Shane looked on helplessly as his friends
made their final stand just yards from the ladder. Another Primal assaulted
from behind. Sean flung it past him and stomped on the base of its neck. A
blinding light and swirling wind forced Shane’s eyes closed, and he looked away
from the ground. Shielding his eyes with his hands, he saw a small helicopter
above him, shining a bright spotlight down. Farther off, being led to the
target by the focused light, two Apache attack helicopters cut in low, driving
for the kill, guns spitting rounds.

Following the
perimeter fence, the smaller helicopter pulled off and continued down the fence
while increasing altitude as the lead Apache let loose a salvo of hydra rockets
at the breach in the fence and the field on the far side. Just as fast and with
a deafening roar, the tail bird swung around and fired danger close, using its
30mm gun to create devastation among the closing horde.

Sean, ignoring the
flying earth around him, sprinted to the tower with Joey close behind. The
helicopters continued fighting in tandem, chewing up the remaining mob moving
from the break in the fence. Chelsea kept her head down but continued to fire and
knocking down anything that got close to the men on the ground. Sean vanished
from Shane’s sight as he moved near the ladder directly below the tower. Shane
looked down and observed that the Primals had thinned out. The spotlight again
hit the tower as the three helicopters flew around it in a quick orbit before
dropping their noses and flying off again following the perimeter.

Chapter
16

“Where the hell
have you been?” A solidly built older man wearing a red flannel jacket shouted
from up the narrow drive in a booming voice. He was stomping in Joe-Mac’s
direction; Joe could tell by the man’s furrowed brow that he was fired up over
something. Carrying a heavy crescent wrench in his right hand, his left hovered
over the antique 1911 strapped to his hip in a cowboy holster, the big US
letters branded into its leather side. The gate guard stepped out of the way,
pushing Joe toward the old man storming down the path. Even in his mid-sixties,
Dan Cloud was an intimidating specimen.

“You know I kept
you on here to do work for me, not to go out on these little joy rides. Was
that you shooting earlier?” he said, admonishing Joe-Mac from a distance.
“Wasting more of my damn bullets.”

It was not the
first time he had been on the old man’s bad side. If this job on the mountain
were one of his usual gigs, he would have quit it by now over being tired of
the abuse. However, when you hire on a week before the end of the world, your
future employment options become limited. Shaking nervously, Joe squared up. Trying
to push his shoulders forward, he let his arms hang to the side and realized he
had grabbed his mace when he left the truck. This time he had important
information; Dan would listen to him.

“No sir, it—”

“Don’t push your
damn peacock chest out at me!” The old man stepped forward and pointed the
wrench at Joe. “The damn tractor’s broke again; I’m going to need your help to
get it—”

“Dan, there are
people out there. I saw them on the cut,” Joe shouted interrupting.

The old man lowered
the wrench and looked at Joe suspiciously. His gray eyebrows raised the way
they did when he was trying to solve a problem. “What do you mean there are
people on the cut? Nobody travels this way—not this far up the mountain.”

The gate guard
pushed Joe to the side, looking around Joe-Mac, and shook his head at Dan. “I’m
figuring they followed him, Dan.”

Dan waved his
hands. “Hold up, Gary,” he said, throwing his palm up to silence the guard then
pointed at Joe-Mac with his empty hand waving him in. “Tell me everything. What
did you see, boy?”

Joe dropped his
chin nervously, trying to form his words correctly. “Well, I… uhh… I’s making
coffee up by the old blockhouse—”

Dan walked toward
him. “So you’re dipping into the damn emergency rations again? Dammit, Joe, the
blockhouse is only two miles up the cut! We got coffee up at the damn cabin;
you think I prepped all of that shit just to have you go and burning it up
every time you get bored?”

Looking up at the
trees, Joe bit down on his lip then looked back in Dan’s direction with his
head down. “You done?”

“Continue,” Dan
scowled.

“See I’s, well, I’s
up to the old blockhouse making… Well, I was up there ’cause I had some
problems in town, and…”

“You get the
supplies?” Dan asked.

“I… ah, I got some
of ’em,” Joe said. “I got ’em in the truck… but, Dan, these folks, I think they
are dangerous. One of them killed his own man, and they said they were looking
for women.”

Dan walked around
Joe and stomped some grass away from an old stump then he dropped down, sitting
heavily. “Women you say? How many of them were there?”

“Well, I saw two at
first. I crawled into the brush to try to get closer when a van drove up. I had
to hide so they wouldn’t see me. Nevertheless, the man, the one in charge, he
talked about having trucks and more men come search the cut. He said they’d
come back later.”

“Later when?” Dan
asked, sitting up on the stump, now fully interested.

“I’m not sure, Dan;
the man said they were gonna eat and get some trucks, that’s all,” Joe replied.

The man looked down
at his boots and scratched at his head. “You put the brush back in front of the
drive?”

“Yes, sir,” Joe
said.

“I’m going to send
some of the boys out to cut fresh limbs to conceal it. I think you’re right
though; they’ll be back, and they’ll find us soon enough. The road shows too
many signs of wear for them not to track us to here.” 

Gary moved forward
again. “Probably followed that loud-ass truck the boy’s got and the bright
lights he likes running on it.”

Dan chuckled. “I’m
sure they did, but no point arguing about it,” he said. “Gary, I need you to
stay on watch a couple more hours. I’ll send one of the boys down here to back
you up.” Dan used his empty hand to push himself up to his feet, then spun and
turned to look at Joe. “You ain’t off the hook; follow me.”  

Joe stepped off
quickly, trying to keep up with Dan as he marched up hill, following the narrow
path that headed toward the compound. It was more of a mountain ranch, really…
a small cabin with two open barns—one over a hundred years old—the other, a
steel building. A rough-cut hobby farm rested in the only bit of cleared land.
The cabin was the nicest thing up there; solar and wind powered with a steel
roof, it would look right at home in any
Homes and Gardens
magazine.

Talking to Dan’s
daughter-in-law, Amy, Joe learned it was Dan’s wife who had wanted the cabin.
It was their dream home—a place to spend their golden years after Dan retired
from the Marine Corps. Unfortunately, she passed away before it could be
finished. Still, Dan built the house exactly the way his wife had wanted it.

Dan moved up here
and spent the next ten years alone. Adding the pole barn later and starting the
small farm, he dedicated himself to living off the grid. The old man always had
a feeling something bad was coming; he did not know what, but he wanted to be
ready when it happened. Signing on to put a new roof on the barn and help
harvest the fall crop, Joe was just lucky enough to be doing odd jobs for the
old man when it all started.

Joe was also there
the day Amy showed up at the cabin with the warning. She brought news from her
husband that something happened or was about to. Amy’s husband—Dan’s son—was
some big shot in the Army. He had inside information and a warning to lie low
for a spell. Still, they did not know what it was or how long it would last,
but Joe figured that as long as he was being paid, he might as well hang out.

Dan had immediately
locked the gates and concealed the driveway. He sat by the old C-Band satellite
dish day and night, catching news updates and trying to get word from his son.
As the world crumbled, he put attention on helping friends and neighbors who
lived near the ranch. Soon, the compound was full of people, five families in
total. Good people, mountain people, who knew how to live up there. They always
had game to eat, and they quickly went to work canning everything they could
from Dan’s garden.

After things
quieted down, Dan let Joe and some of the others make trips into town, but he
made them follow a strict set of rules so that they wouldn’t be followed back
up the cut. Months later, Joe was still here—no longer getting paid, but still
alive thanks to Dan. Joe grew tired of Dan’s rules and managed to break every
one of them, and the more he broke them without paying the price, the more
careless he got. He figured everyone left around this area was dead or had
moved on. Joe was wrong.

“I see you lost the
Sig,” Dan said, without looking back. “That stick thing you’re holding supposed
to replace it?”

Joe bit his lip,
not wanting to antagonize the man any more then he already was. “No, sir; I got
cornered at the market, lost the pistol and most of my gear. I managed to rig
this up at the sports store in town.”

“Does it work?”

Joe grinned,
looking down at the bloodstains covering the mace. “Good enough, I reckon.”

Joe followed Dan to
the top of the hill. He moved away from the cabin and proceeded to the steel
pole building where a group of four men sat out front preparing for the day’s
chores. The men carried pistols in holsters, but outside of that, no weapons
more useful than a shovel or a coffee cup. They’d never been attacked up the
mountain, so there was no need for it. Dan called out to one of the men,
ordering him to join Gary down at the gate, and then asked the rest to follow
him to the barn. Without hesitating, the men stopped what they were doing and
got to their feet.

Joe smiled,
watching the way people moved around Dan, not questioning him, just jumping
when he asked. Joe liked to consider himself more independent and freethinking
than that. Although, he knew if Dan barked, he would be just as obedient—at
least while the old man was watching. Joe joined the pack and followed Dan to
the old hay barn. He pulled back a large sliding wood door and moved to the
center of the floor where bales of hay were stacked.

Dan reached down
and hoisted a bale. “Gimme a hand, would ya?” Dan said. The other men quickly
joined in, moving bales to the back of the barn.

Joe stood beside
them, looking confused. “Ah, Dan, shouldn’t we be taking care of that thing I told
you about?”

The old man turned
and scowled at Joe. He moved back to the center and tossed away the last bale.
A trapdoor was located underneath. Twisting the dial, Dan fumbled with a
combination lock and then opened the trapdoor. Under the door was a large, dark
green, canvas tarp. Dan grabbed a corner and pulled it back, revealing a stack
of rifles and cases of food and dry goods.

“Dan! What the
hell? Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Joe gasped.

Some of the other
men began to laugh. “Those that needed to know… know’ d,” the old man said
before dropping into the hold. He reached down, lifted out a large duffle bag,
and dropped it to the edge. He unzipped the bag, grabbing for two box
magazines, then took a Ruger min-14 from the stack and handed it to one of the
men. Quickly, he did the same with another. “You boys take these and head out
to the cut; get up high and watch for traffic. Joe tells me that he saw some
folks moving this way that might be up to no good.”

“Should we stop ’em?”
one of the men asked; he was a tall man with a clean-shaven face, wearing a
tight gray T-shirt and jeans.

“If what Joe says
is true, this crew could be real dirty. Try to avoid ’em. But Kenny, if you see
them, get a good count. I need to know numbers—vehicles and equipment. Then get
your ass back here, okay?” Dan said.

The men
acknowledged the old man and left the barn, leaving just Joe and a straggly kid
they called Watson. Joe didn’t like Watson; he thought the kid was lazy. The
scraggly teen was the type who never left the house before everything happened,
more comfortable with a video game controller than a hammer.

Dan moved a rifle
to the side and grabbed an old pump-action shotgun. Going back to the canvas
bag, he retrieved a box, from which he grabbed a handful of green shells and,
one by one, loaded them into the gun. Dan handed the shotgun to Joe, and then
passed him the remaining box of shells. “Try not to lose this one,” Dan said.

The old man grabbed
the edges of the hold and hoisted himself out, then turned and tossed the
canvas cover back over its contents.

“Uhh, Dan? What do
ya want me to do?” Joe asked.

The old man ignored
him and moved off to the side before lifting and closing the hatch. He dropped
the lock into position and spun the dial, “Well, Joe, I been thinking on that.
What to do with you and the kid.”

“Come on now, Dan,
you don’t want to go grouping me with Watson here,” Joe said.

Dan twisted his jaw
as if he was chewing a piece of old gum then rolled his eyes back, looking up
at the ceiling of the old barn. “Watson, get back to the pole building; get the
families ready to move up the mountain,” he said.

Watson kicked at
rocks while keeping his hands in his pockets. “What you want me to say to them,
Dan?” Watson asked.

“Didn’t I just tell
ya? Get ’em ready to move—one bag each. I’ll let ’em know when; now go on.” Dan
turned and walked to the barn door, moving straight for the cabin then stopped
and looked back at Joe. “Come on, let’s go.”

Joe stepped
forward. Using the sling of the shotgun to put it over his shoulder, he wisely
kept pace with Dan. When they arrived at the cabin, they found Amy standing on
the porch. There was a lot of activity going on at the ranch—far more than
usual—and it had obviously attracted the women’s attention. Amy was at home on
the mountain ranch. Even though she was born and raised in the city, she found
that the mountain life suited her. Tall with a tan complexion, she was strong
from years of running, trying to keep up with her husband’s active military
career.

“What’s all the
commotion, Dad?” she asked.

Dan stopped and
looked at her. “It could be nothing, but until I know otherwise, I think you
should lead the families up to the other place.”

Amy looked at him,
surprised, then walked across the porch and leaned against a handrail. “That’s
close to two days of walking; are you sure?”

“Nah, I ain’t sure
of much. But even if I am wrong, it don’t hurt to get these folks moving around
some. And there’s provisions up at the lake spot that need rotatin’ anyhow.
Just get the people up there and settled in. I’ll send for you in a week.”

Amy stood upright
and looked Dan in the eye. “What is it, Dan?”

“Joe says he saw
some people on the cut; they might not be friendly. I just need you to do
this—get everyone to a safe spot so I can deal with the strangers.”

Amy nodded and
turned back to the cabin, letting the screen door shut behind her.

Joe stood back,
watching and growing frustrated. Dan checked his rifle and began following Amy
into the house. “Hey, Dan, don’t ya think we should be doing more to get ready?”

The old man kept
moving toward the cabin. Entering the covered front porch, he put his hand on
the knob and turned to look Joe in the eye. “Son, I’ve been getting ready for
this my entire life.”