Humanity Gone: Facade of Order (5 page)

Chapter 6: Ryan

              It feels like we have been driving all day as we finally reach the rendezvous point. We had to take as many back roads as possible so New America would not have the slightest clue of our plan at the Mill. I push open the passenger's side door and walk toward the other vehicles in our caravan. Most are SUVs and trucks. They use up a lot of gas, but the stabilized gasoline stockpile and our experimentation with bio-fuel have been successful. One thing most of the vehicles could use is some body work to help with all the dents and occasional bullet holes. They have been through a lot these past years. All of the squad leaders from the various cars are quickly around me. “Squad leaders” sounds odd, but I didn't know what else to call them. The Resistance is largely militaristic, which was discomforting at times, but it was the only way to remain safe. The squad leaders circle up and I take a knee in the dirt and lay the map out in front of them. It shows a rough sketch of the entire farm and gives each squad their designated quadrant.

             
Silent faces stare at me as they wait for me to begin talking. Sometimes I hate that others look up to me. I'm nothing special. This started with a bunch of kids that I helped to survive. Now it is a militia.

             
“Alright boys - quick recap. It is an old Amish farm they have taken control of. The entire property is roughly a square and divided into basically these four even quadrants. It's largely flat in this central area. These first two are the open fields. It is daylight so expect workers to be out there. Watch your fire. Amongst them are hostiles, so stay frosty. In this other quadrant are two houses and three mobile trailers. We believe the New America military is staying in the houses, and the forced laborers are in the double-wide trailers. Once the exteriors are cleared, sweep the interior. Remember how we practiced. In the final quadrant is the barn. We imagine cattle, military, or forced laborers are in there, but we really don't know about that one; so be careful on that one David. The entire property is surrounded by corn, so it should give us an edge as we move into position. Make sure your watches are set to 1035 exactly. We all move in at 1100. We still have the element of surprise on our side so wait until the last minute to open fire.”

             
I look up and all of the squad leaders are nodding. I would prefer to do this attack at night, but that felt even riskier. Most of the night vision goggles David once had are now dead or broken. Besides, most of our raids have been at night, and they will not expect this in the middle of the afternoon. I assign two leaders to each quadrant and they head out. That is about twelve men to each and should be plenty.

             
I hope it's plenty.

             
Our men aren't the best trained, but they are capable and have proven it several times. David took it upon himself to train most of these men himself. He was able to get into his police station's armory and provide us with the firepower that we needed for training and missions like this. Firepower that rivals what the New Americans typically wield. We've practiced a lot. Stories of Matthew’s brutality give the men all of the motivation they needed. Surprisingly, in the few raids we have run, the men never have seemed to mind taking lives. I guess that was a good thing, but it worried me. I've seen where that road goes...

             
“Alright men,” I shout out, “Check your weapons and watch each others' backs. I will see each of you in an hour after we take the Mill. Be safe. We know they won't show you any mercy so use discretion if you give it to them.”

             
A few of the vehicles move out. Carter sits in the passenger's side of the front car headed to the barns. That wooden structure is the wild card in this entire operation. We have no idea what they would find in there: goats, a weapons stockpile, or a tank. I'm hoping it's goats. I join up with the group going into the fields. One of the squad's men, Kevin, I believe his name is, walks up to me as I check the rifle slung over my shoulder. He is a recent addition that we found on a scavenging mission. His eyes are down - concentrated on preparing his own weapon as he speaks.

             
“Are you sure you should be going in with us?”

             
“I would never send you anywhere I wasn't willing to go myself.” I load a round into the chamber and Kevin looks at me with a slight smirk and a nod. I hate being treated differently.

             
My group climbs back into the car, and we head to the outskirts of the corn field. I check my watch. We are to all move in at 1100; it is 1050. I pull out my radio and check with David. His group is ready. Our pair of mobile radios is the last ones we have left. We once had a whole set, but batteries expired and the rechargeable batteries stopped living up to their name. They were a bit over-used in the beginning. We have a large radio back at home, but we don't have too many people to communicate with. We only scanned for New American frequencies. If we would ever be able to listen in on their chatter, we would gain a serious upper hand.

             
We exit the cars and begin walking through the corn field in a large line about arm lengths apart. The husks are nearly eight feet tall and ready for harvest. They should allow us to sneak right up on them. I take point in the center along with the squad's leader.

             
We stay low.

             
We stay quiet.

             
After several minutes of walking, movement and the brightness of daylight appear through the corn in front of us. We are close to the field. I glance at my watch. Two more minutes. The rest of the squad kneels at the edge of the corn row, hopefully adequately camouflaged among the husks. In the distance, I can see the barn and barely make out the houses and trailers. This place is even bigger than I had imagined. Dozens of workers toil over the land that stretches for acres. Guards walk among the workers. Eight workers, some no older than twelve, weed the open garden directly in front of us. A pair of soldiers with sub-machine guns draped across their chests patrols the perimeter around them at a steady pace. Their current route will bring them in front of us. The two guards round the corner and begin to walk directly in front of my line of men. Judging by their dumb smiles, they don't see us.

             
I look to the left and right with a finger to my lips. The New Americans continue to walk right in front of my men on the far right side. Only a few husks separate them – just enough to keep us hidden. We could probably reach out and touch them. The guards make their way slowly towards the middle of our line. They pass in front of Kevin who has a knife in his hand and glances at me.

             
I shake my head. Not now. It's still not 1100.

             
The pair continues their stroll. They are almost in front of me. I check my watch. We still have a minute to go. I glance to the squad leader beside me. We have to chance it.

             
I nod to him. I release my rifle to the shoulder strap and grab the knife from my tactical vest. The squad leader does the same. We'll take them both at the same time. This won't be the first time I have taken a knife to someone, but I didn't like it.               The New Americans get closer.

             
And closer.

             
I take a step forward and begin my lunge out of the husks when all of a sudden a shot rings out in the distance.

             
Then another shot. Both men in front of me turn towards the barn. Instinctively, the squad commander and I are both behind the New Americans and have our left hands over their mouths.

             
Our knives puncture their necks at the side. We pull through and lower them to the ground. I try not to look too closely as I release him to the dirt.

             
The rest of the squad emerges from the husks. A few of the workers freeze as they see us. Some drop to the ground. I pull my finger back to my mouth and gesture with my hand for the rest of them to get down.

             
We can still surprise the guards while they focus on the gunfire at the barn. We continue to move through the field. I glance quickly at the ground: cabbage. Yeesh. Up ahead is another pair of soldiers. Both of them are concentrating on the gunfire from the barn. One has his rifle up towards it and yells at the other. I point to Kevin and the man beside him and chop towards the new pair of New Americans. They stealthily move a few paces ahead with knives at the ready. The rest of the squad locks its sights on the two New Americans as our men approach them.

             
In an instant, Kevin reaches over and buries his knife into the chest of the military man. The other soldier does the same. The gun fire around the barn increases and the other guards from all over the fields run towards the barn. One in the distance turns, and we briefly make eye contact. He raises his gun towards us. It is time to act.

             
I turn to the men and shout, “Open fire.”

Chapter 7: Carter

              I was sent to back up the group attacking the barn. The normal infantry are to go in first and then my medical team is to follow as the situation becomes less hostile. Still, my medical team is armed as well, and most of them know their way around a shooting range. The rules of war no longer apply, and many times the New American's have executed medical personal trying to save lives.

             
We crouch among some trees in the brush about twenty yards from the barn. The attack group has moved ahead of us and so far everything remains quiet. I reach up and wipe some sweat from my forehead. The day is hot, especially with this bulletproof vest on. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for all the workers in the fields out there. Ryan led us on a few similar missions in the past few years. New America is really treating all the survivors they found like cattle.

             
I should know best; they treated me like an animal when I was in the mines.

             
I look to my left to the other medics. There are six of us. I asked Paige to stay home on this one. She agreed after a little bit of arguing. Paige was one of the survivors in Ryan's neighborhood, and was extremely capable of holding her own. I've never seen her fire a gun, but she could be as hard as nails when she needs to be. I hardly noticed her for the first year as I journeyed with Ryan's men all over the territory looking for Jocelyn and the twins. Bringing that family back together was my only concern. Sara and Caitlyn meant a lot to me, but Jocelyn was the one I really cared about finding. I asked everyone who we stumbled upon if they had seen her. The occasional liberated laborer would say he or she saw her, and most did not seem to know anything. Nothing ever panned out though until three years ago.

             
I stumbled upon an old man at one of the work camps. He was the first old man I had seen since before the plague. The New Americans used his expertise to fix their vehicles and machines. When he became too feeble they sent him to wither away on one of the farms. Being one of the few ones immune to the disease meant nothing to them.

             
After we took him back to our site, I held out a picture to him. It was a picture of Jon and Jocelyn and their parents. I found it in the cabin behind some canned food when we were preparing to leave for the UN center. I folded it into my pocket and forgot about it. A few days later, it was the only thing I had that reminded me of her. I managed to conceal it in my shoe before they sent me to the mines. It gave me comfort when I needed it during many nights.

             
I pulled the creased picture out in front of the old man as he pulled the blanket tighter around his frail body in the school's gymnasium, our impromptu medical triage. My medical team checked out everyone who joined up with the resistance at the gym. Many were malnourished or suffered from untreated injuries. After I checked people, I made it a habit to show them the picture. Usually they just shook their heads and apologized for not knowing. 

             
I pointed to Jocelyn in the photograph for the old man. “This girl... have you seen her anywhere? She would be a little bit older of course.” He grabbed it from me and held it close to his nose and squinted. His hand dropped into his lap and he turned the picture back to me face down.

             
“So...” I said while taking the picture back, “You haven't seen her either. That's okay. No one else with you had either.”

             
His eyes turned up to mine, and he brushed his long white hair back and to the left on his scalp.

             
“No...” he responded, “I have seen her. You don't forget someone who looked like she did...”

             
I still remember the way my heart jumped. But, the shake of his head suggested that his news wouldn't be good. The old man continued.

             
“I don't know how to say this. But she's dead. She, she started arguing with one of the guards one day and they shot her. I saw a lot of you children die that way, but the way she looked just was someone I will never forget. She looked like my daughter. I'm sorry.”

             
Regardless. That was years ago. The old man passed about a year later. The Resistance was mostly final year teenagers and twenty-somethings. The few younger children we found on these raids were “adopted” from someone within the Resistance. Painfully, we find few under the age of fifteen. The New Americans didn't have much use for children that young. It hurt thinking about it. Although I will never stop looking for Caitlyn and Sara, it's a good chance they were killed five years ago on that mall parking lot.

             
I pull out my pistol and check the round in the chamber one more time. I holster it and adjust the medical bag over my shoulder, and raise my head towards the barn. I can not see any of our soldiers. Things are being too...

             
BAM! I flinch. I guess it is go time.

             
Then several more explosions of guns fill the air. Steady gunfire begins up ahead, and my medical team looks at me wearily. The battle has begun. It is almost our time.

             
“Let's get closer, but don't rush in there. We need to be ready.”

             
We move slowly through the trees and the barn comes into focus. The large red building blocks our view from the majority of the field and houses. It is surrounded by thick trees and brush. Although, considering the heinous condition of most structures we find, it is in rather good shape.

             
Two bodies lie on the ground a few feet from the walls of the barn.

             
I exhale a bit when I see the New American markings across their sleeves. Many of their soldiers wear black uniforms, but we have tangled with New Americans wearing all different types of military fatigues. A few more gunshots ring out on the other side of the barn.

             
I reach for my weapon and the rest of my team follows suit. They line up behind me against the outside wall as I push on. There aren't any doors or windows facing into the woods so we have to go around. Gunfire continues to pour out from the other side. The barn obstructs our view of the entire field, so God knows what was happening out there. We move along the barn and towards the front. When I peek around the corner, the screams and explosions become loud as I finally glimpse the chaos.

             
Resistance men, our men, comb the area and dozens of bodies lie on the ground. Gunfire is still exchanged all over the acres of property. Most soldiers on the ground have the black New American uniforms. As my eyes scan, I finally see a few of ours, lying on the ground in front of the barn. A few Resistance soldiers kneel beside them in a circle, firing at targets that I cannot see. I pull back around and face my team. All of their wide eyes look back, anticipating my assessment.

             
“Okay. We have two of our guys down right out there, but it doesn't seem secure yet. I don't know if they can wait, and I am not chancing their lives. Henry and Alex, you tend to them. The rest of you, help me to secure the area around them and help as needed.”

             
I turn and move out with my pistol raised in front of me as we move along the front of the barn and into the battlefield. We cross the barn's door and join the circle around the two men a few dozen feet from the entrance of the barn in the dirt road. More gunshots fill our ears as a spent casings fall to the ground in front of me. The New Americans are still putting up a fight. One of our soldiers shouts to me as we gathered around the two injured men.

             
“This one's shot in the arm, and the other one took one to the shoulder. They look bad.” Judging by the wound sites, they should be okay, but best not to take chances. Henry and Alex begin treatment of them and provide comforting words as they administer pain killers and work on the bleeding. The rest of the team provides fire upon a group of New Americans who took refuge behind a rusty tractor in one of the fields.

             
I turn back to the barn. The door is cracked open and a few shots ring out from the inside. I raise my weapon and keep it locked on the entrance. Something is going on in there.

             
Thirty seconds pass and no more shots project from within. A man's curse word echoes out of the barn. Someone needs help. I look to one of our men still kneeling beside the wounded.

             
“What was in the barn?” I ask him.

             
“We had cleared it,” he shouts back while firing upon the distant tractor. “Just some animals. Dave and a few men went in there to secure the workers we found safely inside.”

             
I turn to the medical squad.

             
“Stay here, I'm going to quickly check this out.”

             
“Are you sure that's safe, Carter?”

             
“I'll be fine. They need you out there, probably someone inside just took a stray bullet. It's already cleared.”

             
My feet carry me closer to the entrance. Traces of the sun's glow projects through the cracks in wooden planks on the other side of the wooden structure. The long lines of light, lightly cover the straw floor. Black suited bodies lie on the ground among stacks of hay bales. Some of the bales are nearly as tall as me and block my view of the ground level of the barn. After a quick check, the bodies are all New Americans. I crouch around the perimeter counter-clockwise as occasional gunshots and yells continue from outside. I step over a few more bales. We are lucky; it seems the barn was just used to stockpile hay for cattle. I discover several stables along the right wall, but each of the doors is shut. I turn to face the opposite wall on the other side of the barn. The stables on that side are all open and what looks like a small loft overlooks the entirety of the barn. The center of the barn is a wide open space filled with the high hay bales and a rusty tractor. The workers and David should be in here somewhere. Maybe a worker is hurt. I start checking each stable; there are four but each has a closed door. The only way to know what is inside is to open the door. I stand and push the door to the first one.

             
More hay. I crouch and move to the next one.

             
I slowly push the door to the next one as another shot thunders from outside. It seems loud; I hope everything is okay out there.

             
Empty.

             
I waste no time with the third door. I throw it open, quickly returning that hand to my pistol.

             
Two malnourished horses. One is all white and the other is a deep brown. This is no time to admire them.

             
I move to the last one. As I push my hand against the door I hear voices on the other side.

             
While pressing my ear to the door, a portion of the door to the horses splinters away from a gunshot. Another gunshot engulfs my ears. It sounded real close to the barn.

             
Wait.

             
The shot was from within the barn, and was aimed at me.

             
I hear the horses whine loudly. I hope that didn't hit them. Just as I turn to face the shooter, a hand grabs me by the mouth and pulls me into the fourth stall. Right as I turn to swing a fist at the owner, I see David's face. He catches me off guard. Beside him are nearly another dozen faces. Most are people in rags. The workers.

             
“Get the hell in here!” David yells as he slams the stall door shut. “There's someone on that second level loft taking shots. We are trapped in here. I don't know how the hell you just got in here alive but get down.”

             
Another shot pierces a hole through the door and goes through the thick exterior walls on the other side. The crowd of workers crams even tighter together. They look dirty. Pathetic even. The stacks of hay must have provided enough cover when I entered from the shooter. He got his first clear shot when I was outside this door. Lucky doesn't begin to describe the fact that I am still alive.

             
“What's the plan?” I whisper to David. “Is there anyone else who was with you?”

             
“The rest of my squad moved into the houses from another exit of the barn. I stayed here to secure these workers then this guy started firing from that loft up there. He's not the best shot, but he's good enough.” David looks down at his arm. A large chuck of his left bicep is missing and his arm hangs limp. Blood runs down his arm and forms clumps of red on the dirt floor. It looks excruciating.

             
“I'll live,” he declares. “We need to take care of this now before anyone else comes into the barn.”