Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line (13 page)

“Do we have to, you know, take care of those things?”

“No. Spike has people who’ll do that for us when we stop for the night. All we have to do is drive the wagon and try not to steer them off a cliff.”

“Oh. Well that’s good.”

“What if infected come?” Sabrina said. “This caravan is going to be loud.”

“If we’re on the road, we leave it to the security detail. When we stop, the wagons will be arranged in a two-layer square formation. Women and children will sleep inside the formation, men on the perimeter. No exceptions.”

“So you won’t be in the tent with us?” Elizabeth said. She did not look happy with this development.

“Not after nightfall.”

“So who’s going to keep me warm at night?”

I smiled at her. “You can snuggle up with Sabrina.”

The girl snorted. “Not likely. I have a tendency to hit people who touch me in my sleep. No offense, Liz.”

“None taken.”

My fiancé still did not look happy. I reached out and held her hand. “It’s only for a few weeks. Then we can go back to our usual tangle of limbs.”

“I like our tangle of limbs. It’s comforting and good for circulation.”

“Among other things.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes. “For Christ’s sake. You know I can hear you two, right?”

I started to say something, then heard the creak and rattle of a buggy-for-hire pulling up in the row between wagons. A familiar voice called out to me.

“Looks like I caught you just in time,” Eric said.

I turned and watched him pay the driver with a pair of .308 rounds. Caleb Hicks hopped out of the back. He was dressed in fatigues and carried a large rucksack on his back and a smaller go-bag in his right hand. There was a pistol in his chest rig, an M-4 hanging from a tactical sling on his chest, and on either side of his pack were lashed two long-guns. One was a Benelli combat shotgun and the other was a .308 SCAR battle rifle in sniper configuration. In his left hand he held his short-handled spear. Eric was similarly armed, although his sniper rifle was an M-110 I had given him a couple of years ago.

“Better hop in,” I said. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

Eric clambered aboard, stowed his gear in the back, and sat on one of the short seats just behind the bench. Caleb took the seat on the other side. Sabrina looked at him a moment with brow furrowed, then pointed a finger.

“I recognize you. You were the guy at the gate when I first got here.”

The young man held out a hand. “Sergeant Caleb Hicks, First Reconnaissance Expeditionary.”

“Sabrina Garrett. I have no idea what an expedition whatever-the-fuck is.”

For maybe the third time since I’d met him, Caleb laughed out loud. “I’m in the Army.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that one out on my own. What are you doing here?”

He nodded toward Eric. “Ask him.”

Sabrina turned. “Well?”

“He’s hired muscle.”

“Can we trust him?”

“I do.”

“I’ll second that,” I said. Sabrina turned her gray eyes toward me.

“Really?”

“Bet your life on it.”

The suspicion left her gaze as she reassessed Caleb. Her eyes started at his face and traveled slowly down to his feet and back up again. Her head tilted to one side and I saw a ripple of something in her expression I was pretty sure I did not like.

“All right then, blue-eyes. Welcome aboard.”

I glared at both of them. Sabrina did not notice. Caleb merely shrugged as if to say,
what do you want me to do about it
? Beside me, Elizabeth twitched convulsively and covered her mouth.

“You know what they say about Traveler women,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart, I love you dearly, but please stop talking.”

*****

We rode out the north gate in a cacophony of rattling and animal grunts and clopping of hooves. Once outside the wall, the noise wasn’t so bad. No close buildings to reflect sound back at us. The caravan swung westward along the crumbling remnants of the old highway.

I took a moment to look back at the place I had called home for nearly two years. It looked different than when I had first arrived. The wall had been reinforced with another layer of wooden palisade. The expansion was coming along nicely; in two or three weeks it would be finished. There were more guards on the catwalks and in the towers. Men on horseback patrolled the outer edge of the field surrounding town, eyes searching the forest for signs of infected. When we approached the edge of the wall on the western side, I caught sight of movement and looked toward it. Standing at the corner was Lincoln Great Hawk. We had already said our goodbyes and settled our business transactions, but it was nice to see the big Apache had taken the time to see me off. I waved to him, and he waved back. His expression did not change, but he gave a single nod of his head as I rode by. For the Hawk, that was practically wailing and throwing flower petals.

Then we were past the wall. The caravan plodded slowly forward and the town behind me grew smaller and more distant. Eventually, we topped a rise, went down the other side, and Hollow Rock disappeared from view. I did not look back, but I did wonder if I would ever see the place again.

A warm hand slid into the crook of my elbow and I felt soft lips press against my cheek.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Elizabeth said. “We’re making the right decision.”

I looked into her eyes and felt I could drown in them, like being pulled into a dark, inviting ocean. “I know.”

The sky was dark blue to the west. A cold wind picked up from the north and made the wagon sway from side to side. I stared into the distance and felt something within me fade and lighten, as if a part of me had come untethered and drifted off on the breeze.

It felt good to be on the road.

Heinrich stayed with the wagons while his men rode forth to scout the road ahead.

He was dressed like a trader, heavily armed and wearing leather anti-ghoul armor over his arms, shoulders, midsection, and lower legs. His men were similarly attired, all two-hundred and thirty-four of them.

The raider chief had spent the last two months in the vast openness of northern Kansas training his new recruits. He had started out with two-hundred and seventy, but thirty-six had not made the cut. Some attempted to desert and were caught and executed. A few others died in training, something he had warned them could happen because of the intensity and harshness of what he was putting them though. The rest died from accidents and mishaps. Or, as Heinrich thought of them, idiotic mistakes. Not that he mourned the fallen—far from it. Rather, he found there was something appealingly Darwinian about weeding out the weak, the frightened, and the truly stupid.

Now what remained was a hardy fighting force led by the small number of veteran raiders Heinrich had started out with. He had retained the title of chief instead of naming himself a general, figuring it would be too confusing for the men who had been with him from the beginning. He had made Maru and Carter his two colonels, promoted the other squad leaders to majors, and assigned the rest of his original band as lieutenants. The twenty-six sergeants in the tribe, each heading up his own squad and answering to some lieutenant or another, had been promoted from within the ranks of the newcomers.

The rules were simple: Heinrich’s word was law. The rank structure was strictly enforced. Everyone was to conduct themselves as if they were humble traders until told not to. When it came time to do their bloody work, everyone fought. Cowardice was punished with brutal permanence. Valor was richly rewarded. Anything more complicated than that, Heinrich theorized, would only lead to unnecessary confusion.

The day was waning, the last light of the low winter sun fading under the onslaught of nightfall. Heinrich waited patiently, hands loose on the reins of the team of oxen that had spent the day pulling his cart. Just as the first stars came out, his men returned to camp and rode over to Maru to make their report. The big Maori listened to them, then motioned to one of the riders and began heading in Heinrich’s direction.

“What did you find?” Heinrich asked when they arrived. Maru told the man next to him to give his report.

“Caravan about five miles ahead, sir,” the new recruit said. “Moving along Highway 56.”

“Disposition?”

“I counted fourteen wagons, twelve men on horseback. Maybe forty people total, all armed.”

“Any Blackthorns?”

“I didn’t see any, sir.”

Heinrich rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t mean they’re not there. What do you think Maru?”

“We should send a couple of scouts to trail them. Get a look at ‘em in the morning. If it’s like the man says, we get out ahead of them and set up an ambush.”

“I concur. Send Locke. Have him take one of the new guys, show him how it’s done.”

“Right, Chief.”

*****

Dawn brought with it the beginnings of a storm. The wind was cold and hard and unrelenting. Heinrich sat on his horse wearing a gray cloak sewn from a pair of wool Army blankets. The cloak’s hood hid his face from view, only the dark brown of his scarf visible beneath the cowl. Heinrich could see the fires of the caravan he was tracking in the distance. They did not look far away, but out here on the plains, things were often more distant than they seemed.

Maru, Locke, and the newcomer scout he had spoken with the day before emerged from the treeline to his right, riding hard. Heinrich nodded to them when they arrived.

“Were you seen?”

“Don’t think so, Chief,” Maru said.

“What did you find?”

Maru jerked his head toward the scout. “Just like he said.”

“Blackthorns?”

“Didn’t see any. Or anybody who moved like ‘em.”

Heinrich nodded approvingly. “Go find Carter. Tell him to take two squads and block their road to the east. You and Fallon set up on their flanks. Make sure everyone stays hidden. Use your ghillie suits.”

“Right, Chief.”

“Do not fully engage. Take potshots on Carter’s signal and keep them pinned down. I’ll ride in with the rest of the men and nail them from behind. Try to spare the women if you can.”

“Kids?”

Heinrich shook his head. “Slaves are small time. We’re done with that. But the men haven’t fucked anything in a while. Bad for morale.”

“Right, Chief.”

“Set radios to channel eight.” With that, Heinrich rode back to the wagons waiting behind him.

Four hours later, everyone was in place. Heinrich keyed his radio. “Carter, commence the attack.”

Two seconds passed. Carter acknowledged by shooting the driver of the lead wagon in the chest and then cutting the legs out from under one of the oxen pulling his cart. The confusion was immediate. The wounded ox thrashed helplessly on the ground, bleeding and mewling in agony. Shouts went up and down the line of traders as they floundered to rouse themselves from shocked surprise and circle the wagons. Before they could, more shots came at them from the north and south simultaneously.

Despite their surprise, the traders moved quickly once they knew what they faced. A few leaders took charge and organized everyone, getting them into defensive positions. As they did, the men on horseback rode fast circles around the wagon train, pouring suppressing fire in the general direction of where the shots were coming from. Problem was, the shots seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

“Ready for you anytime, Chief,” Carter said into his radio.

“On our way,” Heinrich replied. “Standby.”

He had left the ambush location up to Carter, and as usual, he had picked a good one. Heinrich and his men waited inside the barn of an abandoned farmstead a few hundred yards off the highway. The flat, open terrain left them nowhere to hide, making the barn ideal.

Fifty men on horseback crowded flank to flank inside the barn while the rest of the Storm Road Tribe hid behind the barn, awaiting orders. There were not enough horses for everyone, so the rank and file would have to charge in on foot. Light infantry, Heinrich called them to their faces. They seemed to like the title. Inwardly, he knew they were nothing more than cannon fodder.

Heinrich keyed his radio. “Rourke, do you copy?”

“Lima Charlie, Chief.”

“Proceed with silent charge. Stay low and quiet, and try not to let them spot you too far out.”

“Roger that. On our way.”

He heard the sound of boots pounding over cold earth and frozen snow as the infantry departed. “Carter, let me know when the infantry is engaged.”

“Copy, Chief.”

Then Heinrich waited. The popping of gunfire and screams of wounded and dying men reached him despite the distance and the walls of the barn. He hoped there were not too many infected around. It did not occur to him to wonder how many men he was losing.

“Infantry is engaged, Chief.”

“Roger. On our way.” He motioned to a man posted by the barn door. “Open it up.”

The door opened and the riders trotted out in orderly fashion. Heinrich rode up and down the ranks and dressed the men into a wide skirmish line. When they were properly arrayed, he gave the order to move out.

It took less than a minute to come within sight of the caravan. The infantry troops had spread out into two large units and had enveloped the wagon train in a classic pincer maneuver. The ambushers on the north, south, and east sides of the highway had ceased fire and were awaiting orders.

He ordered his men to charge. As his mount increased pace to a gallop and the thunder of hooves reverberated on both sides of him, he watched three of his men throw pipe bombs over the circled wagons and into the cluster of defenders within. He could not see how many traders were hit, but it was enough to allow the infantry troops to seize the reins of a team of oxen and drag them away from the circle. They did not make it far, however, because the brake on the wagon was set, forcing a raider to leap into the driver’s seat to disengage it. He caught a bullet in the shoulder for his efforts and tumbled screaming to the ground. Despite this, Heinrich grinned as the wagon was pulled out of formation. He spurred his horse to move faster and rode beside one of his cavalry squad leaders.

“Blain! Take your men and ride for the breach!”

Blain nodded to show he’d heard the order and complied. Heinrich raised his hand and gave two signals, the first telling the cavalry to slow down, the second telling them to fall in with Blain’s squad. The men did as they had been trained to do.

Blain’s cavalrymen hit the wagon train like a hammer, tearing into the traders within and riding over any who got in their way. Heinrich broke off, signaled for the rest of the cavalry to follow him, and rode a circle around the wagons. As he did so, Blain led his men around the interior of the defenses and then rode back out through the breach. He exited just ahead of Heinrich, who led his squad of hand-selected raiders into the breach and hit the traders again. He quickly realized he should not have bothered. Only a few defenders remained. One tried to take aim at him, but Heinrich was faster. Two cracks from his pistol and the man fell over backward. A few of his other men fired pistols or swung hand weapons into the faces of people trying to pull them from their mounts. As Heinrich exited the breach, he signaled his men to leave off and ordered the infantry to move in and neutralize any remaining hostiles.

At a signal from their chief, the cavalry backed off. Heinrich found Blain and his men and commended them for their efficiency and competence. He told Blain to send two dozen men to set up a perimeter and patrol it.

“No one comes in, no one goes out. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Blain said.

“Good. Make it happen.”

Heinrich smiled as the man rode off. He could tell by the look in Blain’s eyes he’d created another convert. He’d given the man a chance to be strong, to be powerful, to prove himself. And he had. He’d absorbed Heinrich’s praise like a sponge absorbs water. Now he would be loyal. Now he would be fearless. It would probably get him killed someday, but in the meantime, he would be very useful.

*****

“Can you believe the fucking luck, Chief?”

Heinrich smiled at Carter. “A few months ago I’d have said I didn’t believe in luck. But now …”

Carter picked up an RPG launcher and looked it over. “Two years. Two years of feed bags and junk and slaves and a little food and guns and ammo here and there, and now look at us. And all it took was two good scores.”

Heinrich scanned the loot they’d won. Three of the fourteen wagons had been loaded with supplies obviously meant for the traders to subsist on during their journey. The rest, however, had contained trade goods. Food, grain, liquor, crossbows, bolts, and in the false bottoms of two wagons, they had discovered twelve RPG launchers and forty rockets. Just two of the launchers and ten of the rockets would have been worth more than the rest of the trade combined. But Heinrich had no intention of selling them. These weapons had a grander destiny.

Maru approached and tapped his machete against his chest by way of salute. “Finished the BDA, Chief.”

Heinrich noticed a new guy standing nearby glance at Maru in confusion. “Stands for battle damage assessment,” he told him.

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

Heinrich turned back to Maru. “What did you find?”

“Four women still alive. Not pretty, but serviceable.”

“Good. What else?”

“Rest of the traders are dead except two. One of the new guys, fella named Wells, is interrogating them.”

Heinrich looked at Carter. “Kindly go supervise. Make sure he doesn’t kill them before we find out where they got these RPGs.”

“Will do, Chief.”

As he walked away, Heinrich asked, “How many men did we lose?”

“Two dead, one wounded.”

“Wounded man the guy got shot in the shoulder?”

“Same one.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Not bad. Didn’t hit any bones or arteries, medic got the bleeding stopped. Be out of commission a few weeks, though.”

Heinrich stepped down from the wagon and began walking toward where his men were setting up a perimeter. “He still has one good arm. Tell him to help out around camp until he’s ready to fight again.”

“Understood.”

“And give him first crack at the women. Tell him I saw what he did, saw him go down. Tell him I said courage like that deserves to be rewarded.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Heinrich stopped and watched his men work. Maru stood with him, a silent presence to his left. After the fight, they had loaded the dead into the wagons and moved everything back to the farmstead where it could be hidden from passersby on the highway. That done, they had hauled the dead into an empty field, set a burial detail for the fallen raiders, and went to work putting up a government-issue anti-revenant temporary settlement barricade. Or, as it was more commonly known, a cable fence.