Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line (16 page)

Heinrich sat at his table, a plate of half-eaten food shoved to one corner, a map of Kansas spread out before him. He heard footsteps approaching his tent—a small one, not his command tent—and the flap was moved aside.

“They’re here, sir.”

“Send them in.”

Maru and Carter entered the tent and sat down on the canvas and small rugs covering the ground. Heinrich spun the map around so they could read it.

“Just got word from the scouts. We move tonight.”

Carter’s perpetual snarl moved slightly under his beard in what, for him, passed for a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Heinrich poked a spot on the map with a thick index finger. “They’ve stopped for the night here, near Haviland.”

“Think I remember Haviland,” Maru said. “Place is abandoned, right? We holed up there for a while last year.”

“Right. Army stripped it for salvage, but the buildings are still standing.”

Carter grunted. “Yeah. I remember the place.”

“Good. That’ll make things easier. So here’s what we’re going to do. Infantry will barracks in the school gymnasium, we’ll hide the livestock and wagons at the old farm co-op on the south side of town. Plenty of barns and storage buildings, perfect place to deploy the cavalry.”

“How far from town is the caravan camping?” Maru asked.

“Four miles, give or take.”

Carter did the math in his head. “We’ll have to ride hard tonight to get ahead of them.”

“Nothing we haven’t done before. We’ll head overland, stay a mile north of them and then swing southward when we get to Haviland. Gives us three, maybe four hours’ rest before the attack.”

“Not much time,” Maru said.

“Again, nothing we haven’t done before.”

“How sure are we they’re following this route?” Maru asked, pointing at Highway 400 on the map.

“They’ve been following it since Wichita. Have to go overland to find another route. I doubt they’re going to do that at this point.”

Maru nodded.

“I’ll have the men charge radios and NVGs,” Carter said. “All the deep-cycles are maxed out. We’re on straight solar at the moment.”

“Use the batteries,” Heinrich said. “Button up the solar rig and get it on a wagon. I want the tribe on the road as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

“You two know what to do. Make it happen.”

The two colonels acknowledged and left the tent. Heinrich instructed his servant to leave the tent and post a guard to make sure he was not disturbed. When the boy left to carry out his orders, Heinrich opened his pack, removed his infrared scope, and connected the battery pack to a Yeti charging station he had taken for his own personal use.

“One more big score,” he muttered to himself. “And then on to Parabellum.”

Gabriel

Eric complained the first couple of days. But then again, Eric always complains.

I endured his bitching stoically and refused to relent making everyone not driving the wagon stay on horseback. Nor did I relax the loadout requirements. Everyone carried an M-4 as a primary weapon, Beretta M-9 as secondary, some kind of revolver as a backup, a hand weapon, knife, and camping axe, and in our saddlebags, we all carried five days’ worth of food, four liters of water, survival and first aid kits, spare ammunition, radios, solar trickle chargers with inverters and charging ports, two changes of clothes, five changes of socks, spare boots, suppressors for both the rifles and the pistols, and whatever extra firearms each person wanted to bring along. For Caleb, it was his Benelli shotgun and SCAR sniper rifle; for Eric his M-110; Elizabeth and Sabrina had Ruger 10-22 rifles with short-range scopes (it took some convincing to get Sabrina to part with her little .22 Marlin, but I eventually sold her on the Ruger’s superiority); and for me, a classic Marine Corps M-40 sniper rifle and my trusty Desert Tactical SRS chambered in .338 Lapua magnum.

The weather continued to improve the farther west we traveled, but I did not regard this as a good thing. It was nice not to freeze my ass off at night, but I knew it was only a matter of time until we made contact with infected or marauders. According to Spike, raiders in the area were fond of late night strafing runs intended to nab a small bit of loot and ride off into the darkness. I thought about my infrared scope and goggles, and the NVGs a few of Spike’s security crew possessed, and told Spike I felt sorry for the raiders who attempted such a thing against his caravan. He grinned and said, “I don’t.”

During the day, I watched the horizon. At night, I wandered out on foot and scouted the plains with my IR scope, alert for the slightest movement. By the fourth day, I was reasonably certain we were being followed, and whoever was doing it was no amateur. I expressed my concerns to Spike.

“So what else is new?” he said with a shrug. “Raider assholes are always following us.”

“The guy I spotted, he’s no rookie. I was a scout sniper in the Marines. I know training when I see it.”

Another shrug. “So he follows us. Nothing to worry about until he or whoever he’s working for tries something. They do, we’ll end ‘em.”

“I don’t like this, Spike. You should send your Blackthorns after him. Capture him. Find out who he’s working for.”

“I’m telling you Gabe, it don’t matter. Look around. They’d need an army to take us on. These raiders on the plains, they’re small time. They know better.”

I let the matter drop, but resolved to remain vigilant.

My sense of unease grew until the seventh night out of Wichita. I spotted the guy following us again—at least I’m reasonably certain it was a guy and not a woman—about five hundred meters to the north. This time, there was someone with him. I stayed low and cranked up the magnification on my IR scope, and sure enough, they were watching us through a night vision spotting rig. No ordinary gear, that, and I sincerely doubted they had traded for it. Unless by trade, one meant demanding it at gunpoint or swiping it from an overrun military patrol.

I watched them for a couple of hours, but when it became clear they had no ambitions of approaching and whoever they were scouting for was nowhere in sight, I made my way back to the caravan. Once back at camp, I searched until I found Caleb and Eric and asked them to follow me back to the wagon.

“Why?” Eric asked, falling into step with me. “I know that look, Gabe. What’s going on?”

“Later. Let’s find the others.”

We did and gathered everyone around the cook fire in the center of camp. Our wagon was on the inner perimeter just behind us. I checked the horses, made sure our gear was in order, sat down with the others, and motioned for them to listen.

“The caravan is being followed.”

“No shit,” Sabrina said. “Caravan this big, we probably had people dogging our trail since Hollow Rock.”

“I’m aware of that. But this is different. The people following us are professionals. They have night vision gear and ghillie suits and they know how to avoid detection.”

Elizabeth patted my forearm. “Not well enough, obviously.”

“I’m pretty good at what I do. I doubt many other people would have spotted them. And that’s exactly what has me worried.”

“Did you talk to Spike?” Eric asked.

“Yes. He was his usual overconfident, dismissive self. No help there. Which is why I’m here talking to you right now. I know what happens when people get complacent, start to think nothing bad can happen to them. And I sincerely doubt those people following us are just doing it for fun. I think we’re going to be attacked soon, and when it happens, we need to be ready.”

“I’m always ready,” Caleb said, his eyes shining in the firelight with the mad giddiness of anticipation.

“I know that. But I want us all to be ready. Stay close to the horses, and stay armed. I know it’s a pain in the ass, but it just might save your lives. Even a failed attack can still get people killed. If the shooting starts, keep your head down. And if you have to shoot, don’t hesitate.”

The faces around me in the firelight nodded slowly, and I let out a relieved breath. For once they were taking me seriously and not simply indulging what they considered paranoia.

“You’re seriously worried,” Elizabeth said somberly, her fingers slipping into mine. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

I gripped her hand. “I’ve never had so much to lose.”

*****

Eagle-eye Eric spotted them first.

“Contact, south side,” he spoke into his radio, peering through a pair of field glasses. “Top of the green pre-fab metal barn, tin roof. Guy up there with a big-eye. Could be more.”

“Copy,” Spike said.

I had hounded Spike for two hours that morning until he finally agreed to give Caleb, Eric, and me a set of radios tuned to his encrypted comms channel.

“Keep eyes on ‘em. Everyone else, maintain your AORs.”

I raised my M-4 and peered through the VCOG sight. Sure enough, the same ghillie suited figure I had seen the night before was watching us through a large spotting scope. A rig that powerful could probably read the lines on my face. As I watched, he turned as if speaking to someone out of sight.

“Spike, Garrett. He’s talking to someone up there. I think we’re headed into an ambush. We better turn around.”

“Negative. We’ve been through this, Garrett. All stations, proceed as planned.”

I swore vehemently and debated what to do. With each passing second, we grew closer to the narrow road through the abandoned town of Haviland. Another ten minutes and we would be surrounded by buildings within which anything could be hiding. I cursed Spike for a fool and shouted for the people in my group to switch over to the channel I had pre-arranged so we could speak in private.

“What’s up?” Caleb asked.

“We’re breaking off. Sabrina, get the wagon turned around. Caleb, Eric, you take rear guard. I’ll take point. Elizabeth, stay close to the wagon and be ready to bolt.”

“Gabe,” Eric said, “you sure about this?”

“No. But I’d rather be wrong and embarrassed than right and dead. Now get moving.”

We left the column and began riding eastward, the confused faces of caravaners passing on our left. I felt my radio buzz to let me know someone was trying to reach me on the command net. When I switched over, Spike’s voice buzzed angrily in my ear.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, Garrett?”

“I’m doubling back, heading for Wellsford.”

“What the hell for?”

“I already told you. I smell an ambush. I’ve got my wife and daughter with me, Spike. I’m not taking any chances.”

“What about your trade?”

“I’ll come back for it if you survive.”

“Goddammit, there’s not gonna be any ambush. You hear me? Get back here with my radios.”

“If I don’t come back, assuming you’re still alive, take the cost of the radios out of my trade. You make it to the Springs ahead of me, turn my shipment in to the warehouse we talked about and tell them to take the monthly fee out of my salt. I’ll collect the rest when I get there.”

“I’m not waiting up for you, Garrett. You get left behind, it’s on you. You’ll be a sitting duck out here by yourself.”

“Spike, if I’m wrong about this, I’ll be happy to listen to you laugh at me and call me names and poke fun at me all the way to Colorado. But I don’t think I’m wrong. Keep your head on a swivel, and good luck.”

With that, I clicked off my transmitter.

“We need to move faster,” I said, kicking Red’s flanks. “If I’m right, we’ve got less than ten minutes. We need to put as much distance behind us as possible.”

I looked and saw the others staring at me skeptically. A surge of irritation lent fire to my voice and I felt my eyes blaze with anger.

“What part did you not understand? You wanna die today? Move your asses!”

Their eyes went wide, their faces lost a little color, and I knew I would have to apologize later. Right then, I did not care. My outburst got them moving with a sense of urgency. For the moment, nothing else was important.

The oxen kept pace with the horses for all of about five minutes, but then began to slow. Sabrina snapped the reins and shouted and even resorted to the whip, but it was no use. The cart was too heavy.

“Hicks,” I said over my shoulder. “Hop in back of the wagon and clear out the excess weight. Nothing stays but food, water, and munitions.”

Elizabeth looked startled. “But what about-”

“We’ll come back for it,” I said, referring to her life savings and the comfort items we had brought along to make the journey less arduous. “If not…well, it won’t really matter.”

She started to say something else, then stopped. I had the feeling she was beginning to grasp the gravity of the situation.

Hicks, for his part, did not need to be told twice. In one motion, he tied his horse to the tailgate, dismounted on the move, and bounced into the rear of the wagon. A few seconds later, he had collapsed the canopy. No sooner had it settled onto the bench seat beside Sabrina than the first of Elizabeth’s possessions sailed over the side. They came to rest in the long brown grass and spots of unmelted snow in the ditch beside the highway. When finished, Hicks jumped out, caught hold of his saddle horn, untied his mount, and was back in position. Total elapsed time: ninety seconds.

Three minutes until contact.

With less than half the load to draw, the oxen were able to pick up the pace. Sabrina pushed them hard, the animals’ breath coming in labored huffs. The horses seemed to be holding up much better, but they had far smaller loads to haul.

“Keep it up, folks,” I said. “Won’t be long now. No matter what happens, don’t stop. Just keep moving.”

“What if there’s no attack?” Eric asked, exasperated. “What then?”

“Then I apologize and we all have a good laugh at my expense.”

The clock ticked down in my head. I found myself spending more time looking over my shoulder than watching where I was going. Ten minutes elapsed. I estimated in that time we had covered just over a mile. It did not feel nearly far enough. My shoulders felt tense and an itchy spot had started buzzing directly between my shoulder blades. I had felt it many times before, usually at the outset of a firefight when cover was scarce.

“Gabe, this is ridiculous.”

“Just keep moving, Eric.”

“Come the hell on, man. The caravan is moving through town by now. If those assholes on the rooftop were going to-”

A familiar sound echoed across the plains, stopping Eric midsentence. We both pulled on the reins to bring our horses to a halt.

“Was that…”

“RPG,” I said.

The moment the word was out of my mouth, another
hiss-BANG
split the air. The chatter of guns beat mutedly in the distance, a disjointed staccato cacophony second in volume only to the pounding of blood in my ears. At this range, the sounds of combat were reaching us on a delay. The battle had actually been joined several seconds before.

“Shit!” Eric began wheeling his mount westward. “They’re under attack!”

“Stop!” I shouted.

“What?”

“I said stop, you idiot. What do you think you’re doing?”

For a few seconds, Eric was at a loss for words. “We can’t just leave them.”

“The hell we can’t.”

Eric stared incredulously. “Are you hearing yourself? We have to help them.”

“No, Eric, we don’t. What we have to do is get as far away from that fight as we possibly can.”

Elizabeth rode closer and touched my arm. “But what about all those people?”

“There’s nothing we can do for them. Listen, we didn’t sign on as caravan guards. We signed on as passengers. I warned Spike there was an attack coming and he chose to ignore it. Hell, none of
you
even believed me.” I pointed a finger westward. “Do you believe me now?”