The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) (26 page)

Time seemed to slow as they waited, but eventually the campfires dimmed and the fighters climbed into their tents. The air grew eerily silent, the only sound the occasional clank of a tool from the repair crew working on one of the rigs by solar-charged work lamps. The moon brightened in the night sky and the stars glimmered in a dazzling display, the high altitude and dry air making for a breathtaking celestial spectacle.

The sentries kept to the area near the highway, patrolling it with lackluster enthusiasm, and their movements slowed as the night wore on. At eleven John gave the signal, and Martin and Abe moved the heavy Browning M2 into position on its tripod. The gun weighed almost 130 pounds, and it took both of them to get it where they wanted it before Abe scrambled back to the horses for the last two ammo cans. They’d carried eight to their firing location in preparation for the coming onslaught, but there was no reason not to use the whole thousand rounds.

By the time Abe made it back, Martin had locked and loaded the machine gun and was ready. Each can held a hundred rounds linked together in a belt, and the M33 ball ammo would blow through brick or cinderblock like tissue paper, making it devastating even at considerable range. At the three hundred or so yards they were from the highway, it would destroy engine blocks and incapacitate vehicles, in addition to ending the lives of many of the Crew fighters.

John waited with Brett, their night-vision-equipped AR-15s switched to single-fire mode to deal with the sentries. Surgical precision would be better than indiscriminate spraying with the guards, and they wanted to conserve ammo to lay down fire for their egress – assuming any of them lived through the next few minutes.

Chris skirted the ridge and stuck to what little scrub there was as he edged toward the tanker, painfully aware that he was completely exposed if any of the guards chose to do a sweep of the area. His assault rifle was strapped to his back, and he toted an AT4 in each hand, their weight growing with every step. They’d agreed that Martin would open up with the Browning when the first AT4 projectile detonated, hopefully creating enough pandemonium for him to escape with his life.

His boot caught on a rock and he nearly went down, sending a spray of sandy gravel down the slope. He eyed the truck and guesstimated he was still a hundred and fifty yards away, at least.

The snap of a round narrowly missing his head was almost instantly followed by the bark of one of the guards’ guns. A moment later another took half his jaw off, and Chris’s world went black as the big Browning opened fire from up the hill.

The machine gun’s roar was deafening, and spent brass arced through the air as Martin strafed the guards he could see by the moonlight. John, Brett, and Eric began shooting as well, and between them made short work of many of the sentries, who were exposed to incoming fire they’d clearly never expected to contend with.

When the first ammo can ran dry and Martin loaded another belt, John called to the others, “Cover me. I’m going to try for the truck.”

He didn’t wait for a response – his best chance of reaching Chris was now, before the rest of the Crew could mount a counterattack. He had the element of surprise, and if it bought him thirty seconds, that might be all he needed.

John threw himself over the ridge and raced for Chris’s crumpled form. Bullets sprayed sandy soil around him but missed by a wide margin. His men’s weapons answered those of the Crew, and no more rounds struck his proximity. He reached Chris and scooped up the AT4s, and then sprinted toward the truck, closing the distance as the guns on the ridge peppered the column of vehicles.

He had just made it to within decent range when the Browning went silent again. He held his breath, praying that Martin hadn’t been hit and was merely changing out ammo cans. One second turned into twenty as the smaller AR-15s popped above him, and then an incoming round knocked the wind out of him like a punch to the sternum. He looked down at his plate carrier and rolled to the side as more rounds pocked the earth. Another slug struck his thigh, causing him to scream in pain. He winced at the burn and maneuvered one of the AT4s into position, peering down the sight in the moonlight at the stainless steel tank that seemed miles away now.

His finger squeezed the trigger and the projectile streaked away as more rounds struck the surrounding dirt. Flares ignited overhead, and the hillside was suddenly bathed in light. The shooting from the Crew increased markedly as John rolled toward the second AT4, but two rounds through his throat ended his life just as the tanker exploded in a massive orange-white fireball.

At the M2, the third can ran dry, and Martin struggled to load the fourth, ignoring the rounds slamming into the crest just below him. Abe grunted beside him and Martin glanced at him as Abe fell to the side, the dark dot at the side of his forehead seeming too small to end a life.

Brett’s and Eric’s weapons kept popping with the regularity of a target shooter, and Martin dismissed the fleeting idea of bolting for the horses.

He opened fire on the Humvees, loosing fifty rounds at them before shifting his aim and emptying the remainder of the belt at the men scrambling like ants toward the buses. He cut down as many as he could and was loading the fifth can when Brett’s rifle fell silent.

“I’m out of ammo,” Brett called to Martin. “Does Abe have any?”

“Yeah,” Martin yelled, fumbling with the Browning.

Martin’s expression was grim when he cocked the machine gun, ready to send another hundred rounds of destruction down the hill. He knew it was just a matter of time before he was killed, but he was going to take as many of the scum to hell with him as he could.

He screamed a battle yell and hammered at the Crew shooters, and when a stray round snuffed out his life, he didn’t know what hit him. One second he was worrying about how he could get the sixth can into play, and the next he was falling back as though pushed to the ground by a giant hand, dead before he hit the ground.

Chapter 46

Lucas had tucked in for the night. The long day’s preparations for the coming battle had drained him; Elliot and Michael had demonstrated an alarming lack of tactical know-how in mounting a counterattack. Some of the ideas the younger man had thrown out had been ludicrous, whereas others had been workable but at too great a cost in both man-hours and equipment. Lucas had wound up being dragged into the discussion as a mediator and had done his best to limit the hair-brained flyers and keep everyone focused on the achievable.

He’d suggested they focus on a workable plan to contend with shelling, possibly weeks of it, and enlisted a team to stock the underground winter quarters with supplies that would keep the population alive for a month. Lucas had also concentrated on booby-trapping the alternate routes into the valley, using explosives to create natural barriers that would force any attackers to approach on foot through narrow gullies where they could be cut down by only a few defenders. He’d set up strategic outposts on these secondary routes and deployed several AT4s and grenades for maximum defensive impact.

One of the most contentious issues had been where to locate the remaining pair of .50-caliber Browning machine guns. One would be at the final stretch of the main canyon, where it could hold off an attacking force virtually indefinitely. The terrain was their biggest asset, since the Crew would have no alternative to traversing a narrow section with steep walls, a funnel from which there would be no escape. But the second gun was undecided – Lucas thought it best to locate it at the Rio Grande bridge, out of range of assault rifles at a thousand yards from where the Crew would likely be stopped when the bridge blew, but Michael and Elliot had felt that it would serve better as a last defense to the main cave that led into the underground interlinked chambers.

Lucas had argued that if the Crew made it far enough for that to be a factor, they were done for, so the emphasis should be in preventing that at all costs. Michael had pushed for a last-ditch defensive effort to safeguard the lab, the women, and children. Lucas had finally prevailed, but they’d lost valuable time waffling when he could have been attending to other matters – like ensuring the ragtag army of defenders was prepared for the worst, which was coming their way with the inevitability of a runaway train.

A soft rapping interrupted his thoughts. He rose from his bed and pulled on his jeans and shirt before padding to the door to unlock it.

Sierra stood silhouetted by the soft ambient lighting from the hall, wearing the white dress from the celebration party – a time now so removed from their current crisis it seemed a lifetime ago. She looked up at him and raised her chin slightly, her skin bronzed from the sun, and offered a flash of white teeth at his surprised expression.

“Sierra,” he whispered. She took a step forward and held her finger to his lips. The heady aroma of the vanilla-scented soap made in the valley rose from her as she pressed herself against him and lay her head against his chest, pushing the door closed with a bare foot.

“Lucas, don’t say anything. Please. I’m scared, and I know that soon we could all be killed. I want to be with you before that happens, before the world turns upside down and we lose each other. I know you’re angry with me and you feel betrayed, and you can still feel all those things tomorrow. Tonight, just hold me.”

Lucas, against his better judgment, wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the flutter of her pulse, delicate as a butterfly’s wings on his skin, through the sheer fabric of the dress. They stood together for a long moment, and then she rose on tiptoes and kissed him. He met her lips and remembered everything from their prior tryst, her passion and urgency and the lingering glow of their lovemaking, and the embrace became something more than comforting a frightened woman.

She pulled away from him, twisted the lock shut, and pulled her dress over her head. Lucas began to speak, but she shushed him and returned to his arms, and then they were lost in each other, his best intentions discarded at the feel of her supple skin and her curves and a hunger that demanded to be satisfied no matter what the cost.

Chapter 47

Magnus was so enraged he could barely see. Blood pounded in his temples as he listened to the reports from his subordinates in the command tent – mercifully, located on the opposite side of the vehicles from the attack. Jude was reciting the damage in an emotionless voice, and his lieutenants, including Luis, who had been ordered to attend, waited to answer any questions that arose that Jude couldn’t field.

“Eight of the buses are out of commission. Bullets wrecked the engines. Another six are sitting on flats. But the worst on the equipment side is the fuel. We have nothing but what’s in the tanks,” Jude explained.

“Enough to get us there?” Magnus asked.

“Maybe. But we’ll never make it back.”

“I’m not concerned with that part. We’ll figure something out.” Magnus thought for a moment. “Can the flats be fixed? Patched? Or were the tires completely destroyed?”

“Most can be patched. We can use the generator to run the compressors to inflate them, and we have plenty of patch material. I just don’t know how long they’ll last in this heat, as the altitude increases.”

“They just need to get us to Los Alamos.”

“Right.” Jude paused. “Now to the men. We lost two hundred and seven, with another forty-six wounded seriously enough to take them out of the fight. Another twenty with wounds that aren’t critical.”

“Damn. That leaves us with, what, six-something to mount the attack?”

“Correct.”

“How do you plan to attend to them?”

“We’re working on a system. I put Luis in charge of that.”

“Who?” Magnus snapped.

Jude indicated Luis among the men, who cleared his throat. “We’re thinking that we’ll need to set up a medical unit here. Many of the men can’t be moved.”

Magnus frowned. “We can’t divide our army to care of a few wounded. Move them.”

“Most will die if we try.”

Magnus shrugged. “Then they’ll die. I’m not leaving medics and supplies we might need for the battle.”

“But–”

“You heard me. Now what about the attackers?” Magnus demanded.

“We recovered four bodies. We believe at least one, possibly more, got away.”

“Only four men did all this? Impossible.”

“We know there were more – it’s a question of how many. The machine gun was gone. Just empty ammo cans and hundreds of shell casings.”

“Can’t you track them?”

“Not at night. We could be riding into an ambush. We’ve lost enough men already without throwing fifty more into an unknown scenario.” Jude regarded his men. “We’ll just have to be alert to the possibility of another attack as we travel. We can put scouts on horseback ahead and on either flank. With radios.”

“This is proving disastrous, and we haven’t even gone into battle yet,” Magnus fumed. “Over a third of my men dead…”

“We knew this would be costly,” Jude reminded him.

“Not the trip, you fool. The trip was supposed to be the easy part.”

There was a long, tense pause. Luis shifted and took a small step forward. “Maybe we should call for reinforcements?”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed as he studied Luis with obvious disdain. “We’re not waiting for anything. We’ve still got our long guns. We’ll pound them to pieces before we attack. I’d be surprised if there’s anything left once the howitzers are done with them.” His voice strengthened. “Now all of you – get out of my sight. I need to think.”

The men moved to the entry and Magnus snapped his fingers. “Not you, Jude. You stay.”

Luis and the others left, and Luis circled back around to the far side of the tent to see if he could hear anything. He’d thought his suggestions had been good ones, but of course Magnus had rejected them – the same genius that had gotten so many of his men killed on this wild-goose chase thought himself above listening to anyone.

He heard Magnus’s distinctive guttural voice and froze as he made out the words.

“I’d say kill him now, except that we need every available man who can fight.”