Cries Of The World Page 8

  * * *

  Hours later, King directed Chad to pull off the road into a park. Chad backed the APC into the tree line, pushing over small saplings and crunching dead branches under the heavy tires.

  “You think he’s telling the truth?” Michael asked King, aware that Chad was still sitting next to him.

  “Yeah. I don’t trust him, but I think he told us everything he could. He isn’t high enough up to know shit that’s important, but he told us the truth,” King said.

  “I did, I swear,” Chad insisted, nervous but not panicking.

  Chad had told them that the camp was set up differently than the Alabama one. It wasn’t as heavily guarded, because the port was so close. They required workers and the men there were often removed in large groups to go work at the port, a refinery or something else that just took brute force labor. The women and kids, according to Chad, were held in the same buildings and the horrors of Alabama were not a common thing. He told them that rape or sexual favors were non-existent there. With some luck, they could free them without a great loss of life.

  The radio crackled and Chad looked at them, a question on his lips.

  “Any bet it’s him again?” King asked.

  “No bet,” Chad said.

  “Chad, report,” a bored voice said, “you’re not at the pickup point,”

  The soldier had been calling for an hour. Evidentially Chad had been used to waiting all day for the team to do a mission and, by the sounds of it, they had Intel that made them think there were people deeper into the woods than Michael and King had been. A very lucky turn of events; the whole day had been lucky really.

  “If we don’t let him talk to the man, are they going to radio base next?” Michael asked.

  “Talk to the man,” King said, motioning with the knife, “one screw up and I cut your throat and throw you out the hatch.

  One other thing the man had told them, was that he was conscripted when he was younger and the American Crisis had his government activating him and sending him with a mixed bag of NATO men. He claimed he didn’t want to come. It was a sad story that had heard before and sounded like some of the men at the FEMA camp they had just left.

  “Chad here, where you been? Over?”

  “You’re not at the pickup. What happed? Can you do pickup now? Over.”

  “No, the APC started to overheat. I went back a few miles for water. Still too hot to crack the cap. Will let you know when I can get back to you. My orders were to keep radio silence while you were out on mission…”

  “You didn’t hear our first 10 calls to you? Over.” the voice asked incredulously.

  The same voice belonging to the man who’d cut Lukashenko’s throat.

  “No, perhaps it is these hills or the garbage in the sky from the EMP? Over.”

  There was a long pause and then, “Understood. Keep us informed. We will start walking to you. What way you travel, north? Over.”

  “Yes, travel four miles north to creek. Over.”

  “See you soon. Out.”

  Chad had broken out into a hard sweat and he wiped at his face. They were not north of them, in fact they were most of the day’s drive south of them. The radio reception was shockingly clear for the distance they’d traveled.

  “These things overheat much?” King asked.

  “Piece of shit Russian surplus,” Chad spat and then laughed as the other two busted up as well.

  Chapter Eight

  The Homestead, Kentucky -

  “Are they turning?” Corrine asked over her coms.

  “Negative, coming right down the road, over.” A spotter said.

  “Try hailing them?” Sandra’s voice broke in.

  “No, figured I’d let you,” the spotter’s voice said.

  “Any towed artillery?” Sandra asked.

  “No, just heavy machine guns on the MRAP. Over.”

  “Damn,” Sandra swore to herself. She keyed up the private frequency she used with Silverman. “Sgt. Silverman, do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, over.” The reception was very clear, he must be close.

  “If that is you coming down the highway towards us, kindly stop what you’re doing. Over,” Sandra said.

  “We’re now an hour south of you, over.”

  Sandra swore even louder.

  “Ok, the Governor must have sent out a second squad. It’s about to be toast. Over,” she said.

  “Wait one,” Silverman asked and Sandra waited for him to come back on the horn, “That isn’t ours. Boss Hogg, as you called him, must have gotten wind of our defection. I don’t know if they’re coming for you or us. Over.”

  “Forward Observer, you copy?” Sandra said into the handset, changing frequencies.

  “I copy. Over.”

  “Start calling the shots and bring down the fire,” Sandra said.

  They had repositioned the towed artillery that Sgt. Smith had brought to almost the end of the lane. It was a flat area with no obstructions. They could reach out miles and miles away if they could get the timing right. It may not take it out entirely, but it could disable it. With a WP round, they could cook the drivers alive on the inside. It was the ugly reality of war, and they could only hope that the vehicles coming their way didn’t have heavy guns. In this instance, they didn’t, just machine guns. The Governor’s men must have thought it’d be an easy thing to do, but they were about to learn a painful lesson.

  Sandra could hear the mortar teams firing and then an explosion ripped through the air. Things fell silent.

  “Sitrep?” Sandra demanded.

  “Two MRAPS on their side. The rest of the troops are bugging out. I repeat, bugging out. We got lucky boss.”

  “Wait one, survivors,” Duncan said, “let’s round them up, ladies.”

  Duncan kept Sandra abreast of what was going on as her squad pulled eight shell shocked men from the armored vehicles. When the blast had gone off, they hadn’t timed the dynamite fuse properly. The majority of the explosion went off in front of them but the concussion had pushed them over on their side. When the artillery had begun hitting the ground, the AP rounds mixed with HE took out the next two vehicles. Problem was, the timing was off and they’d been aiming at the armor, not the trucks.

  “That could have been a lot worse,” David said to Patty, listening to two different conversations with the radio equipment going.

  “A lot worse, sounds like we got really lucky,” Patty agreed.

  * * *

  The explosion and deep sounds of the mortars going off was lost on Blake and most of the Homestead while they were tearing through the barn, but when they were done, Blake went in search of his wife to share the news that ice cream would be a definite maybe soon. All it had to do was get cold enough to freeze outside.

  He considered making forms for making large blocks of ice to use, but decided to wait and see if the cache of five gallon buckets they were finding everywhere would work better.

  Sandra found him and Chris walking back to the house to start on dinner. Her face was solemn and a little drawn from worry.

  “How’d it go?” Blake asked.

  “We, uh… well, we got lucky. We aren’t going to keep getting lucky like this, though.” Sandra said, “I’m kind of scared of what they’re going to do next.”

  “Think I should talk to Davis?” Blake asked.

  “I think it’d be a good idea. He thinks of you as the leader and head of this… and you are. But he wouldn’t respect me or take me serious. Because… you know…” Sandra stammered.

  “Because you’re a woman and he’s an old school pig?” Blake asked her.

  She nodded, “Plus, I don’t want to keep having to do…”

  Sandra broke down and started to cry. Blake knew it must have been bad, but if they’d suffered any causalities she would have told him first. Probably a lot more dead men, he thought, but they’d belong to the other side.

  “Chris and I were going to get something to eat. You wan
t to come with us, or do you want some time alone?”

  “I need some time alone to process. I told everyone on the handsets that I was off for a bit, so they won’t bug me. I’m set on the same frequency I used to contact Silverman. Find me there if you need me. I just need a quiet spot for a while.”

  Blake had seen every victory building up inside of her. A well of sorrow. He didn’t know how she could deal with so much pain and death, even if it was strangers bent on hurting them, but she did. Maybe she needed time to decompress. Blake knew that he’d needed that as well, especially with the Homestead full of so many survivors.

  “Ok, babe. I’ll get a handset from the house and listen in, or if you want to listen while I talk to Boss Hogg…”

  “I probably will. Love you, country boy,” she said leaning in for a kiss.

  “Love you too,” Blake smiled, her kisses always having that effect on him.

  “Me too!” Chris piped up and laughed as Sandra bent over and gave him a sloppy kiss on the forehead, blowing a raspberry at the end.

  “Ewww, not fair!” he complained.

  “Let’s go bud, we’re going to let Mom take her walk,” Blake said, “Besides, I have to go make a fat man angry.”

  * * *

  Sandra wasn’t the epic badass everyone held her up to be. In her own mind she was a young lady with a particular skill set. She hadn’t had to use it much in the war, but she did have her own personal body count. It haunted her. She kept that bottled up, and even more so after the EMP took out the lights and power for much of the world. When Blake had first killed, she wanted to hold him close and lie and tell him it got easier.

  Since John Davis rolled into town, they’d probably killed fifty or sixty men, and most of them were at her orders. Even the mop up operations she’d ordered had killed the people that might have made it with medical treatment. Every sermon her father gave, every face she remembered, was a stab of guilt in her body. She’d stayed strong for Blake and the baby, but she didn’t want to go to pieces in front of everyone. Not because she was worried it would shatter the carefully crafted image she upheld for the sake of the Homestead, but because she didn’t like for people to see her cry. It was her one mark of pride, and one that would get her into trouble.

  The sound of compressed air releasing in a quick shot made Sandra jump and she felt a sharp stinging in her side, under her armpit. She pulled out a dart with a syringe. She could already feel the effects of the drug so she pulled out her handset and keyed it up.

  “Blake, honey, I think we have a problem,” she said her words coming out to a slur as she slumped to the ground unconscious.

  * * *

  Blake had been needling John Davis over his losses and trying to convince him to cease and desist when Sandra’s voice came out of the handset he was wearing.

  “Blake, honey, I think we have a problem,” her words were coming out slow, like she was talking with a mouth full of cotton.

  “Sandra? Sandra?” Blake almost shouted into the handset.

  When he didn’t get an answer, he repeated it a few times. Bobby and Melissa walked in, their eyes going wide as they saw the fear and uncertainty in Blake’s face.

  “What’s going on?” Bobby asked.

  “Sandra,” Blake said, starting to pant.

  “Where’s Mommy?” Chris asked, coming out from the kitchen with Lisa in tow.

  “Mom, can you get Chris here some sort of treat,” Blake said, not wanting to break the news.

  He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t good.

  “Hey Blake,” Davis’s voice said over the radio, “You missing something?”

  Blake turned and if looks could kill, the radio setup would have melted under his fiery gaze.

  “What is it Hogg?” Blake spat.

  “Your wife, isn’t she a lovely thing?” Davis’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  “Where is she?” Blake said, his voice gone cold.

  “Oh, I just took possession. Listen Blake, here’s my terms… You turn yourself in for arrest, my men will come and help relocate any survivors and divide up food and materials as we see fit. Oh, and all military personnel active or retired are going to report for duty - as they should have already.”

  “You son of a bitch, what if I don’t?” Blake said.

  “Well, this is America. I imagine your wife will be charged with war crimes and dereliction of duty. Probably firing squad if I had to guess,” Davis said, his voice amused.

  “Blake,” David whispered, “I have something on their tactical net. They’re calling for a helicopter. Sounds like a small team, maybe two or three guys.”

  Blake took that in and looked around the room. Duncan was still off, but probably listening in, Sgt. Smith was with his men, probably taking down the equipment and getting it ready to transport back up to the Homestead and there was no one else. Blake couldn’t ask Lisa, Patty or David to do go with him, and his gaze settled on Bobby. Would Lisa forgive him if he asked her only living son to help?

  “I have an idea,” Blake told the silent room, “But I may need help. Bobby, Lisa, I really hate to ask but—“

  Bobby turned and kissed Melissa deeply before going to the gun rack and pulling Blake’s .270 off the shelf. He’d been using Blake’s gun more than his own lately and loved how flat shooting and accurate the gun was.

  “You two do what you need to. Bring my daughter in law and baby back safely,” Lisa said, her eyes watering.

  “Where’s Mommy? Why is everyone so sad?” Chris asked.

  “Come on, little man, let’s go make some fudge or brownies,” Lisa told him, leading him towards the kitchen.

  “You ready?” Bobby asked.

  “Yeah. David, pipe any info to our private tactical channel. Tell Duncan not to worry. Tell him to keep the line clear if possible. I’m going to be moving fast and…”

  “Go,” Patty said softly, “you can do this.”

  Blake grabbed his bolt action .30/06 and a box of shells. He put half of each of them in his pockets after filling the gun and paused to consider before grabbing a Glock from their ever growing collection and clipping a holster on. Bobby nodded and they took off at a run, leaving a shocked silence behind them.

  Bobby had thought he was in shape before he moved to the Homestead, but living on the hills and working constantly had toughened him up to a level he’d never imagined before. His muscles had muscles and the definition he’d tried hard for in the gym was finally there. As he tried to keep up with Blake, he had to marvel at the strength and endurance of the older man. He had a bum leg and his shoulder had had a big hole in it not months ago, but he ran like the devils of hell were chasing him.

  Blake slowed down and paused at a depression in the grass and looked around a bit and then took off running again, not saying a word but pulling his rifle to bear. Bobby only got two big lungful’s of air before they were running hard again and he fell to the wayside a bit. Blake finally slowed down and stopped when he got to the edge of the woods to put his handset radio by his ear.

  “This is Blake,” he said softly.

  “Blake, this is Duncan,” Duncan’s voice came out of the static of the radio, and Blake walked quietly as he listened, “They were talking about an LZ near a clearing. They gave coordinates, but I don’t have any maps handy here that would…”

  “I know, but I think I know where they are going.” Blake said softly.

  “Where?”

  “The Slaver’s camp. I’m following the trail now,” Blake said into the handset.

  “That’s what we’re thinking. You can’t follow them though, it’s a trap, it has to be.”

  “I know,” Blake said.

  “Dammit, Blake, you’re going to get yourself killed. Stop and give us some time to come help.”

  “There’s no time,” Blake said pausing to look at the ground, “do what you can and so will I. Blake out.” He said, turning off the radio as Duncan tried pleading again.

  Bobby was catch
ing his breath and he wiped the sweat off his brow and looked up at his brother in law. “What’s the plan?” he panted.

  “They die, we don’t,” Blake said simply.

  Blake and Sandra were somewhat legendary for their well thought out plans and ideas. This simple one didn’t sit well with Bobby, but he’d follow Blake through hell and back. Even when his brother died, Blake had done all he could. Now all he had was his mom, Melissa and Blake. He used to have a crush on Sandra, but she’d been Blake’s woman through and through.

  “Ok, let me know what you need me to do when the time comes,” was all Bobby said in reply.

  They picked up their pace considerably, almost a jog. Blake only slowed when he was checking the trail for fresh marks. To him it looked like they gave up on dragging Sandra, and somebody had carried her. It made tracking only marginally harder, but he couldn’t sprint and follow it. A short time later, he heard the sound of motors and slowed as the clearing the Slavers had set up camp in came into view through the openings in the trees. At the far end, a red smoke streamer had been lit, the smoke blowing away from Blake and Bobby.

  “I can’t see them,” Blake said, bringing his scope up to bear.

  “I’ll look too,” Bobby said, moving behind a tree and glassing the area.

  “Duncan said this was a trap; do you think they expected us to follow them out the same trail?” Blake said, starting to worry.

  “Maybe. Unless they are right behind us—“ Bobby’s words cut off as a cold object was pressed into his ear.

  “Uh, Blake…”

  Blake stood and three men, including the one with the gun to Bobby’s head, melted out of the shadows, one of them carrying Sandra’s limp form over his shoulder.

  “Looks like we have more folks for Mr. Davis to interrogate,” the leader of the three man team said, chewing on a match stick, an ugly smile on his face.