Adrian's Eagles: Book Four (Life After War) (23 page)

Groan… Creak.

Adrian heard the noise and gave the signal, relieved they were almost done. “Pack it up!” The sense of death being close was thickening again, tightening around them as the rain poured, and he was eager to be away and out of sight.

The bridge swayed uneasily at a harsh blast of wind, sending men running for the muddy ground and Adrian was satisfied that anything more than a jeep would topple it. The rest was up to fate.

“Here they come.”

Angela’s words echoed in the damp truck, making men tense. The cutting crew was still out in the open.

Adrian had put her in the back of his semi with half a dozen resentful guards, against her single protest, and it was the first time she’d spoken.

“Less than a minute.” Her tone was worried and it traveled the dark space. “Tell them to get under cover!”

Neil hesitated, torn. That was Adrian down there, should he…

“Do something!” She hissed. When he didn’t move, she shoved him aside, grabbing the
mag
-light from his belt. She slapped it into Jeremy’s hands, unsure of the code. “Get them under cover and do it now!”

Jeremy was also reluctant to disturb the cutting team, but her tone of command was impossible to ignore and he sent the message with a worried heart. Adrian would be pissed if she was wrong.

There was no response, but all of them were relieved to see the cutting crew truck pull onto a crowded side road near the bridge and turn the front of the semi so it appeared nearly jackknifed. Parked next to several buildings, once the Slavers went by, the men could abandon the truck and escape.

“Everyone hit the deck!” Neil ordered, realizing they might be seen up here at the first swing of headlights.

There was a scramble to get down as the sounds of engines came to them through the heavy rain. Inside the vulnerable semi, Eagles also moved out of sight.

 
“When the bridge goes, they’ll be trapped down there with Adrian,” Angela protested, wishing she’d spoken up sooner.

Jeremy’s voice next to her was soothing. “Adrian isn’t trapped anywhere and he’ll bring all of them back.”
 
Grateful she had warned them, the Eagle gave her a nod of respect. “It’s the way he trains us and it’s the way we’ll train you.”

Behind and beside her, men stiffened in surprise and Marc’s heart thumped with a protest he couldn’t voice.

A second later, Angela got a rainy view of the terror stalking her and was suddenly very glad Marc had left Dog to watch after Charlie. The wolf would be one last defense if these evil men succeeded tonight.

The trailer carrying the tank rolled over the rain-slicked pavement with a single jeep in front of it and a cluster behind. More than 50 armed men were headed for the bridge, already on the same street as Adrian’s semi.

Those watching held their breath as the Slavers began to pass the truck, hoping the Eagles inside were well hidden. The group went by Adrian’s rig very slowly, it seemed to those watching, and each shadowy pistol was a reminder of how close they were to the Boss.

“Someone’s coming fast,” Angela warned them again. “Up here.”

Instead of the tension she expected, relief filled the truck. The men were sure it was Adrian. It was.

Adrian made hand motions to push the truck over the hill in neutral until they were far enough to avoid being heard, eyes verifying everyone (Angela) was accounted for.

Those inside made room for all but a few of the returning team, while Kenn went to tell the driver. Those leaving would take turns pushing while those staying would follow on foot.

Able to feel Neil’s longing to stay (it matched her own), Angela carefully slid from the truck and moved to Adrian’s side. Two men jumped down behind her and she moved faster to avoid another argument with Marc. She didn’t have to ask him. He wasn’t in charge here.

Her gaze kept being pulled from the muddy ground to the line of jeeps and one huge transport truck now approaching the bridge. They had a clear view from up here.

Adrian only stared at her for a long moment and then went back to watching. The tank would go down with the bridge and that meant the 40 odd men trapped on this side would be told to track them. They would have to plan another ambush.

“What’s that sound?”

They stilled at her question, able to feel it under their feet, even so far above the town. It echoed hungrily, bearing down on Howes like a missile.

“What is it?”

No one answered. They couldn’t, too stunned by the sight of death rushing toward the unsuspecting group of killers. The transport truck was next to cross, one jeep already waiting on the opposite bank, and none of them seemed to notice the louder roar or the extra echo under their tires.

The wall of debris-laden water swept downstream, wider than the bank as it slammed into the first bridge pillar with no mercy. The jeep on the opposite bank vanished under the flood and didn’t come back up.

The bridge trembled, swaying as the sabotaged beams gave way and the transport carrier tilted precariously over the new abyss.

The wall of water snagged the front bumper, ripping it free of the dock, and the entire load of truck, tank, and bridge fell into the violently churning waves.

Behind it, the Slavers tried to turn around, but most were too slow to avoid being swept away. The only ones to get clear were the two rear jeeps and as if sensing survivors, the torrent spilt between the dock and street, roaring through the narrow road in pursuit.

Adrian’s semi was pulled out by the waves, and the slower of the two jeeps turned sharply to the right to miss crashing into it. The tail lights flashed as the driver tried to stop, but it was too late and they went over the side of the dock. A huge spray rose up in their wake.

The second jeep was gaining ground on the water, staying ahead, and Adrian grabbed the rifle from his back.

“Follow my lead.” He got set and Kenn and Marc did the same on either side of him.

Neil was almost whining with frustration from not being in on the action, but he knew better than to shirk his unspoken duty to protect Angela right now and he stayed close to her.

Making fast adjustments, Adrian braced as the jeep charged up the hill they were on. “Now!” Adrian saw it go perfectly in his mind, and then fired.

The shot punched into the windshield, instantly spraying the inside with scarlet gore, and the jeep veered violently to the left. The two men inside scrambling for the wheel jerked simultaneously as two more shots tore into the vehicle.

Out of control, the jeep rammed up onto a downed tree, and lifted off the ground. It slammed back to the earth in a loud, metal-spraying crash, landing on its top.

The flattened vehicle rolled once, this time ending up in the mud-slickened grass and it began to flip back down the hill, scattering debris. The survivors watched in shock as it hit the flooded main street and sank into the merciless waves still thundering through the town.

Overhead, the storm abated.

Adrian forced himself to turn away from the death, refusing to shoulder it yet. There would be more of that. “Next time, we’ll take them all.”

He slapped Kenn and Marc on the shoulder and moved toward Angela, re-slinging his weapon. “Let’s get home. Mission accomplished.”

Angela fell in between him and Marc at Kenn’s wave, and tried to prepare herself for a short, miserably happy walk to catch up with the others. They were safe again for a little while.

“And next time?”
the Witch asked curiously.
“What then?”

“Next time, I’ll do my part and no one will hold me back.”

3

Doug had done a good job of covering for their absence. By the time the team returned, the big Irishman had camp set up in the basement of a steel distributer. Happily exploring the undamaged factory, most of the camp thought Adrian was helping out on watch until the men with car trouble could catch up.

When he finally slipped inside, soaked and red eyed, no one questioned. It was the same for the Eagles, and the camp slept easier knowing how many high level men had been watching out for them.
 
Even Angela’s absence was covered with a few words about being on duty.

The only members not fooled were Cynthia and Rick. Both of them had been wandering during the lack of leadership and knew Adrian hadn’t been in camp. The reporter assumed it was another of the blond Leader’s private training sessions, but Rick wondered if it had been more. He had seen the small convoy arrive and the traitor knew what the crash after a battle looked and felt like. Had Adrian foiled Cesar’s plans somehow?

If so, it had been without the notice of anyone in camp. Rick decided he would have to make contact as soon as Adrian lifted the blackout. He knew something wasn’t right; he couldn’t verify it unless he found a guard with a loose tongue and knowing if he was now on his own was a valuable piece of information to have.

Things had worked out even better than Adrian had hoped. They could relax for a few days once they made it to the
stateline
for pickups he had chosen from the mental map Angela had given him. Out of the three places he’d tried so far, two had held people willing to come along without much convincing. The third, they’d made stubborn contact with once, and tried to tell of the danger coming, but without any luck. They would try once more before dropping back down into Nebraska, but they didn’t have to run for their lives now.

Unlike the Slavers, he and his army knew how to use the tools of the government, and one of their trucks held a pontoon setup. They would double back and avoid the badlands meeting that Cesar was sure to be hoping for. It would put weeks of distance between the two groups, and if the Slavers went far enough north, the radiation zones might even take care of the problem for them.

4

“Why have we stopped?”

Dean was shouting to be heard over the wind and the angry Mexicans around him scowled, but didn’t interfere. The black man had lost track of Safe Haven in the storm and wanted to keep following even though there was no longer a bridge to cross. He didn’t care that the tank team still wasn’t answering their calls or that it appeared a destructive battle had happened at this crossing recently. All he could see was revenge.

“Hey!”

José stepped in front of Dean before he could grab Cesar’s arm. “Stop shouting!”

Dean gave the scarred man a hard shove. “Move!”

Not expecting it, José toppled backward into the mud and the men watching grunted in cruel amusement.

Dean moved toward Cesar again and José picked himself up with cold fury, drenched in the brown muck.

The remaining twin heard him coming and spun around, swinging from the hip.

José hit the ground again with a wet slap and the laughter increased.

“Stay down,
Josey
!”
Dean snarled, heading back toward the Mexican Leader who had finally turned to see what was causing the laughter.

Humiliated, José’s hand went for his pistol and the laughter stopped.

Just as he fired, Dean lunged for the muddy ground and the slug pinged harmlessly off of Cesar’s hood. Up in a moment, Dean stalked back to the younger man with no signs he feared the weapon still aimed at him.

José panicked, pulling the trigger again, and men ducked as the shot went wild.

Dean hit the mud again for the next bullet, rolling to avoid another, and then he was on his feet and coming in at a fast run.

José screamed in rage and fear, firing. The slug hit the furious devil flying his way, but it didn’t stop him!

Dean half spun as the bullet tore through his upper arm and he rolled as José fired a last time. That Mexican would die now!

He dove at the ugly fighter, twisting to miss the knife, and then he was hitting José’s face.

It was Cesar who reluctantly saved his cousin’s life. He had no doubts José was after command, but he wasn’t through with the youngster yet. When he was, the real lesson would be taught and it wouldn’t come from this angry soldier.

Cesar stepped over to Dean with a fast move his men both admired and feared, and wrapped him up tightly.

Dean struggled against the blade for only a minute, the words sinking in. “His life is mine. So is yours!”

Cesar tossed him roughly away and the men surrounding them had their weapons pointed at Dean’s head before he gained his feet.

Dean’s dark eyes glittered with hate, but some of his anger was eased by the sight of the blood José was spitting at his boots. There would be more of that.

“We stop when I say, go when I say.”

José had pushed himself up, hand inching toward his spare gun and Cesar delivered a brutal kick to his ribs that sent him rolling into the crowd, where he was stomped on when he tried to get to his feet.

“Stay down!” Cesar barked. “I will deal with you!”

The Leader turned back to see Dean grinning and the Guerilla eyed the black man thoughtfully. “His pain makes you happy?”