American Apocalypse Wastelands (31 page)

“Come on, Ninj. Got to roll.”

We began making our way back along our path. For the next hour or so I kept up a steady stream of encouragement to urge him on. Then he stopped.

“Sorry, G. I'm just really tired and cold.”

“Don't worry about it,” I told him. “Let's get you comfortable.”

I set him down and elevated his arm again. Then I start digging clothes out of my pack to cover him. We had just come up a slight hill and were about three quarters of the way across a meadow. We had stopped next to a quartz outcropping.

“Ninja, I am going to brew you up some coffee. How's that sound?”

He nodded, smiled, “Sounds good, G.”

I was willing to chance a fire at this point, especially when I heard dogs barking far in the distance. I got a small fire going next to the outcropping and moved him near so the heat would bounce back on him. I had enough coffee left for one more cup. It was instant anyways.

While the water got hot I tried to calculate when they might get here. On the other ridge I saw a glint from steel or glass. I pulled out the binoculars. It was a four-wheeldrive truck moving really slowly. They must have come up on one of the old hunting or logging roads. It made sense that they would have people who knew these woods.

“Am I going to die, G?”

“No, you are not going to die. Though it would be nice to have the extra room in the trailer.”

“You're an asshole, G.”

“So I've been told.”

As he drank the coffee I came up with Plan B. It wasn't much of a plan. Basically it was to kill as many as I could before they killed me. Hopefully they would take Ninja into town and fix him up. Max would figure something out to get him back. I mentally shrugged. I had nothing else.

“You know, Turtle, if this was the movies, an F-18 or a Blackhawk would appear just about now.”

“Yeah. The Blackhawk would be cool.”

“Sorry I messed it up.”

“You didn't mess anything up. Shit happens.”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

The dogs were getting louder.

“Those dogs for us, G?”

“Yep, I'm afraid so.”

“You going to cut their heads off, too?”

“Naw. Probably shoot them if they come too close. Otherwise they can just hang out with us.”

We spent the next twenty minutes reminiscing about the good old days. By then the dogs had gotten closer. I could hear the truck. It looked like everyone was coming together. This promised to really suck.

I got up and took a kneeling position behind a chunk of quartz. I put four magazines for the BAR where I could reach them, then pulled my bayonet out and set it next to them.

“You only put out four of your magazines, G.”

“Yeah. I doubt if there are more than eighty of them.”

He thought about it for a second and grinned. “I might as well go to sleep, then, if there's less than eighty.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

That's when the two dogs appeared at the foot of the meadow. They looked at me. I looked at them. I shot them. “Sorry, doggies,” I whispered. Then I waited.

“Give me my weapon. I will help.”

“Stay put. I may need you to reload.” That seemed to satisfy him.

 

There were, by my count, maybe only ten of them. They were not that good at moving in the woods, and the department uniforms did not work well as camouflage. They were using shrubbery as cover, which was not real smart.

“Come out with your hands up! You're surrounded,” someone yelled. It went through my mind that, in so many ways, my life was becoming one bad movie.
Who the hell really says shit like that?

I didn't bother to answer. I just shot the two guys on my left. Then it was time to try to become a turtle inside my vest as they proceeded to chip away at the quartz outcropping that I huddled behind. I got as flat as I could and poked my head out near the ground. I couldn't see anything because of the grass and weeds, so I just started shooting from one side and worked my way across, hoping to hit something.

From the scream of pain that I heard, I think I did. Then it was their turn to mow the grass where I had been. I reloaded the BAR. The five or six seconds it took felt like a year. By the time I got that done the return fire had stopped. Either they had all decided to reload or they were getting ready to rush me. I knew it was over regardless.

I set the BAR down, looked at Ninja and winked, and then slid backward, keeping the outcropping in front of me. I got my legs under me and sprung up. I landed awkwardly in a crouch on the lower part of the outcropping. My leg was still not completely right. I stood up and saw that the deputies were out of the cover and moving in a line toward me. I shot the two in front of me.

Then I leaped off the outcropping, aiming at one on my left as I dropped. I was hoping to kill a hole in the
middle of the line and roll into it. But his head exploded before I got a chance to pull the trigger. I landed and did my roll, crossing my arms so my pistols pointed away from my body. Doing that also made it easier to extend my arms into position to shoot when I came back up. My unseen helper made it easy for me to decide where to focus my fire.

I took out two guys on my right. They were trying to compensate for my new position, but they were too late. The tree line behind me exploded with automatic rifle fire. The guys to my left didn't have a chance. Another BAR was in there somewhere punctuating the M-16 bursts. The last guy on my right wasn't bringing his rifle up; he was just staring at me wide-eyed. I shot him, too. Just to be safe.

People came charging out of the tree line. At least two of them were screaming something.

It was my squad, with Diesel yelling at them to push out a perimeter. Max strolled out from the woods behind them, carrying the Barrett. Even from this distance I could tell he was pissed. The squad streamed past me, giving me some seriously weird looks.

What the hell was going on?

Diesel was checking the downed bad guys. “I got a live one here! Medic!”

Max said, “Forget it, Diesel. She is taking care of Ninja. Get someone else to take care of him.”

The perimeter team found the ones I had shot in the bushes. When Max reached me, he just stood there and stared at me while I reloaded. I finished and slid the Colt into my belt.

“Hey, Max. What's going on?”

“Get in over your head again, Gardener?”

“What's with this ‘again' shit, Max?”

“We'll talk. We need to find that truck, get Ninja on board, and clear the area.”

That's exactly what we did. It wasn't easy. The wounded guy was coherent, and after we told him he might lose a leg if he didn't help us, we got the directions to the main road. We were packed tight in the truck. I rode in back with Ninja.

I asked the squad, “How did you end up saving our asses?”

The story, it seemed, was that Max found out I had left with just Ninja. A day and a half later, he rolled the squad out after us. They had no idea why the delay.

I asked, “What's up with everyone and the attitude change?” It was like a sudden distance had sprung up between them and me.

Grace answered for them. “You don't know? We saw you jump up on that rock and start shooting. Then we saw you just leap at them with your guns blazing and kill even more. We spread out the perimeter and we find more dead bodies. Plus, there are probably more further down. You're like . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Zit finished it for her. “We've all heard stories about you, and we were there at the house, but—you get rolling and everyone dies.” He sounded amazed, awed. But I heard something else, too. Disgust? Admiration?

 

Once we hit the main road and started making time, it was too difficult to talk. We dropped Ninja and the other
guy at Donna's. She was going to need a bigger house at this rate. Diesel and the rest of the squad were dropped by the town hall, leaving Max and me to ride back together.

He barely had the door closed and the truck in gear, when I asked, “What's the problem, Max?”

“The problem is this is your second op. This is also the second one you have screwed up.”

“Wait a minute. What screwup? All the bad people are dead. Ninja is going to live.”

He stopped the truck hard and slammed it into Park. “Look at me. Look me right in the eye and tell me you think that went well!”

I didn't answer. He put the truck back in gear and started driving. Neither one of us said anything for a few minutes.

“Look, G. I don't doubt your courage,” he said, finally. “The squad we left back there, they are going to make you a legend. They will also follow you wherever you tell them to go. The question is, can you lead them? You're a fucking cowboy, not an infantry officer.”

That cut deep, really deep. What made it really hurt was the possibility that Max was right.

Night was waiting for me. She was sitting on the trailer steps, her head propped up on one hand as she stared out into the darkness of the yard. I stood there, looking at her. Without turning to look at me she said, “The fireflies are gone.”

“I know. It's getting too cold, I think.”

She turned and regarded me solemnly for a couple seconds. Then a big grin split her face and she jumped into my arms. “Oh God! I am so glad you are back!” Then
she suddenly pulled away, still holding on to me, her eyes wide: “Where's Ninja?”

“He got hurt, Night.” I added hastily, “But he is going to be okay. He took a round through his arm. Donna says he'll be fine. He just needs to rest.”

She pulled me close again. “Damn! You two scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

An hour later we lay side by side in bed. I was tired, but there was something I wanted to know before I went to sleep. “Night, why did Max wait so long to send out the team? Why did he send them at all?”

“Because I told him if he didn't, and you and Ninja died, I was going back to the clan.”

“Why? And when did you tell him?” I had propped myself up on one elbow and was looking at her. My mind was screaming at me,
Let it go, doofus; let the woman sleep
. But I couldn't.

Her eyes popped open and she took a deep breath. Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper. “I told him two hours after you left.”

“Oh.” I paused to digest this. “Did something happen? What took so long for the squad to assemble and move?”

She moved her head just enough to make eye contact. “I'm not sure. I'm not sure I even want to be sure. I know what I heard in my head.”

I had the feeling I was not going to like what I was going to hear, but I had to ask. “What was that?”

“He who would be King can tolerate no rivals.”

I looked at her for a couple seconds. Then I put my head down on my pillow and rolled over. Sleep did not come easily that night.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The next day I went into town. I found Diesel and told him to let the squad know they had a three-day leave. Then I went back to the station. I was looking for Max and found him sitting at his desk talking to the two patrol officers who were now working the morning shift. I sat on the edge of my desk, which Night was using in addition to hers. Gunny was in the back; we waved to each other.

I listened to Max tell the patrolmen what he thought they needed to know. “Now I don't want you two slacking off and sitting on your asses in the diner or parked under a tree. Make a visible tour through the campgrounds. That means get out and walk and talk to people. I want to know where everyone is coming from and where they think they are going. That's it.”

They nodded politely to me as they passed by.

One of them stopped long enough to fist-bump me. He grinned and said, “Stone cold, Gardener, stone cold.” Then he was out the door. I looked at Max, waited until the guy cleared the door, and laughed.

Max grinned at me, “We cool?”

“Yeah, but I want to talk.”

He paused. “Private talk?”

“No, Gunny can listen if he wants. We have anyone in the cell block?”

Gunny got up and shut the door leading to the back. “Better?”

“Better. Thanks, Gunny.”

“It's like this, Max. I've been thinking about what you said last night. I'm not an officer type. I am not even an army type. Not only that, I don't want to be. You called me a cowboy. Well, I am. This world of plastic guns, night-vision goggles, thermal sights, and what have you—I don't understand it and I don't really want to. I do understand killing a man and doing it so he can see me. I understand that breaking the law is something that can't be tolerated. That the strong should not oppress the weak. That ‘to protect and serve' means just what it says.

“I don't like all that black plastic, Darth Vader shit for a reason. It's just another part of the fucked-up system that got us living here. Expensive killing toys for people who don't want to look someone in the eye and recognize him as another man. They are banker weapons. They are ‘suck the money out of the poor' weapons. It stinks of corruption, evil, and destruction for the sake of greed.” I stopped.

Max sighed. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“You going to be lighting bonfires next?”

“I hadn't planned on it. Why? You hungry?”

“Yeah, actually I am. Look, what do you want to do?”

“Be a cop: Kick doors in, shoot bad guys—and maybe a few not so bad. You know, that kind of thing.”

“Well, I don't think we're going to run out of bad guys anytime soon. You're still the assistant chief of police. Order yourself back on patrol if you want.”