Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5) (27 page)

She turned and studied the small cell. Tanner needed her help, and the only weapons she had were a can of pepper spray and two short lengths of wood. She quickly worked through what needed to be done. It all started with escaping from the cell. She pressed her lips together, resigning herself to the fact that she was about to do some very unpleasant things.

Samantha hurried over to the bunk, slipped on her pack, and retrieved the pepper spray. She had never fired pepper spray before and had no idea how to make it work. After a quick inspection, she found that the plastic cap had a small lever on top. Holding the nozzle a few inches from the bed, she gently pushed the lever with her finger. Nothing happened. It didn’t move at all. She slipped her finger under the lever and felt around. A second lever lay beneath the first. Studying the design a bit further, she saw that the top lever acted as a safety, and the second lever released the spray. She held it up to the mattress again and pressed the second lever for a split second. A short
pfft
sounded as a foggy vapor spit from the nozzle, leaving a small green stain on the mattress.

Okay, she thought, it works.

She grabbed one of the pieces of wood and carried it over to the door. It wasn’t quite the baseball bat Tanner had mentioned previously, but it was close enough. Then she pulled the scarf up over her mouth and nose, hoping that it would help to keep any blowback from getting on her face.

“Now we fight,” she whispered.

Extending the pepper spray in front of her, she began to shout.

“Help! Please! I’m in trouble!”

It only took a few seconds for the door to swing open. Peterson rushed in, his face filled with concern. He was carrying the same AR15 she had seen him with earlier.

“What’s going on in—”

Samantha pressed the lever, this time holding it down for three full seconds. A thick fog sprayed from the canister’s nozzle, covering the man’s entire face with a wet green liquid. Peterson’s eyes clicked shut, but he stood there for a moment, puzzled by what had just happened. Then the pain started. At first it was only a slight burning sensation, uncomfortable, but not forcing a response.

“What did you do to me?” he barked, blindly reaching for her.

Samantha stuffed the canister into her pocket and snatched up the block of wood. Using both hands, she swung it toward his legs. She likened it to hitting a piñata—only without the candy or blindfold. The board made a dull thud as it cracked against Peterson’s knee. He fell forward, landing on all fours.

“You little bitch! I’m gonna—” He was cut short as the burning sensation spread across his face. “Agh!” he shrieked. “It burns!” He dropped the rifle and began to wipe at his eyes. “Get this stuff off of me!”

Samantha snatched up the AR15 and took a quick peek out the door. A few people were in the courtyard, but nearly everyone had congregated at the entrance, obviously curious about what was going to happen to Tanner.

She stepped out and pulled the door shut, hoping to muffle Peterson’s cries.

The only obvious way in or out of the compound was through the main entrance, and there was no chance that she could slip through the crowd without being detected. Several aluminum ladders leaned from the inside of the courtyard to the roof of the second layer of boxcars. A lone guard walked along the top of the structure, but he was all the way around on the opposite side.

Samantha slung Peterson’s rifle across her back and ran for the closest ladder. She had barely put a hand on the first cold metal rung when she heard a man shout from behind her.

“Hey, you! Stop!”

Without looking back, she started up the ladder, her heart hammering against her chest. The top of the boxcars was twenty feet off the ground, but she managed to scamper up the ladder in less than four seconds. When she turned back, Samantha saw several people running from the compound’s entrance, pointing in her direction. She grabbed the ladder with both hands and lifted with all her strength. Even made of aluminum, it weighed a good fifty pounds, and she struggled to get it off the ground. Realizing that she couldn’t simply hoist it up, she tried a different approach. Instead of lifting it outright, she let the boxcar support some of the weight as she slid the ladder up at an angle. When it was finally up high enough, she tipped the ladder and laid it flat on top of the boxcars.

People on the ground were shouting at her to come down, but it was the guard running across the top of the boxcars that really had her attention. He was moving fast, and she wasn’t at all sure that she would make it out in time.

She slid the ladder over to the outer edge of the fortress and quickly lowered it to the ground. Even before the ladder had fully settled into the dirt, she carefully stepped out onto the rungs. The ladder felt less surefooted, but she started down it anyway, doing her best not to lose her balance. Three rungs down, the ladder shifted and then dipped sharply to the side.

She screamed and clutched the rungs as the ladder teetered precariously. Afraid to move, she watched as the guard raced toward her. It was then that Samantha realized that even if she could overcome her fear, she wasn’t going to make it down the ladder in time to pull it away from the wall. She would hit the ground, and he would follow a few seconds later. And while she had recently won a footrace against a middle-aged satanic worshipper, the guard looked to be in much better shape.

She turned and glanced back over her shoulder. The cornfield was about fifteen feet from the edge of the compound. The ladder was twenty-eight feet long. The math seemed to work. She took a steadying breath, telling herself that there was no other way. The guard was closing to within feet, shouting for her to stop when she kicked the top of the ladder away from the metal wall. It wavered and then toppled backwards.

Samantha hit so hard that she briefly blacked out upon impact. When she awoke a few seconds later, she found herself lying on top of a pile of folded cornstalks. The guard was still shouting, but she could no longer see him. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She had managed to escape both the cell and the compound.

Now all she had to do was rescue Tanner.

Samantha lay flat on the ground with corn leaves and tassel poking out of her clothing. It wasn’t quite a ghillie suit, but she figured it was good enough. Clancy, the big man with the bloody face, and the guard from the front gate stood at the rear of a four-wheel-drive truck about sixty yards away. Tanner lay unconscious at their feet.

After a short discussion, the big man wheeled around and dropped the truck’s tailgate. Clancy and the other man moved up alongside Tanner as they prepared to lift him into the back—not an easy task, even for three men. Samantha wasn’t sure what they had planned for him, but it surely wasn’t anything good.

She pulled the AR15 rifle over her head and studied it. Tanner had taught her to use many weapons, but she had yet to fire an AR15. On the left side was a selector switch with the words
Safe
and
Fire
etched into the metal receiver. She clicked the switch up to the
Fire
position. Okay, she thought, now to make sure there are bullets in it.

“No,” she said, correcting herself. “Not bullets. Cartridges. Bullets are the metal slugs that fly through the air.” She had debated the importance of the terms with Tanner, but now she found herself trying to do it right. There was no room for confusion or sloppiness when it came to firearms.

She flipped the weapon over and tugged on the metal magazine. It didn’t budge. She felt around for a release and found a small button above the trigger. As soon as she pressed it, the magazine dropped free. Inside was a neat stack of shiny 5.56 mm cartridges. She didn’t know how many rounds had been loaded, but it looked like plenty for what had to be done. Samantha shoved the magazine back up into the rifle, and it locked in place with an audible
click
.

The last step was to move a round into the chamber. That, she knew, was the function of the bolt. She operated the bolt manually on her Savage .22 rifle, but on Tanner’s shotgun, the bolt moved automatically. She was almost certain that the AR15 operated automatically as well. She searched the weapon until she found a small black handle at the rear of the carrier. She gave it a tug. It pulled out easily, but the bolt didn’t move. Weird, she thought. Surely, the handle had to operate the bolt. What else could it be for? Then a thought occurred to her. Maybe there was already a cartridge in the chamber. It made sense. Peterson had been carrying the rifle around, and he’d had it on
Safe
, which meant that it was more than likely already loaded and ready to fire. There was only one way to find out.

Samantha steadied the gun by resting it on the end of the magazine. She didn’t know if it was designed to do that, but it seemed to help. The sights were very different from the peephole sights on her Savage. The AR15 had an aperture in the back and a forked post in the front. She placed her cheek against the stock and adjusted her distance to the aperture until the sight picture became clear. She could see all three men. The two smaller men had ahold of Tanner’s legs, and the big fellow was lifting him from under his arms. It was now or never.

She lined up on the big man, figuring that he would be the easiest to hit. Unsure of how much pressure it required, she gently placed the pad of her index finger against the trigger. She couldn’t help but flash back to the time when she had rescued Tanner from a group of roadway bandits. The situation had been remarkably similar, only this time, she had a bigger gun and a clearer understanding that Tanner was not only her protector. He was her family.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said, “but I accept that I have to.”

She let the sights settle and squeezed the trigger. The gun slapped back against her shoulder as it made a loud
crack
. The big man dropped Tanner and fell to the ground, clutching his gut. Samantha swung right and fired again. The guard from the gate was turning to run when the bullet hit him in the shoulder blade. He fell face down on the dirt road. By the time Samantha moved to line up on Clancy, he had ducked behind the truck’s engine block. His rifle was up, but being uncertain about which direction the gunfire was coming from, he had left the side of his body partially exposed.

Samantha let out half of her breath and squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught him in the hip, and he fell out from behind the truck, moaning. She lined up for a finishing shot but couldn’t force herself to take it. Instead, she stood up and began running in his direction. Clancy was in so much pain that he didn’t see her coming until she was nearly upon him. His hands were soaked in blood as he fumbled for his rifle. Samantha rushed up to him and swung the AR15 like a baseball bat. The stock of the weapon hit him squarely on the side of the head, and he fell back unconscious. She brought the rifle back to her shoulder and surveyed the three men.

All of them were down for the count.

Even after such violence, the emotion that most threatened to overwhelm her was that of relief. She rushed over to Tanner and flopped down beside him. He wasn’t moving, but she could see his huge chest rising and falling.

She shook him by the shoulder.

“Wake up, Tanner. We’ve got to go.”

He didn’t stir.

Samantha’s relief was short-lived as her predicament became clear. Tanner was unconscious, and she was far too small to move him. She scolded herself for not having waited for the men to load him into the truck. She couldn’t very well ask for their help now. Neither could she simply wait for Tanner to wake up. The compound was only a couple of hundred yards away, and others would surely come to investigate the gunshots.

It was then that she saw the heavy winch on the front of the truck. Winches pulled things. She knew that much.

She hurried over to the winch and grabbed the heavy metal hook. She tugged on it, but the braided steel cable didn’t unspool. A black handle was mounted on top of the winch and a smaller silver handle on the right side. She pulled the black handle toward her, and the winch buzzed as it pulled the hook tighter against the post. She switched it back off. Okay, she thought, that pulls it in. Now what moves it out? She tried to push the black lever the opposite direction, but it wouldn’t budge. Turning her attention to the silver handle, she saw a small mud-covered sticker. It read
Clutch Engage
and
Clutch Disengage
, and showed circular arrows pointing in different directions. It was currently in the
Clutch Engage
position. She turned the knob. Nothing happened. She gave the hook a slight pull, and the cable began to unspool.

“Got it.”

Pulling the cable behind her, she threaded the hook under Tanner’s arm, across his chest, and back under his other arm. Then she brought the hook back over to the truck and connected it to the post. To keep the cable from unspooling further, she turned the clutch knob back to its original position. She considered turning the black knob in order to pull him closer to the truck but feared that the cable might tangle around him like a giant anaconda.