Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (69 page)

“Tala!” Clarisse yelled, holding the sobbing woman by the shoulders and shaking her to get her attention as Reuben raced away. Then she whispered, “I’m going back. Give me your gun and extra magazines. If we don’t return, take care of Addy and the boys for me.”

Tears streamed down Tala cheeks. She glanced quickly at the back of Reuben’s head and nodded, handing Clarisse her pistol. Lucy handed over hers, as well as the NVGs she happened to have with her. “Get them back,” Tala said.

“I will,” she said and hugged them both briefly. Then she slyly smiled. She opened her jacket, pulled it down past her shoulders, and tucked her glasses into the inside pocket, and strapped the NVGs to her belt loop. She holstered one of the extra pistols to her thigh and slid the other into the waist of her cargo pants, placing the extra magazines into a leg pocket. She zipped up her jacket and pulled the hood over her head, cinching the straps tightly around her face.

“Reuben!” she commanded, alarmingly loud and clear. She swung open the door of the Humvee and leaned backward, ready to roll for his view. She didn’t give him a chance to make a decision. As soon as he saw what Clarisse was about to do, Reuben automatically began to brake. She glanced quickly at Tala and Lucy one last time, then dove out of the vehicle with her arms protecting her head, spinning with momentum upon the ground. She knelt up on one knee and watched as the Humvee picked up speed again and gained distance.

Clarisse assessed herself quickly for injuries. Detecting no major pain, she pulled her own pistol out of her side holster, checked a magazine, and loaded it into the chamber. She holstered it again, donned the NVGs, and ran into the forest to gain cover and cut through the woods toward the gunshots and the growing blaze. The closer she got, the more her vision began to fail. The NVGs were too bright and her eyes watered, so she tore them off and secured them to her belt loop.

It was time. She’d been trained along with all the others in tactical maneuvers, and it was time to tap that training. Shadows passed before the blaze. Many were wearing traditional wear. Some wore commando gear. Her mission was to locate the guys and get them the hell out of there. She knew Dalton wouldn’t last long—especially not in his condition.

A shadow passed too close to her, and Clarisse dove for cover behind a tree. The barracks were now fully ablaze; the enemy were torching everything and beginning to overrun the camp. There had to have been at least a hundred of them when all this started. Then a red pinpoint of light shone on her thigh; she panicked and braced for the shot. It blinked, and she followed the light. It was Sam; he was signaling her. Hiding in a tree, he motioned for her to come to him.

Clarisse ran toward Sam as an assailant yelled something in a foreign language. She felt a shot land near her feet. With her right arm extended and her weapon drawn, she hit him twice in the chest, not three feet away. Sam finished him off with a shot to the head as she joined him in the tree.

“Where are they?”

“Dalton’s fine,” Sam said.

“Where is he?”

“Right flank. He’s getting Dutch,” Sam said.

“And McCann?”

“He’s with Rick, getting Graham.”

That’s when she saw the blood as the fire reflected light on Sam’s arm. His hands were covered in it.

“Where are you hit?” she gasped.

“Thigh,” Sam said. She felt his leg, and her hand came away warm and slick. She peeled off her jacket, pulled up her thin cotton T-shirt, and ripped the hemline around it off, pulling it over her head. She stretched the loop of fabric, then tied it around Sam’s leg to stem the flow of blood long enough to keep him conscious.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and growled at her, “Get out of here, Clarisse!”

“Shut up!” Clarisse barked back. “Stay awake, Sam. I’ll find them and send them here to meet you.”

“No,” he said and grabbed her by the sleeve. “They’ll capture you. Don’t you understand what they’re doing?”

She yanked herself free. “Stay awake, Sam. I’ll be right back.” She put her jacket back on over her bloodstained shirt and leaped forward. She’d go for Dalton first. She had to. Taking advantage of the forest, she slunk from tree cover to the dark shadows, ducking in and out of the ravenous light of the blazing camp.

She aimed farther to the right flank, staying in the shadows and springing from one patch of darkness to another. Each step brought her closer to her own demise, but she went there willingly. To kill them if she could. She wanted to kill them. To murder, maim, and annihilate those whose own selfishness had destroyed not only a nation but also humanity itself.

With gun drawn, Clarisse headed toward the increasing gunfire to the right of the camp. At the next rise, around the former mess hall, she came across a dead assailant who she assumed had succumbed to Dalton’s handiwork and retrieved his automatic rifle a few feet away. Slinging the weapon over her back by its strap, she ran on toward the action.

Two aggressors came around the corner, and she shot the first one in the head at point-blank range with her right hand drawn across her body. She calculated, with swift reasoning, that she had a split second to hit the other one. With the left hand she retrieved the second pistol at her waistband, crossed it under her right arm, and blasted the other guy in the stomach. Then she brought her right arm around to finish him off with a headshot before he came within five feet of her. Without missing a step Clarisse ran on, weapons in both hands. She moved closer to the sounds of war and of murder, knowing she might find one or all of her friends dead by now. She had to recover them. She at least had to try.

“Nooo!”

Clarisse stopped in her tracks. It was Dalton’s agonized voice, followed by a barrage of gunfire more intense than before. She continued toward his location, terrified of what she might find.

She could no longer even register the sounds of battle—they were too intense—and came around the right end of the guard shack to see Dalton, kneeling behind a Jeep so riddled with bullets that before long the shield it provided would became a trap.

Dalton fired on a group to the left of his position. Clarisse searched for Dutch, but he was nowhere in sight. Five men fired at Dalton while another loaded what looked to Clarisse like a rocket launcher. She aimed for that one. She had to buy some time to run in the open to Dalton, twenty yards away, and get him the hell out of there. She wasn’t certain he could stand by the way he knelt against the Jeep. She couldn’t waste any more time; she had to get him out now.

Clarisse holstered the pistols and pulled the newly acquired rifle around to her chest. She checked the load, shoved the stock into her shoulder, and aimed the rifle at the man with the rocket launcher, following the line of his arm to directly target the rocket launcher’s ordnance. The shot she fired exploded the round within the chamber, killing the operator and two others standing nearby with a great blast. It was enough of a diversion to run the twenty yards in the open to get to Dalton’s position, and Clarisse ran before she had a split second to convince herself otherwise.

Dalton stared at the explosion in surprise and then turned behind him as Clarisse barreled toward him. She’d rearmed her right hand with the pistol along the way and fired again at an attacker dressed in white who was aiming at her. Dalton turned his attention to the same assailant, and as the white-robed man went down Clarisse slid into Dalton’s side.

“Clarisse!” Dalton yelled in horror and dismay, and he pushed her down. It barely registered that Dalton was uttering curse words at her; his lips moved, but Clarisse heard nothing. She turned, scanned the enemy, and pinpointed what she was looking for: their magazines. She wanted to light them up; this picking off one at time was taking too long.

Where the ordnance for one rocket launcher was located there was sure to be more. With the fire lighting their position, Clarisse aimed again and fired on the back of a vehicle she suspected carried their cache. Once Dalton realized what she aimed for, he gave up trying to chastise her and he fired repeatedly until they were both suddenly taking cover from the flash explosion generated by a lucky shot.

Clarisse pulled Dalton to his feet, looping his right arm over her shoulder, and they both ran, covering one another from the volley of incoming shots. Clarisse dragged them toward one of their own Jeeps as Dalton began to lose consciousness; leaning against the door, he began to slide down it. Clarisse imagined that, in his condition, he was blacking out after the massive adrenaline rush.

“Get in!” she screamed and opened the door, pushing and shoving him into the seat.

“Get out of here, Clarisse!” he yelled. “They’ve got Dutch.” That was the last thing he uttered before passing out altogether.

Clarisse threw the Jeep in drive and sped west through their former haven, now nearly burned to the ground. She drove madly, hoping to find the others before the entire camp was overrun. Shots pinged off the Jeep when it became visible between shadows.

They saw her before she saw them; she nearly ran right into them. They came out of the shadows directly in front of her—only two stood—and Clarisse slammed the Jeep to a stop. She recognized Graham, who had another man in a fireman’s carry over his back. He and McCann rushed around to the back of the Jeep, tossed Rick’s body inside, and jumped in themselves. Still the enemy shot at them. Graham remained on the tailgate, returning fire.

Clarisse glanced in the rearview mirror, catching McCann’s face in the firelight, his expression one of having witnessed hell. In slow motion, he pounded on the metal and screamed, “Go, go!” Clarisse stomped on the gas, and the Jeep sped away into the shadow of darkness.

The enemy were chanting now, raising their rifles high overhead and dancing in the firelight. The scene reminded her of jackals, in celebration over a kill. These people were long past human. Now Dutch was among them; they were leaving him to his death. The thought ate at Clarisse, but they had no choice. Not now.

She stopped near the woods where she had left Sam, and pointed toward his location, yelling, “Get Sam!” As Graham ran to the woods, Sam appeared, leaning against a tree. Graham retrieved him while Clarisse checked her rearview mirror.

They were still coming; she saw the movement of two motorcycles trailing them against the light. Then she heard a shot hit the Jeep. “Hurry!” McCann yelled as he returned fire, trying to hold them back.

Graham struggled to get Sam closer, and Clarisse threw the Jeep in reverse to block their position from incoming fire. Everyone screamed at Graham to hurry, and one of the motorcycles pulled in front of them. Just as Graham and Sam were seated, the rider aimed directly at Clarisse. She floored it, and his body slammed onto the hood, and then the windshield, shattering it, but she kept going. She couldn’t see a thing and shoved her fist through the glass to get a better view. The guy was either dead or stunned; if he wasn’t dead, he would be soon enough.

McCann continued to shoot at the other rider, and Clarisse assumed he got him when the firing ceased. She raced onward.

“Are we clear?” she yelled.

“I don’t know!” McCann yelled.

“Keep looking,” Graham said more calmly, climbing into the front seat over Dalton’s unconscious form and opening the hatch of the Jeep’s sunroof. He pulled his pistol out and pushed himself waist high through the opening.

“Be careful!” Clarisse said, then turned to Sam. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said weakly.

“Stay awake, Sam,” she implored him.

Graham leaned over to grab the body of the guy on the hood of the Jeep; amid the sound of scraping glass, the body slid from the hood and onto the side of the road. Graham came back inside and said, “He was way dead.”

“Good,” Clarisse answered.

“Where are we going?” Graham asked. “We can’t lead them to the others.”

“No. I agree. We’ll find a place. We have a cache west of here,” she said.

“How’s Dalton?” Graham asked, trying to feel for his pulse.

“He’ll be fine.” She had to ask but was afraid of the answer. “And Rick?”

“He’s got a pulse. He was hit in the head during one of the mortar rounds,” McCann said.

Graham put his hand on Clarisse’s shoulder. “Why don’t you pull over. Let me drive now.”

“No. I know where we’re going. We’re almost there,” she said. She knew that Graham was trying to comfort her, afraid she’d break down soon. What he didn’t know was that she was far ahead of him now. She wasn’t too concerned about Rick, Sam, or even Dalton’s condition. She’d make sure they’d be fine in time. Right now she was thinking about one of their own, and the cache of equipment she was about to have access to, and plotting. She had to get back to Dutch before the sun rose.

Reuben pulled into the clearing, unfolded the map, and used a penlight to check their location. Lucy leaned forward from the backseat, with Tala next to her. “Are we lost?” she asked.

He glanced back at her soft green eyes and her pale skin, which nearly glowed in the dark. He’d hardly said a word to the occupants in the backseat after their escape. He’d shut them out completely as he raced toward safety. The enemy had been ruthless, Clarisse was probably dead, and Dalton would blame him for that. That is, if any of them made it out of there alive; Reuben had his doubts. He saw the other prepper vehicles in the rearview mirror. There were too many of them, no matter what tricks they had up their sleeves.

“No. We’re not lost. I’m waiting for the signal.”

“Oh,” Lucy said and then asked, “Where are the dogs?”

“They were in the first load. We thought it was best to keep them with the children as an added measure of defense.”

Suddenly three flashes of blue light caught Lucy’s attention, ahead of them in the dark.

“Is that the signal?” she asked.

“Yes. That’s it.” Reuben put the truck in drive and headed out of the clearing, into the forest, while Mark moved brush out of the way for him.

The realization that he would have to relay bad news became more daunting the farther Reuben went. The plan had gone off without a hitch until Dalton had decided to play commando. Now Reuben was the senior in command until the others showed up . . . if they showed up at all. Leading this group was a huge responsibility, and he wasn’t confident he was up for the task.

So far it looked as if Mark was acting according to the plan, which was a good sign. He rolled down the window, and Mark stepped onto the running panel and held on. “Go ahead. The path winds to the right,” Mark whispered.

“Who else is on watch?”

“Macy has the front. Don’t worry; no one’s getting past her. And no one could get past Lawoaka either, without me tagging along,” Mark said.

“Ah.” Reuben understood now; His own daughter had wicked sharp sight and no sense of humor. It had worried him, the way these kids were growing up. They were trained daily to defend and kill. They’d kill or be killed from now on to survive. He wasn’t sure he wanted this for them. Perhaps death was more just, more humane. He hadn’t made up his mind yet, but the question nagged at his soul.

He stopped in front of a weathered, gray one-story hunting lodge. Mark opened the back door for Lucy and Tala.

“You made it,” Mark said, embracing Tala.

“Hi, Mark. Is everyone okay?” Tala asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Where are Graham and McCann?”

She looked to Reuben, then said, “There was some difficulty getting out. We think they’re on their way, but we haven’t heard yet.”

“Nothing came over the radio?” Reuben asked him.

“We haven’t set anything up. No tracers, right?” Mark said.

“That was a trick question. Yes, you’re right. They either show up or they don’t,” Reuben answered.

Marcy emerged to usher Lucy and Tala inside a dimly lit cabin.

“You guys run into any trouble on your way here? Any locals?” Reuben asked Mark as they walked back to the entrance.

“Not a soul,” Mark said as Sheriff ran up to his side in the dark.

“Hey, buddy. You keeping these guys in line?” Reuben said as Sheriff sniffed him.

“Yeah, Sheriff’s been on edge since we got here. We hear wolf cries every now and then. We’re sure there are no other people nearby this location?” Mark asked.

Reuben surveyed the area—as much as he could see in the moonlight. “We’re not sure of anything right now, son. I only remembered this place on a hunting trip I took ten years ago. I gave you three possible locations. This one was thankfully unoccupied. We’ll wait a few days for the others to arrive, and decide if we move on or stay here,” Reuben said.

“It’s fine for now. The house is at least big enough, and defendable,” Mark said. And there it was again for Reuben: this seventeen-year-old kid was worried about defense. He wasn’t studying for his SAT test, he wasn’t working on his favorite ride. It was life and death he worried about. His survival instincts had already taken over. Is this how humankind was meant to continue?

Suddenly, a hand touched Reuben on the back and he nearly pulled his weapon around. “Jesus! Don’t do that!” he warned Macy.

“Hi, Reuben,” she said, hugging him.

“Seriously, you could get yourself killed sneaking up like that,” he said.

“You’d never shoot me,” she said, smiling.

“Only for your own good,” he said.

Macy raised an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged it off. “Where are the others? They were supposed to be with you.”

“There was some trouble. They should be here soon.”

“It’ll be light in another hour,” she said.

“We’ll wait for them,” Mark said, “as long as it takes.”