Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (23 page)

26.

When Brad left the workshop he saw
Doctor Ericson and Alex gathered at the bottom of the ladder with Specialist
Parker and Mrs. Murphy. Ericson was giving last minute instructions to the
nurse on the care of the men. He had promised to return the following day, and
if Hahn was able to travel he would bring him to the farm so he could be with
the rest of the men.

Jorgensen walked into the barn to
tell them the truck was at the bottom of the hill and they needed to get moving. 
They all headed for the barn door. Alex stopped when he saw Brad at the back of
the room and turned back towards him. He extended the unslung the 870 shotgun
and went to hand it back. “Thank you for letting me carry this,” Alex said.

“Keep it,” Brad said, slapping the
boy on the back.

“Wow, really? Thank you Brad. I’ll
be seeing you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, you betcha, Alex,” Brad
said, following them outside. He watched the party follow the drive back out
and just into the trees, Jorgensen walking the group most of the way. Brad
watched them exchange handshakes and hugs before Jorgensen turned and headed
back towards Brad, who was waiting outside the barn.

“You ate?” Jorgensen asked.

“No, not yet, you?”

“Nope, was fixin’ to, though. Care
if I join you? Mrs. Murphy said there was food laid out in the main house.”

“I’m following you, then,” Brad
said.

Brad followed Jorgensen through a
back door in the farmhouse. They entered into an old plank mudroom, then down a
hallway. They saw they were tracking in clods of dirt and snow so they stopped
to strip their boots before continuing into the house. There were few lights
burning in the house so they followed the low glow of oil lamps to lead them to
the kitchen.

As promised, food was laid out on
an antique kitchen table. Thomas Murphy and his younger brother William were
standing over a kitchen island opening canned jars of vegetables. “Hey Thomas,
was wondering where you were hiding,” Brad said jokingly.

“Hey Brad, I was meaning to make it
out to the barn to welcome you, been busy most of the day. Dad has us working
pretty hard. It’s not easy feeding so many,” Thomas said.

“Well make sure the guys are doing
their share,” Brad said.

“Oh they been great, Nelson is getting
pretty good with the animals too,” William added.

“Good to hear. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing special, I’m afraid. It’s
a weekday … I think? Anyhow, we tend to eat better on Sundays. Weekdays it’s
dried meats and canned potatoes,” Thomas said.

“Well hell boys, turns out them be
some of my favorite eats,” Jorgensen said, lifting a plate. “Load me up,
friends.”

“Shit, who doesn’t like meat and
potatoes,” Brad laughed, grabbing a plate of his own.

He found a spot at the table and
quietly ate his dinner. William brought him a cup of warm tea and a glass of
water. “You all are doing pretty well out here, aren’t ya?” Brad said.

Thomas finished rinsing the jars
and wiped his hands with a towel. He carried the oil lamp to the table and sat
down, joining the rest of them. “We have done surprisingly well. These things
are hard to explain. After the first days the wild unpredictable movement kinda
ceased. We don’t see them too far from the cities and villages now unless they
are pursuing something.”

William checked the window and
pulled the curtains tight, ensuring they were closed. “Nighttime is the most
critical. That’s when the smart ones are moving. We don’t burn fires, or
venture out past dark.”

“We share the same experiences,
boys,” Jorgensen said. “At the factory, we don’t burn wood after dark. The dumb
ones, the creepers, they don’t seem to care at all about wood smoke. They are
mostly attracted to sight and sounds. But the Buhmann, they are different. They
will track you, they can smell you, and they can associate a wood fire with
prey. Have to be careful with them ones.”

Brad finished the rest of his food
and placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Where did the others go?” he
asked.

“Dad is in the attic, standing
first watch. I’d imagine the rest are cleaning up … readying to lock in for the
night. Everyone else already ate. We go to bed early here, we have to be up
with the sun to take advantage of the daylight hours,” William said.

“I guess we should be moving to the
barn as well then, don’t ya think George?” Brad said.

“Aye, don’t want to get locked out
in the cold now do we,” Jorgensen joked as he chugged the last of his tea.

“Thank you for the meal, boys, good
night,” Brad said.

“Wait a second,” William said as he
ran down a hall and then came back, carrying a pair of old sleeping bags. “Most
of the others already had choice of Mom’s good blankets and the nice bags, but
you are welcome to these if you need one.”

“I’d be most grateful,” Jorgensen
said, taking a bag and passing the other to Brad. “I wasn’t planning for an
overnight trip.”

The two men made their way back to
the barn just as the last of the daylight began to fade. Joseph was standing
watch at the door when they arrived. He welcomed them inside but asked them to
keep their voices low. They observed serious light and sound discipline once
the sun went down. Brad nodded and moved towards the ladder to the loft.

He climbed to the top and found his
pack where he had left it earlier. Looking around, he could see all of the
others had turned in for the night. Their shapes covered the loft floor. Piles
of clothing and boots lay next to their sleeping forms. A small crack of light
bled from under the canvas shelter that made do as their infirmary. The soft
glow of leaked light was the only light in the entire space. Brad watched as
Jorgensen made his way into the infirmary tent. As he lifted the flap and
passed inside, Brad caught a glimpse of Chelsea sitting on Kelli’s bed. She
didn’t look up and probably wouldn’t have seen him standing in the dark anyhow.

He moved about, looking for a spot
on the floor to call his own. Nearly every inch of board was occupied. Brad
moved closer to the tent and saw that there was a narrow gap of maybe three
feet between the edge of the canvas wall and the barn wall itself. “Guess this
will have to do,” Brad whispered to himself as he moved into the narrow alley.
He unrolled the sleeping bag, choosing to use it as a cushion rather than get
inside.

Brad dug though his ruck, removing
a heavy wool blanket he had procured from the factory as well as his poncho
liner. He quietly spread them out in the dark, finally folding his coat as a
pillow. Brad stripped out of his clothing, choosing to sleep in his shorts and
undershirt. He felt safe in this elevated position surrounded by his men. He
pulled the poncho liner over his shoulders and tried to find sleep.

He heard noise, the sounds of
laughter. Brad struggled to open his eyes, finding his eyelids heavy. He could
feel the sunlight on his face. He sat up in the bed. He was back in the house,
in the middle of the village. He heard the laughter. He could smell bacon.

Brad smiled and got to his feet.
He wasn’t in his boots, no uniform. He was dressed in his boxers and a brown
T-shirt. He stretched his arms and moved down the hallway and into the living
room, admiring the family photos as he walked towards the kitchen.

As he moved through the living
room he saw a man sitting at the head of the table, a young child next to him,
smiling. They asked Brad to have a seat, it was time to eat. Brad moved to the
table and sat with them. Listening to the child laugh, the father smiled
proudly. In walked a woman holding a large tray of bacon and eggs. She smiled
at Brad, offering him the first serving. Brad smiled and lifted his arm to take
a large spoon.

When Brad raised his hand he was
holding the silenced MKII Pistol. “No!” Brad screamed, trying to let go of it,
but had no control of his body. He screamed, fighting his own muscles as the
pistol swung towards the face of the father. Brad couldn’t control his
movements. His finger depressed the trigger rapidly, and he watched in horror
as the slide retracted back and forth, spitting spent brass from the receiver.
Rounds impacted the man’s face; he flew back and out of his chair.

 “No!” Brad continued to
scream as his arm swung left, now aiming the pistol into the laughing face of
the mother. Again he felt the trigger pull as the pistol bucked, rounds hitting
the woman over and over in the neck and head. The child continued to laugh as
Brad’s arm moved right, the pistol going in the child’s direction. He couldn’t
control his actions. Brad screamed in agony, trying to override his muscles; he
struggled to drop the pistol, to lower his arm.

Brad woke in the dark, his heart
pounding. He felt pressure. His hand was being held softly and pushed back
towards his body. Another hand touched his face and brushed his hair. He went
to leap forward but heard a soft whisper. It was Chelsea, telling him it was
okay. He relaxed and lay back, trying to breathe. She ran her fingers through
his hair, then leaned over and kissed him softly on the forehead.

Chelsea lifted the blanket and
crawled in next to him, placing her back against his chest. She pulled his arm
over her hip, pressing her warm body close to him. Brad squeezed her hand and
pulled her tight, pressing his face close against her shoulder, smelling her
hair and listening to her breathe. He was relaxed, he felt safe and warm. He
closed his eyes yet didn’t want to sleep, instead wanting to stay in the moment,
embracing the feelings of warmth and love that he had been without for so long.

27.

When he woke, she was gone. Brad
rolled to his back, wondering if it had all been a dream. He sat up and dressed,
pulling on his thermals and uniform. He folded the blankets and rolled up the
sleeping bag, then reached for his rucksack, preparing to pack it for the
coming patrol. Resting on the top was a single folded slip of paper. Brad
grabbed it and unfolded it.

Find us a way home. When you
return, I will be waiting.

Brad held the paper in his hand,
reading it several times before folding it and placing it into the breast
pocket of his shirt. He packed everything into the rucksack, checking his
weapons and ammunition before moving back into the large space of the loft. The
others were already up, cleaning their areas and preparing for the day. Brad
walked to the infirmary tent, going inside and hoping to find Chelsea.

He found Kelli on her bunk. She
smiled at him when he walked in. Daniel and Gunner were still asleep, Gunner
snoring loudly. Brad walked to Kelli. “Have you seen Chelsea?” he asked her.

She smiled at him. “She’s gone,
Brad.”

“Gone?” he asked.

“She went to help Mrs. Murphy in
the house. She said she couldn’t watch you walk away again. Just make sure you
come back, okay?”

Brad returned Kelli’s smile. “I
promise,” he said.

“Brad,” Kelli called out as he
exited the tent, causing him to stop and look back.

“Thank you for what you did for
me,” she said. “You know I owe you one.”

“Just take care of her, okay?” Brad
said as he left the tent, grabbing his bag as he passed it.

He navigated the ladder and joined
the others in the stable. He found the rest of his team suited up and ready to
go. “’Bout time you joined us,” Sean joked as Brad cleared the last rung of the
ladder. “The boys brought us some sandwiches and filled some water bottles if
you’re interested.” Sean pointed to a nearby table.

Brad acknowledged him by grabbing a
sandwich and stuffing half of it in his mouth. He chewed heartily and washed it
down with a huge gulp of water. “So George, how long is this walk today?”

“I have good news there, friend.
Murphy has offered to loan us his car. I’d say we will be in position by late
morning,” Jorgensen said.

“Really? Things are looking up,”
Brad said, smiling.

Brooks laughed, “Don’t get too
excited, Thomas tells me it’s a real piece of shit.”

Sean lifted his heavy rucksack to
his back. “You guys ready?” he said before heading to the door. Brad lifted his
own pack and followed the rest of the men outside. Thomas was waiting for them
by one of the other outbuildings. He swung open the door of an old-style pole
building to reveal a four-door 1990’s Renault Clio. “What the fuck is that?”
Sean asked, looking at the tiny car.

Thomas grinned. “It’s Mom’s old
car, she used to drive it when she worked at the clinic. Don’t worry it still
runs pretty good, we take it for rides every now and then.”

Thomas opened the driver’s door and
put the car in neutral. Jeremiah and the other boys walked behind the car and
pushed it out of the barn and onto the driveway. Jeremiah came out carrying a
large bundle of rope. “There isn’t much room inside. I’m afraid you’ll have to
lash your bags to the top.”

“Fair enough, I s’pose,” Jorgensen
said as he hoisted his bag to the roof. The rest of the men stripped their bags
of weapons, then lifted them onto the roof next to Jorgensen’s. Brooks bundled
the bags towards the center of the vehicle as Thomas and William tightly lashed
them together.

Thomas held up the keys, and Sean
took them. “You drive, George, I call shotgun,” he said, tossing the keys to
Jorgensen.

“It’s all gassed up. You will have
plenty of fuel. You’ll have to pop the clutch to get her started though,”
Jeremiah said. “Just bring it to the top of the hill, give us some time to
remove the barricade, then you can be on your way.”

Sean looked at all of them, “We
ready?”

Brad opened the rear passenger door
and squeezed into the back of the car. Brooks got in beside him with the other
two men in front. Jorgensen put the key in the ignition and depressed the
clutch. Jeremiah and his sons began to push the car down the drive. When it hit
the hill it picked up speed. Jorgensen released the clutch. The Renault
backfired then revved to life. Jorgensen drove the car past the house then up
the far side of the hill as he had been asked. He then put the car in neutral,
nursing the throttle, making sure the small car didn’t stall out.

They watched the boys run past them
and down the hill. Quickly they dragged the large trees away from the entrance
to the road, then rolled away the boulders. Thomas shot a thumbs up to his
father waiting at the top of the hill. Jeremiah walked back to the car and
wished the men good luck as he slapped the roof. Once again the Renault was put
into gear and they were again rolling down the driveway. Jorgensen slowed,
turned onto the main road and accelerated.

Jorgensen navigated the car down
the paved road. It had been days since snow had fallen so much of the road was
clear, or only slightly marked with the melting snow. He drove cautiously,
avoiding the deeper banks of snow that had accumulated and frozen in low spots
as the snow melted. For the first leg of the trip and until they reached the
turn off to the factory, they followed the tracks of the pickup truck.
Jorgensen said they would have another thirty kilometers until they neared the
camp.

The trees had grown thick as they
got closer to the coast. The road began to twist following the rolls of the
hilly terrain. Occasionally they would pass a house, or a cluster of buildings,
all of them showing signs of forced entry: kicked-open doors or broken windows.
It was obvious the gang had traveled here. As they continued to get closer to
the camp, the tension in the vehicle rose. The men readied their weapons and
checked their magazines. Jorgensen slowed as they drove past a burnt-down home.
The house itself wasn’t unusual. Several homes had burnt since the fall. What
was different was the five bodies lying face down in the driveway in front of
the home. Brad clenched his jaw, watching the bodies as the car slowly rolled
past.

“How much farther?” Brooks asked
impatiently.

Jorgensen looked at Brooks in the
rearview mirror. “Not much further, there is a place up ahead where we can hide
the car. We will travel the rest of the distance on foot.”

The car moved on, following another
very long bend in the road. As the car pulled out of the curve, Jorgensen
slowed then turned off on to a barely visible side road that cut up and away
from the main road. The side road was composed of loose gravel that was covered
in snow and ice. Quickly the car began to slip and the wheels spun, losing
traction. Jorgensen put the small car into reverse and used the slope of the
hill to turn it around. Then he eased it to the side of the narrow road before
cutting the engine and applying the parking brake.

“End of the road, friends,”
Jorgensen said as he removed the keys from the ignition and stowed them in the
glove box.

The team quickly exited the vehicle
and removed their gear. They gathered brush from nearby and hastily camouflaged
the Renault. It wouldn’t do much good on close inspection. But the brush would
at least cover the glare from the paint and windshield from reflecting down to
the main road below them. Sean made a quick walk-around inspection of the
vehicle before signaling to Jorgensen to lead the way.

They continued following the road
up the hill until it ended at a small overlook. There was a small parking area
here, with trash cans and picnic tables. It looked to have been a park at one
time, but it was empty now with no signs of life. They followed Jorgensen
diagonally across the parking lot and to a small foot-trail that continued up
the high hill.

“There is another overlook at the
top. That is where we will be able to see the intersection,” Jorgensen said.

“How far is it from the top of the
hill to the intersection?” Sean asked as they walked.

“I didn’t pace it out, but I’d
guess twelve to sixteen hundred meters. Somewhat out of reach of your rifles if
that is what you are wondering. But there are plenty of firing positions,”
Jorgensen said.

“Are you a sniper, George?” Brooks
asked.

“I am a hunter,” Jorgensen muttered
as he continued trekking up the trail.

It took them another thirty minutes
before the trail leveled out and again traveled to the south. Jorgensen
continued leading the way, walking point. Being an experienced hunting guide
had served him well. He moved along the trail slowly as if stalking a deer,
pausing often to check the trail and to look back as if checking on his
clients. He moved quickly and quietly, feeling very comfortable in the forest.

At a sharp corner in the trail
Jorgensen stopped and took a knee, signaling for the rest of them to come
forward. “This is the spot.”

Sean looked around them in a 360
before shaking his head no. “See if you can get us closer,” he whispered.

Without speaking, Jorgensen
indicated a narrow path through heavy brush. Just beyond the brush you could
see bright light coming through the leaves where a break in the forest started.
He mimicked with his hands for them to crawl and follow behind him.

It didn’t take long. Just beyond
the heavy brush more signs of a hiker’s path developed, with flattened dirt and
even an occasional piece of litter or names carved into a stump. Jorgensen
moved down the path, crawling on his belly to keep himself concealed among the
high grass that surrounded the trail. Again he stopped at a large wall made of
dry, stacked stone. He scooted then turned so that he was sitting with his back
against the rock wall.

It looked to have been a popular
picnic site for hikers. Brad could see how the path moved in and next to the
wall. Names had been written on it in paint; stumps and logs were carved into
rustic benches. Jorgensen used his hands to call them all together. Again he
used his rudimentary sign language to tell them to slowly peek over the wall.
Sean first lifted his head. The grass was high here, and even with his head
above the wall he had to use his hands to part the vegetation to see the
intersection below.

Sean looked, pivoting his head from
side to side before dropping back into the cover of the wall. He brought his
hands in towards his body, signaling for the others to come closer.

“You did good George,” Sean
whispered. He looked at Brad and Brooks. “We’re going to spread out along the
wall and observe for a while. George, you’re with me. Brooks, take Brad that
way and find a good observation point.”

Brooks punched Brad on the shoulder
before he rolled back to the prone and began crawling farther down the stone
fence. He moved slowly, making it easy for Brad to stay just behind his heels.
They moved beyond the wall and created at least fifty feet of separation from
the others before they settled into heavy grass in search of a hide. Brooks lay
with his head facing the road and pushed backwards, being careful not to
disturb the high grass in front of him.

They crawled back until they found
a downed tree. It was large and solid and would provide a safe firing position.
Quietly they rolled over the log and into the depression behind it. Brooks
pulled a shoulder release on the strap of his pack and let it drop beside him.
Brad did the same and settled up next to the large tree trunk. They sat
silently listening, trying to adjust to the sounds of their environment,
hearing the winds blow through the trees above and behind them. Birds chirped
intermittently.

It was still early in the day,
maybe late morning. The sun hadn’t hit the top of its arch yet. As they sat,
they heard the sound of a car engine. It got louder until it seemed to be just
below them. The engine stopped and a car door creaked open and slammed shut.
They heard the vague sounds of voices on the winds; they couldn’t make out the
words. There was another noise. A squeaky door opening followed by the slamming
shut of another, or possibly the same one.

Brooks tapped Brad and moved his
head close. “Okay, let’s take a peek,” he whispered.

Brad let his rifle lay against the
pack, turned over and got his knees beneath him. Slowly he raised up until his
head was level with the stump. Then a bit higher until they were above the tall
grass. Even with the sounds echoing up, Brad was shocked to see how close they
were. He had imagined they were farther away. 

The hill gradually fell away from
them for maybe thirty feet before it quickly dropped to the ground below. A
wide blacktop road ran along the bottom of the hill, traveling left to right.
Immediately below them and on the far side of the road sat a large paved
parking lot. There was a long steel building located at the back of the lot. It
was close, maybe four football fields from their current position.

Several cars were parked in front
of the building. Looking to the right you could see the main north/south road.
Here a barricade had been positioned. Two police cars painted white with a
number of saw horse barriers blocked the road. Behind them sat a parked
Canadian Army G-Wagon. The armored military vehicle built on a Mercedes G-class
platform was painted in dark olive green holding a mounted machine gun.

They heard a door open and focused
on the building across the street. Four men exited, two of them in police uniforms,
C7’s slung over their shoulders. The other two were in civilian clothing,
wearing heavy coats. They all walked towards a car, laughing.  The two
dressed as civilians entered the car and drove off. The two uniformed men
strolled towards the road block. One of them pulled himself to the hood of the
G-Wagon and fished a package of cigarettes from his pocket.