Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (25 page)

29.

The primals flowed through the
intersection and down the road towards the port’s main camp. As the mass bled
through the valley, their broken feet slapped the cold pavement. They would
snarl and growl at each other as smaller packs met and mixed together. The
snarling and moaning echoed up the walls as they moved down the now dark road.
If the team closed their eyes and tried to sleep the sounds worked into their
dreams, causing them to be startled awake.

Brad was sitting with his back
against the wall, his poncho liner wrapped around his shoulders. Jorgensen was
next to him. Jorgensen had pulled a sleeping bag up to his waist but kept his
upper body free. Brad searched down the stone wall and could just make out
Sean’s form guarding the right flank. Brooks was on the other side, leaning
with his back to the hill watching forward, keeping vigil over the mob below.
Brad tried to mentally plan his escape if the primals somehow made it up the
steep hillside.

He would have no place to run but
up, back towards the hilltop overlook. He didn’t want to think about what would
happen if they managed to get behind them, or somehow came at one of the
flanks. To be surrounded with no hard shelter would mean death. Those scenarios
were not likely. From experience the primals didn’t like traveling uphill.
That’s what had kept the factory and the farms, both located on high ground,
safe during the fall. The only exception was when they were in pursuit. If they
made contact they would follow until their prey fell, or managed to break away.

As the night slowly dragged on,
they began to hear gunfire coming from far down the road. The primals had
reached the raiders’ main camp. The firing was heavy and steady. The sounds
reminded Brad of the prolonged engagements he had heard on deployments to Iraq
and Afghanistan. The steady reports of automatic weapons and large caliber
rifles were only interrupted by the occasional explosion. Sometimes a scream
would reach them carried on the wind. It had become difficult to distinguish
between human agony and primal rage.

As dawn approached, the gunfire
ceased. Looking towards the coast they could see billowing clouds of black
smoke rising above them and blowing to the south. Brad raised up so that he
could take in the view below. The road was littered with the dead. Corpses of
both the primals and the defenders were intermixed. There were no signs of life
in the once-bustling intersection.

The smell of pungent smoke and
primal death lingered in the air. Jorgensen was still huddled beside Brad, and
both men had wrapped scarves over their noses. Brooks had moved closer once the
sun came up; he was now leaning against his pack feasting on an MRE.

Brad looked at him with a scowl.
“How can you eat man, with that stink?” he asked.

Brooks shrugged his shoulders as he
crammed a mouthful of brisket into his mouth. “Food is fuel, brother,” he
mumbled after swallowing.

There was a rustling of brush and
grass behind them. Both Brooks and Brad went for their weapons as Sean emerged
from the thick trees to their rear. He looked up at the men he had startled.

“Sorry fellas, nature called,” Sean
said. “You guys ready to move out? I haven’t seen anything moving in over an
hour.”

Jorgensen began pulling himself
from the bag. “I would like nothing more than to leave this place.”

“Good, everyone gather your shit,
we’ll move out in five. I found a break near the spot I had set up in last
night, we should be able to follow it down,” Sean said before turning to gather
his belongings at the end of the wall.

They quickly got to their feet and
organized their equipment. By the time Brad had his pack strapped to his
shoulders, Sean was making his way back from his hiding spot. He had his long
gun in his hands. He looked them over quickly, then nodded. “Brooks, would you
mind hanging back a bit in over watch while we do some recon?”

“Got you covered, Boss,” Brooks
answered.

Sean moved out, keeping Jorgensen
behind him and within arm’s reach. Brad let them move a few paces ahead before
following them back into the heavy underbrush. It was only a short distance to
the path Sean had found. It was narrow, but the cut of the angle made the drop
down the face of the hill manageable. Brad took his time navigating the path,
not wanting to lose his balance carrying a rifle and the heavy load on his
back.

When he reached the bottom, he
joined the other two men at the edge of the road. There was a large depression
that skirted the shoulder of the road. Sean had gone prone and crawled to the
very edge of the pavement. Jorgensen held back and was kneeling in the heavy
snow-covered vegetation. Brad turned to look behind him, searching for Brooks.
He was nowhere to be found. The man had faded into the hillside. Well hidden,
he would be their safety net.

Sean got to his feet, and without
looking back raised his hand signaling for the others to move forward. He held
his rifle just below his eye, swiveling left to right as he walked directly
towards the roadblock. Brad joined them on the road, keeping Jorgensen to his
left while he followed, sweeping his barrel to the right and stopping to look
behind him every few steps.

Sean posted himself near the left
rear panel of the G-Wagon. The turret still held the C6 machine gun, although
several attempted gunners lay dead below the mount. When Brad moved towards the
back of the vehicle to join the others, Sean gave instructions for them to
defend the road while he moved forward to clear the truck.

Brad took up a position on the back
right of the truck near the bumper. He held his rifle so that he could observe
past the barricade yet still cover Sean as he searched. Sean moved to the front
of the G-Wagon and opened the unlocked driver’s side doors. He swept inside,
clearing the compartment, before moving around the vehicle and opening the
passenger doors. He reached inside and grabbed the back of a man’s uniform
shirt and pulled him out of the vehicle and onto the pavement. He did this
twice more before declaring the vehicle clear.

Sean reached down and grabbed a C7
rifle from the road. He locked the bolt to the rear and dropped the magazine.
He placed the mag in his drop pouch then tossed the rifle onto the back seat of
the truck. “Any rifles you find, clear them and put ‘em back here,” he said.
“Like I promised George, these weapons and this truck … if it runs … will go
home with you.”

George nodded and lifted a rifle
lying near his feet. Following Sean’s example, he placed it on the rear seat.
Brad lowered his weapon and walked around to the front of the truck, looking
down the long road towards the parking lot and steel building. “What’s next?”
he asked.

“Let’s search these bodies and
check out that structure,” Sean said before turning to look at Jorgensen.
“George, you hang back, cover the intersection for us.”

“Alone?” Jorgensen asked.

“You’re not alone, buddy,” Sean
said, looking up at the hillside.

Sean and Brad patrolled forward.
They separated themselves, Sean eight paces ahead on the right side of the road,
and Brad on the left. Whenever they approached a body they would halt, one man
providing watch while the other searched it for weapons and intel. Most of the
dead raiders were found outside, close to the barriers. They were easy to
separate from the primals because their bodies had been mauled and torn apart.

Brad found a middle-aged man with a
full beard. He was wearing a parka with the camouflage pattern of a Canadian
soldier. Brad felt through the man’s pockets, careful to avoid bodily fluids.
In a shirt pocket he found a small bundle wrapped in a leather cloth. Brad
untied it and laid it on the ground. Inside was a red passport with gold
writing, several personal photos, and an identification card from what appeared
to be a shipping company. Brad lifted the passport and flipped through it
before tossing it to Sean.

Sean held the passport in one hand,
examining it. “Lithuanian. Guy is a long way from home.”

 “Aren’t we all? What makes a
guy like this go bad?” Brad said, looking at the photo of the man in happier
times, standing beside a woman holding an infant.

“All about opportunity, he probably
had it in him all along,” Sean mumbled.

Brad tucked the papers and photos
back into the man’s parka before rolling over a nearby primal body, a large
adult male dressed in a khaki jacket and jeans. He had gaping neck wounds with
powder burns on his face. Most of the primals were hit at close range, probably
as they rushed their prey with disregard for their own safety. Brad looked at
them. A good amount had been taken down, easily a four to one ratio. The
raiders had managed to take several primals with them. It was a valiant yet
failed effort. The primals had overtaken the men with force, overwhelming them,
then ripping them apart. It was hard for Brad to find pity for the men that had
died here. They deserved the savage death the primals had brought them.

Sean moved to where the pavement
met the snow-covered asphalt parking lot. Several cars were parked in front of
the steel building. He waved for Brad to walk forward to join him. Brad
finished searching the primal body and walked across the road to Sean. There
was a familiar
zip
through the air, followed by a loud
ping
. Brad
paused and ducked low, knowing the sound of a high velocity projectile cutting across
his path.

Another
zip
, and another
ping.
“Oh shit, targets front!” Sean shouted as he brought up his rifle, firing
quick suppressed shots as he stepped back. Sean’s 7.62 rounds cut through the
advancing primals and pinged against the steel building behind them. From
around the far corner of the structure a number of the crazies had shown
themselves. Brooks and Sean managed to drop the first few as soon as they came
into view, but more had quickly rounded and headed towards the team. “Fuckers
must have been held up in the woods,” Sean yelled as more of them rounded the
corner and began filling the lot.

Now screaming and moaning, they
poured from the woods on the right side of the road, moving slowly but picking
up speed as they caught sight of the men. Brad raised his rifle, taking quick
shots. For every one he knocked down, two more would take its place. He planted
his feet and fired rapidly, dropping those closest to him. “I’m dry,” Brad
yelled, scrambling to reload. He could hear the rapid
zip, zip, zip
of
rounds flying over his head, Brooks doing his best to cover them.

“Fall back to the hill!” Sean
screamed as he drew his pistol.

Brad took a last look. There were
too many, they would be running today, he thought just as the air over his head
filled with tracers. Brad dove to the ground, the rapid firing of a heavy
machine gun cutting through the primals. Brad looked back over his shoulder and
saw that Jorgensen had climbed into the G-Wagon. He had mounted the gun and put
it into action, quickly cutting down the creepers. Jorgensen fired until the
weapon was dry. Brad lifted his head to survey the damage and saw that the
entire herd was now on the ground, dead or dying.

Brad climbed to his feet and jogged
towards the G-Wagon. Jorgensen was standing through the roof of the truck. He
had replaced a box of linked ammo and was quickly loading another belt of 7.62
rounds into the C6 machine gun. When Jorgensen finished he angled the weapon up
in its mount and left the vehicle. “We need to get out of here, more will be
coming,” Jorgensen yelled as he climbed down from the roof of the vehicle.

Sean approached the G-Wagon from
the front and laid his rifle on the hood as he dug through his pack and began
reloading magazines. “Nice shooting George, where’d you learn to operate a C6?”

“I’m Danish, mate, we all learn to
fight as boys,” Jorgensen said.

Brad smiled as he flashed Jorgensen
a mock salute. “You never told us you served, George.”

“You never bothered to ask,
friend,” Jorgensen answered.

Sean pointed to the hilltop then
waved a finger in the air, signaling for Brooks to join them. Then he opened
the front door of the G-Wagon and got in the driver’s seat. After a short
protest the turbo diesel engine came to life. Sean stayed in the seat until he
was sure it was idling soundly, then exited, closing the door behind him. “Well
at least something is going our way,” he said as he moved back towards Brad and
Jorgensen. He saw Brooks enter the road from the heavy vegetation.

“Change of plans, guys,” Sean said.

“I’m listening,” Brooks said as he
joined them by the vehicle.

“George, take the truck and rifles
back to the factory. I need you to get volunteers, arm them with these
weapons,” Sean said, pointing to the back seat that now held several C7 rifles.
“Meet up with the rest of my team at the farm, they will have ammo for you.”

“Then what?” Jorgensen asked
suspiciously.

Sean moved back to the hood of the
truck, signaling for the others to follow him. He pulled a folded map from his
thigh pocket and carefully unfolded it. “My guys will lead you out here on
foot. Stay out of sight, patrol to the raiders’ camp sticking to the left side
of the road and keep to the highest ground,” Sean said, tracing a route on the
map.

Jorgensen shook his head. “I told
you before, friend, the men at the factory are not soldiers.”

“George, the people that did this
shit are not soldiers either,” Sean said, pointing to the row of executed
bodies lying in a ditch that ran alongside the road. Piles of discarded luggage
and belongings were thrown on top of them. “I’m sure if we enter that building
we will find more evidence of the things they have done here. It’s time to stop
hiding behind brick walls and take back what’s yours.”