Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (Book 4): Walking In The Shadow Of Death (26 page)

“They won’t listen,” Jorgensen
said.

“We’re running out of time here,
George. Get me what you can. Either way, tell my men to join us where I showed
you on the map. I need them there by tomorrow night, before the sun goes down.”

“And what will you do until then?”
Jorgensen asked.

“We are going to make life miserable
for those bastards on the coast. Now go and get me those men,” Sean ordered.

30.

They took off at a full jog,
wanting to clear the area of the intersection as quickly as possible. Even
though Jorgensen had ended the assault with the use of the mounted machine gun,
the noise was sure to gather attention. Sean was concerned that more of the
raiders may venture up the road looking for survivors of their party, but at a
minimum, it would attract more creepers.

Sean led them back up the hill to the
stone wall. From there they backtracked to the hilltop overlook. Sean placed
the map on the ground and used his compass to quickly orient himself. Brad
chugged the contents of a bottle of water and stuffed the empty in his cargo
pocket. Sean folded the map and put it back in his thigh packet. He ordered
Brad to hold the middle while Brooks took the rear.

They moved fast, avoiding trails
now, instead opting for unbroken ground and heavy vegetation. Brad tried to
keep track of his pace count as they traveled, trying to estimate the distance.
He found it impossible with the way they were constantly having to backtrack
and loop around impassable bits of terrain. The elevation increased as they
patrolled closer to the coast. Soon they had lost sight of the road below. The
ground was steep; the higher they moved the more snow they found.

Most of the snow here was
untouched, with only a few animal tracks here and there. After several hours of
marching, Sean moved them into a bunching of tall pine trees. The smoke had
gotten thicker here. Whatever was burning at the raiders’ camp had not been
extinguished. Sean pulled away several large branches from a fat pine, making a
hollow space beneath it. The men crowded in and dropped their packs. Sean
immediately went for the map, trying to estimate their position relative to the
coast.

“I plot the camp to be a mile east
of here,” Sean whispered. “The road twists around and should run right into
it.”

Sean had the map laid out on the
ground in front of them. He pointed to where he thought their current position
was. Sliding his finger, he showed how the terrain would peak, then drop
sharply to the road below and eventually the coastline. The camp, if Jorgensen
was correct, would be in the vicinity of a small coastal village. The map
identified a small marina built up in a natural harbor. Surrounded by cliffs,
and sheltered by the water, it would be a suitable position to hold off the
primals.

“They would have ...” Sean grinned,
“should have heard the gunfire earlier. That should give suspicions that
someone is out here. Hopefully they think some of their buddies survived last
night.”

“Hopefully?” Brad asked.

“Anything that keeps them looking
for us,” Brooks added.

Sean folded the map and placed it
back in his pocket. “Exactly. From here on out we go slow and quiet. I want to
get eyes on that encampment before mid-day.” He moved his pack towards the
trunk of the tree and dug out a can of kidney beans and a small can opener.
“Get some chow, we’ll be moving in thirty.”

Brad pushed his pack in front of
him and sat back on crossed legs. He found one of the last of his MRE packets
and stared at, debating if he should eat it now, or save it. “Dig in buddy,
never know when you’ll have another chance,” Brooks whispered to him.

Brad looked at Brooks knowingly and
pulled the tab at the top of the foil package. He had lost his MRE spoon so he
squeezed the cold mix directly into his mouth. “Food is fuel,” he said to
Brooks, trying not to laugh. He ate as quickly as he could, then finished off
the mix with a bottle of water. Then he took his time refilling the bottle with
snow, slowly packing it into the plastic container before placing the bottle
back into his pack.

“How we looking on ammo, guys?”
Sean whispered.

Brooks pulled a flap on the front
of his vest, showing two empty mags for his MP5. “I’ve been short of 9mm since
we got here. Still have a couple hundred or so for the M14, got a brick of .22
and three mags of .45.”

Brad checked the pouches on his
vest, then reached into a cargo pocket on his pack. He had two fifty-round
boxes of 9mm rounds and six full magazines. He took the boxes from his pack and
set them on the ground in front of him. “I’m just short of a combat load for
the M4, probably got another hundred or so in a bandoleer in my pack. Six M9
mags, two more on my belt, one in the gun and another in the sigma. Brooks,
take these boxes, I’m heavy on 9.”

“I’ll take one of those boxes if
you don’t mind,” Sean said. “I’m under on MP5 myself. I was able to scrounge up
some feed for my long gun at the farm. I’m light on handgun. Brooks, you mind
consolidating and splitting .45 and .22 with me?”

Brad packed away his gear as he
waited for Sean and Brooks to split their ammo and load magazines. He buried
his empty MRE pouch under the pine needles, then hefted his pack to his
shoulders. “I’m going to take a leak, guys,” he whispered before stepping out
of the cover of the tree. He walked only a few paces and relieved himself on
some brush. Brad looked around him. They were in the middle of a high country
pine forest. There were patches of snow everywhere but the ground was not
entirely covered.

He looked up at the blue sky. They
had been lucky, since the storm that brought them here the weather had been
favorable. Brad lifted his rifle to use the optics to check their back trail.
The ground was rough and uneven; heavy boulders and rock formations were
scattered in all directions. Brad turned as Brooks and Sean exited the base of
the tree. Sean lifted his pack and swung it over his shoulders. “Brad, you hang
back with me, Brooks will have point now,” Sean whispered.

Brooks finished putting freshly
filled mags in the front of his tactical vest, then lifted his own pack. He
looked back at them and nodded, turned forward and began slowly stalking the
ground in front of them. Sean let Brooks get a good twenty paces before he
tapped Brad on the shoulder. Brad stepped off, mimicking the SEAL’s movements,
walking slowly and trying to maintain his distance from Brooks. Sean followed
closer behind him. As they moved he slowly stepped off to his right, keeping
his weapon pointed in the direction where the road should be.

They kept an extremely slow pace.
Brooks stopped often, taking a knee or sometimes dropping into the prone before
crawling next to a tree trunk. Every time Brooks stopped, Brad would slowly
lower himself to a knee. If they were halted more than thirty seconds, Brad
would drop to his belly and try and take up a hasty fighting position while he
waited for Brooks to signal the all clear. As they got closer to the coast, the
smoke got thicker and they could occasionally hear the clanging of metal on
metal.

Brad felt the tension rise in his
body the closer he got to the encampment. He squeezed the pistol grip of his
M4, his thumb constantly checking the selector switch, making sure his rifle
was on safe. Brooks’s hand shot into the air as he dropped down and out of
sight. Brad paused and lowered himself behind a large downed tree. He glanced
off to his right and saw that Sean had also taken efforts to conceal himself.
Brad looked forward with his rifle pointed off and to the left, occasionally
looking behind him to make sure they weren’t being followed.

He watched Brooks rise up and
signal for them to move forward before dropping back to a kneeling position.
Brad let Sean cross in front of him, then he got to his own feet and followed
him forward. Sean stepped slowly till he was alongside Brooks, then dropped in
next to him. Brad took up a kneeling position just behind them, facing to the
rear with his profile hidden by a tree. Brooks pointed to a break in the trees
ahead. In the distance Brad could see the ocean through openings in the thick
black smoke.

Sean whispered for them to drop
their packs and low crawl forward. It was unlikely that they would be seen high
in their current position, but they had traveled too far to get sloppy. They
hid their gear under the branches of a thick bush. Sean led the way with the
others close behind. It didn’t take long for them to reach a high vantage
point. They were now on a high peak with the terrain around them swiftly
dropping towards the coast.

They were still over a hundred
yards from the cliffs that were indicated on the maps. Brad crawled in close behind
Sean and Brooks, then crept up alongside them. The sun was bright and there was
a clear blue sky. The black smoke was still rising in plumes that were barely
moving on the calm winds. From his position Brad could now clearly see the
ocean and the opening of the harbor. The land formed a natural bay with high
ground on all sides.

Even though Brad couldn’t see it
from his current position, it was obvious the road must spill into this bay.
Sean signaled for them to move forward so they could get a better view of the
village below. Carefully they began sliding forward on their bellies, leaving
the cover of the thick trees. As they moved closer the village and harbor
slowly came into view. It wasn’t much of a harbor as the map depicted it, it
should be described as more of a bay, or even a cove. The cliffs wrapped the
terrain securely leaving a small strip of land along a narrow coastline.

There was one street traveling
along the shoreline with several buildings lining it. The ocean side of the
street was bare and gradually went down to the waterline. The shore was
littered with remnants of old fishing vessels and smaller sailboats. Farther
out to sea sat a flotilla of larger vessels, half a dozen freighters and a
couple of smaller boats. At least one was marked in red and white, possibly
Coast Guard. Off to the right down the beach they could see the makings of an
ancient pier. A breakwater really, it traveled out into the sea and formed a
right angle running parallel to the village street.

“You can see why the Canadian
Coasties would have directed the merchant ships here. This sheltered cove, one
channel in by sea and one road out by land. Coast Guard and local authorities
would have had an easy time of keeping an eye on them,” Brooks whispered.

“Did the boys a favor, gave them
prime terrain for survival, nice beachhead position at the end of a valley run.
High ground on all sides, probably saved their worthless lives,” Sean grunted.
“Until now anyway, because that wall ain’t keeping us out.”

The people had built a rudimentary
barricade from the shells of boats, cars, and earth. There was a bright yellow
bulldozer sitting behind a large earthen berm. Along the outside face of the
berm burnt a bright orange and black fire. “There’s the source of the black smoke,”
Sean whispered.

“That was smart of them, if they
get rushed, ignite the tires … look at the burnt bodies, must have had a hell
of a primal BBQ last night,” Brooks responded. “Way this valley backs up, and
the bottle neck here at the end … I can just see them. The primals, bunching up
on those burning tires, the crazies in the back pushing the ones up front into
the flames.” Brooks sat staring at the fire for a moment before closing his
eyes and shaking his head.

Brad stretched to see the burning
barrier. It was at fifteen feet high and fifty feet wide and ran hundreds of
yards, entirely choking the road that ran through the valley. “Where the hell
would they get so many tires?”

“Looking at what’s down there, I’m
guessing one of those boats must be full of ‘em, the pile there looks to be
made up of brand new rubber,” Sean said as he ran his spotting scope across the
village. “Here, have a look,” he said, handing the scope to Brad.

Brad took the glass from Sean and
let his eye adjust to the magnification. Aiming towards the barricade, he could
see the bright burning flames. Parts of primal bodies were scattered all along
the barricade. As Brad looked closer he could see a small work party lifting
bodies and throwing them into the fire. The men doing the work were being
closely observed by a pair of men with rifles. Whoever they were, they were
efficient against the primals. There were piles of them on the road being fed
into the flames.

Brad looked beyond the barricade
and saw a group of women rolling more tires towards an already high stack. Just
as Sean had said, the tires looked new, some still with white stickers on their
sides. Brad followed the trail of people back towards the end of a pier where
they were unloading tires and other equipment from a smaller boat under the
supervision of armed men. More uniformed raiders walked about casually with
rifles in their hands, while others sat huddled together on the ground. Brad
watched as a guard with a rifle approached a man sitting on a container. The
guard quickly punched him in the back of the head, causing the man to collapse
to the ground. The man with the rifle then turned to another guard and leaned
back, roaring with laughter.

“What the hell is going on down
there?” Brad asked, handing back the scope.

Brooks lowered his binoculars,
having seen enough. “Looks like some sort of prison camp, or slaves. That red
and white ship out there looks to be Coast Guard. I bet I could get it
running.”

“Yeah I saw that too. It’s a solid
option, get that operational we could take it all the way to Boston,” Sean
said.

“What about the camp, how do we get
past them?” Brad asked.

“Hmm, I figure we will get to
softening them up pretty soon here, let’s move back up top,” Sean answered.