The Survivors

March 21st

1

This has to be close enough. Adrian waited for Kenn to finish updating the Eagle who was about to take over his 8am-2pm shift. Jeremy was on Neil’s team, level three. He’d only earned the right to have point last night.

Adrian sighed, tired and worried as he waited for his people to get ready for another day of traveling. They were on the edge of the Thunder Basin National Grasslands, off 387, and while he was glad to be east of 25, pictures had verified Casper and Buffalo were ghost towns.

It made his stomach burn. One was buried, the other submerged. His warning hadn’t been heard, hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t picked up a single survivor since the dust storm, which made these people in Cheyenne all the more important.

Adrian swept the mountains surrounding them. Would the evergreens up there have mold like the fir and pine trees here did? Would it smell like smoke and unburied dead? Were there bodies of deer, moose, people? He was almost sure they would see for themselves at some point.

Adrian changed as Kenn came to his side, sharp tone of a drill instructor replacing the calm voice the camp usually heard. The slaver rampage had traveled up Interstate 25 faster than they had estimated. Cheyenne had called again. “You’re the Man on this one, Marine. You ready?”

“Locked and loaded, sir. Kyle’s team is stowing the beans, bags, and bullets.”

“They’re good to go, eager to prove themselves. What about you? How do you feel?”

Kenn’s expression didn’t change as he took in Adrian’s dusty jeans and wrinkled camouflage shirt. The boss had been up all night again. “Good, ready.”

“In and out, Marine, just like with the old lady. But if not, if something goes wrong and you have to fight?”

“Then we’ll kill as many as we can.”

It may have been wrong in the old world, but it was all that was left to them now. Adrian only ordered it whenever he thought the crime warranted it. This definitely did. The slavers were a growing threat he felt dutybound to eliminate. But he couldn’t yet, not against one hundred fifty armed men who had become good at conquering survivors. The stories from refugees who had escaped said he needed to tread carefully.

Kenn seemed to feel it too, repeating himself to make sure his boss knew. “If any opportunity comes up to do damage, we’ll take it. I’ll take it.”

Adrian clapped him on the arm, satisfied Kenn meant it. They had been falling behind and would arrive later than expected. That made the mission more dangerous, putting the Eagles and the slavers near Cheyenne at roughly the same time. “Watch your six. We need you.”

“Semper Fi.”

“Oorah!”

A deep frown planted itself across Adrian’s face as Kenn and the Eagle support team left. He hated it that their first encounter with the dangerous men would happen without him there to judge the threat.

Adrian hit the button on the tape player in his pocket, listening intently. Am I missing anything?

“SOS, Safe Haven! This is Cheyenne! SOS!”

“Go ahead, Overloaded.”

“They’ve hit Wellington! We can see the smoke. People are coming here, but I can’t care for them! We need help!”

Adrian hit stop. The desperation made him consider changing places with Kenn, but he couldn’t. The Marine wasn’t ready for leadership of an entire camp yet. For this mission though, he was perfect. Kyle and his team were making steady progress every day, and though only ten men were getting into the armored vehicles, they would be lethal.

Fighting a migraine, Adrian went on his rounds. Another forty souls would bring their number up to one hundred seventy-seven. They were a week from Cheyenne, but there was no way the whole camp could go and get back out without being seen. Kenn and Kyle would do it in two or three days. Adrian knew he would worry the whole time.

The growing camp seemed almost empty once Kenn and the Eagles faded from view. Adrian didn’t like the feeling of being incomplete, but never doubted that they were. He hated to have people out of Safe Haven. He only relaxed when the entire flock was under his watchful care. They’d been lucky so far that everyone who’d gone out had returned. He had increased their chance of success with the addition of armed escorts.

Adrian looked forward to a time when he could settle them down and show people how to provide for their needs, instead of scouring this broken land like scavengers. Now camped in the heart of the Thunder Basin National Grassland, they were fifteen miles from the South Dakota state line. The tall pines, blue grass, and forget-me-nots were comforting sights after all the horror along 387. If not for the heavy fog, they would already be back on the road now, tired faces gawking through the windows at a muddy landscape that included a crashed government chopper.

Adrian tensed, feeling the uneasy mix of power, of magic coming. The landscape wavered, changed. He saw a survivor of the crash, her outline tall, thin, tough.

He looked away from the vision. It had been so long since he’d had one that he’d forgotten how it made his heart clench.

Hoping she was one of his, Adrian got moving again, feeling a little bitter with fate. He had been promised magic, but so far, he’d only gotten a gifted teenager who was too young to really help yet.

Adrian lit a smoke. It doesn’t matter. When Charlie was needed, at least he would be here, already under the discreet eyes of the Eagles. They had been told to watch him right after the restless teenager had gotten his own tent–the result of a noisy fight where Charlie had almost hurt one of the boys he was bunking with. Kenn’s cadet was a bit unstable.

Unhappy, Adrian corrected himself. Even the job with the veterinarian wouldn’t be enough to hold him here. Something had Charlie’s mind, pulling at him. When Kenn returned, Adrian hoped to ferret out whatever it was.

Today held a full shift of activities. The biggest was a towing contest. Their clearing times had improved because he’d made it into a race to see who could do it fastest without breaking any safety rules. Tonight, the first crew leader would be picked by whoever won. With Kenn gone, more people would be willing to try. There was little his right-hand man wasn’t good at. It even sounded different without him here. The people were subdued somehow without his energetic, boisterous XO.

Once he got them a couple hundred miles further from 25 and the slavers, Adrian planned to travel southeast for a while, toward Georgia and the miles of caves waiting there. He hadn’t thought of a better place yet. He dreaded having to confirm that going into the ground was the only way they would survive. His other option was too far away to consider without more help.

Comforted by the steady crunch of boots guarding their perimeter, Adrian moved by Kenn’s improved mess–where coffee and food lines were open on both sides–and came to the traveling emergency class. Tents flapped in his ear; he paused to listen to part of a lesson, assaulted by the odors of cologne, sweat, and cigar smoke. He loved it. It was the smell of life. It beat the hell out of the other shit they were usually inhaling.

A small group was gathered around the rear of a big van, watching Peggy Ann Kelly, the single, 40-something mother of little Becky, change a flat tire. This class had solved the need for one crew to do all the labor, all the time. This way, the entire camp did it.

The cute, reddish-blond woman was sweating and greasy. Most of the men watching would have done it for her to get her attention, but Adrian had made it clear women needed to be able to fend for themselves too. The males watching offered advice but no actual help.

Peggy struggled to break the last lug nut.

Adrian denied the bald professor who stepped forward to help. The portly man carried his profession proudly, from his thick glasses to his plaid patterned suit. Adrian didn’t look away from the brooding glare the teacher sent his way. He also didn’t keep his voice down. “She has to learn. What if she gets separated?”

The gusting wind carried his words further than the class.

The bald man frowned, aware of the thick, disapproving silence from the men surrounding him. “You sure it isn’t because I’m black and she’s white?”

Adrian stiffened. Joseph had been here long enough to know how things worked. Is he holding onto that shit? They didn’t have many other races represented here yet, but that wasn’t because Adrian didn’t want them. The war had split more than families. The old segregation lines had slammed down, making most races search out their own kind. It was something he needed people like this bitter teacher to help him conquer. “You’re from Salt Lake City. You were almost dead when we found you. A group of men had beaten you so bad we didn’t think you’d live at first. There were only twenty of us then, and no one knew what to do with you.”

“Because I’m a nigger.”

The men around them muttered uneasily. No one used that word here, not even in joking. Adrian would throw them out.

Adrian’s tone was sharp. “We had our basic laws, but race was something we hadn’t even talked about. We saw you bleeding and we had to make a choice. Do we let you die or let you in and find a way to deal with all the problems mixing races inevitably brings?”

Adrian had the attention of everyone close enough to hear. He used it to bring them together and issue a warning. “We made the choice in about fifteen seconds, Joseph. You’re not black or white in this camp. You’re a survivor and that’s the only one that matters here. Leave the race war in the past, where it belongs, and things will continue to improve for everyone. Dredge it back up, and you’ll need to find somewhere else to get food and shelter.”

Joseph quickly nodded.

Adrian kept walking, but he knew Joseph would need a lot of work before he would accept that his race wouldn’t hold him back here–only that nasty attitude would. The same was true of anyone who came through his gates. It’s my lane or find another highway.

2

“All those jeeps worry me.” Kyle lowered the binoculars.

“We’ll have to draw them out.” Kenn kept watching the armed men patrol the top and four sides of the large school where the refugees had been hiding. Two on top, one each on the sides and rear, two more were on the front doors. Maybe four more were inside, but judging from all the jeeps parked along the exits, probably more like six or ten.

We’re outnumbered, but not by much. Kenn frowned as thick clouds rolled through the sky and colored lightning flashed in the distance. He scanned the area again, seeing old holiday decorations that had been used for target practice, but underneath, he was evaluating how to kill them all.

Kyle was impatient. “You and I covering the top?”

Kenn didn’t answer, still finishing the plan. They hadn’t found ammo for the M16s, so that meant getting into range for handguns. When it started, a few of the targets would come out, but most of them would take up positions around the hostages, forcing a standoff. For a while. Then reinforcements would come. This was only a scouting party that had already checked in and reported their victory. It bothered Kenn that neither he nor Adrian had expected this level of organization. We’ll have to do it quietly. No telling how far out their main group is.

It had taken Adrian’s Eagles thirty hours to get here, driving straight through in five-hour shifts. The men who hadn’t driven stood guard duty when they arrived to let the others get a short rest. They had snuck in as dusk faded.

The ten men on duty hated it here. It reeked of decay; even the constant gusts of salty, smoky wind couldn’t knock it down. The awful odor came from all the bodies. Thousands of them, fresh and old, littered the city, along with burnt houses, cars, businesses. There were thick drag marks in the dust left by the storm, garbage, mud-covered streets, and little pillars of smoke that signaled the path the Mexicans had taken to get here. They were in a war zone.

“What do you want to do?”

Kenn had been waiting for that edge of frustration in Kyle’s voice. He stood, always feeling the need to prove who was in charge when they were on missions together. To the listening men, he said the right thing. Only Kyle would sting afterward when he remembered almost losing his cool with only silence used against him. “We kill them all.”

Kenn knelt, pulling his K-BAR to draw in the damp dirt behind the big storage sheds they were using for cover. He hadn’t created this plan, but these men wouldn’t know that. “We go with suppressors. Take out this side, and corner. As they come out, we pick them off. If the leader comes out too, it’ll all be over.”

“And if we don’t spot the leader?” Kyle kept the bitterness out of his tone, but not his gestures. He hated the smug Marine leading his team today. He was hoping for someone to join Safe Haven that he could support against Kenn.

Kenn slid his knife back into his muddy boot. “We’ll have taken out at least half the men, and that’ll leave a lot of exits without coverage. We’ll look in from those trees along the windows first, then slip in and nail ’em as we find ’em. Once inside, we go for the gym, because that’s where they’ll be with a group of captives that size. From there, we’ll do what we do best.”

“They might negotiate, surrender.”

Kenn frowned at Kyle’s comment, checking his gear and gun. “Adrian wouldn’t give them mercy. We won’t either.”

The other Eagles followed his lead. They had been on a few missions where hostages were involved, but there had only been one shootout. The small gang of Aryan brothers hadn’t wanted to give up their captives. They had given their lives instead, but the newness of doing battle hadn’t worn off yet for the Eagles.

Kenn tapped his good luck charm, a Zippo lighter he kept in his pocket. “Top four shooters with me, the rest to the sides and meet up. I’m man in the middle. On my mark... Go!”

Kenn and Kyle fired as they ran.

The two Mexican lookouts jerked at the same time, and fell together. The other man on the roof darted toward his comrades, shouting. He arched, stopped, fell as the second rush of Eagles hit the building. They came to the wall in fast waves.

Kenn and Kyle stepped into view as the front doors opened and two men walked out.

Kyle whistled, then waved a middle finger at the shocked faces.

The two men drew their guns.

The Eagles ducked out of sight as the enemy gave chase.

“One...two...three. Now!”

Moving together, their guns took out both men before they could return fire.

The two Eagles dragged the heavy bodies around the corner as Chris pointed to the other row of trees. Chris was on Kyle’s team, second in command. “The banners center there. That’s probably the gym.”

Eight men eased up the trees a minute later, using the thick branches for cover from the ground and windows.

“Bulletproof glass.” Kenn’s voice was barely audible.

Kyle snickered, but the amusement didn’t reach his voice. “Not today. All the Eagles are packing armor piercing rounds. Your mags too.”

Kenn’s mind raced as he peered through the dirty glass, seeing five armed men around fifty civilians on the gymnasium floor. Which one was the leader?

A door opened on their side of the building. A tall, thin man emerged, face hidden by his bandana. He noticed the bodies right away.

“Dedro! Ahhh!”

Kenn’s shot connected, but the guerrilla’s yell ruined their element of surprise. Guards came to the windows; boots ran toward them.

Kenn aimed for the jeep in front of the glass doors, trying to time it as the next rush of men came out. An earlier shot to the gas tank was already allowing a long stream of the pungent liquid to escape.

Kyle and the Eagles stayed still, waiting for the distraction Kenn was about to provide.

Woosshhh!

His tossed flare sparked the puddle of gas. They watched bright, orange flames flash over the concrete and scorch their way up the fuel coming from the gas tank.

KKkaaaablammm!

The explosion shattered half of the windows along the front of the building, throwing the jeep through the doors as they opened. The slavers rushing out were consumed in a cloud of twisted metal and hot flames.

“Fire!”

“Get out!”

“Sit down!”

The refugees were in chaos, pushing for the doors. The slaver’s orders were ignored in the panic, causing the guerrillas to raise their guns and take aim at retreating figures.

“Now, Eagles! Open fire!”

Their targets were moving, mixed into the small sea of terrified civilians; slugs found chests and backs amid total chaos. Despite all the people trying to get out of the chained doors, only slavers were hit.

“Damn!” Chris examined his arm as blood dripped down the thick tree trunk. “I’m trimmed–that’s it.”

Kenn and Kyle were both relieved. Neither man ever wanted to tell Adrian they’d gotten one of his army killed.

Seeing no more enemy movement, Kenn leaned inside the shattered window. He spotted shaggy, unkempt hair, cold sores. The smell of body odor made him grimace. No threats to my place in this group. “US Eagle Force! Safe Haven!”

The shout echoed in the concrete room, getting attention. They looked up warily, quieting.

“Someone here named Overloaded?” Kenn grinned. “Your taxi’s waiting.”

Kyle and his men lowered each other into the room, hurrying to grab fire extinguishers as the refugees cheered.

A tall, thin man with a long cane and a dirty bandage over his head tapped toward Kenn’s window position. “What’s the word?”

“Freedom.” Kenn scanned the bodies on the floor, then the door, where Kyle and Chris were getting the small fire under control. The other men were taking up guard posts by the exits. He keyed the mike on his belt. “Mission accomplished.”

It took a little under an hour to evacuate the filthy school. It would have been one hour exactly if Kenn had swept every room, but he didn’t bother with the basement, where the dead had been stored.

As the team pulled away, no one noticed a hysterical blonde woman running up the nearby road, arms waving frantically.

They never glanced back.

3

Kenn brought home forty-one survivors.

Adrian met them eagerly, Seth at his side, but both men were once again disappointed. They now had a hairdresser, yet another bank teller (it wasn’t surprising to Adrian how many of them had survived. They were used to having their lives threatened), and a lot of other careers they didn’t need yet, but none of them, not even Greg, the blind radio man, had what he was searching for. There was no fire burning in these people, just bright fear and desperation.

Adrian didn’t sleep that night, sure he had passed one of his own somewhere. He chose to linger in the area for a few days. It was dangerous, considering how close they were to the slavers, but he needed the help as much as the refugees needed rescue.

I refuse to believe I’m the last free descendant in America. I’ll keep calling until someone answers.