Lines in Shadow: Walking in the Rain Read online

  True to form. rather than hoard this information, Darwin encouraged their mechanics to spread the word to anyone who would listen on how to make these changes. He wanted others to copy and improve on what his men discovered by trial and error. That would get more vehicles moving, and maybe more combines in the fields. Crops needed to be harvested in the weeks ahead, and machines simply could do a faster and more efficient job than men or beasts.

  For this mission, though, Scott went with old and beat-up trucks to match their cover. They were outlaws and bandits, after all.

  “Leave any survivors?”

  Scott wanted to laugh at the bloodthirsty tone in the woman’s voice. She may not have witnessed the savagery firsthand, but after someone had spilled what was occurring, no one could talk Yalonda out of going on this mission. She’d simply kissed her daughter, sent her to stay with one her friends at the Branson camp, and shouldered her rifle.

  Scott wanted to complain, but since he’d literally done the same thing, he found the argument hard to make. Plus, Yalonda was plenty persuasive as well as being a damned good shot.

  “Oh, yeah. And tons of wounded. What they chose to do with them, I couldn’t say at this point,” Scott said.

  Keith, wandering over to eavesdrop, just shook his head in disgust.

  “We know what they will do with them. Into the stewpot, just like all their dead.”

  “Well, that will just make for crappy morale,” Yalonda observed, but Scott shrugged before replying.

  “We saw them do it before,” he explained, “and none of the others seemed to care.”

  Now Yalonda gave a shiver before turned away to help load the bikes and get them under the oil-stained tarps they were using.

  “They really aren’t human anymore, are they?”

  Sarah’s question caught Scott off guard. He hadn’t heard her approach, which was terrible situational awareness on his part. On the other hand, he’d been distracted and Sarah was as quiet as a ghost when she wanted to be. She had as much potential as any of his scouts, or Luke, when it came to creeping in the woods. Lord knows, Scott thought, she pushes herself hard enough in training.

  Armed with a tricked-out Springfield M1A Super Match sniper rifle and a fine Leupold scope, Sarah had been maintaining a hide position overlooking the clearing until Scott’s arrival triggered her recall. Their plan called for the group to rapidly fall back to the next preselected position once the striking force returned and Scott intended to be on the road within five minutes.

  Scott thought about her question as he muscled the last of the bikes into the rusted bed of a pickup, and burned his left inner wrist on the exhaust pipe for his trouble. Not a bad burn, but one that pulled his head out of his ass and onto the matter at hand.

  They were on the road in four minutes, shaving sixty seconds off Scott’s timeline.

  As they motored down the abandoned-looking access road paralleling the state highway headed east, Scott finally looked over at Sarah and inclined his head slightly. He was maintaining the lead position at a steady thirty miles per hour in an effort to avoid stirring up a dust trail, but a recent downpour meant the dirt path was unlikely to be disturbed. They were laying down tire tracks, of course, but Scott would be crossing and then recrossing the state highway in five minutes, after they exited the built up area in town.

  “You asked if they are still human, back there,” Scott began, “and I really can’t say for sure.”

  Scott continued, aware that Ben and Yalonda were listening as well. “I know animals, healthy ones, don’t act this way. Except maybe a weasel, but don’t get fooled. Most of the ones we will be facing might act like diseased, rabid animals, but there’s some kind of intelligence behind their actions.”

  “Something from Hell,” Ben whispered, but Scott heard and shook his head.

  “I don’t know about the Infernal realms, Ben, but if they are from Hell, we’ll figure out a way to send them right back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  By nightfall, the Scott’s small party was settling into their next temporary campsite, well to the west of the compound in Lowell. They’d risked a brief, short burst radio signal about noon to let Conners and Nick know the campaign was under way, but refrained from transmitting after that.

  Since the truck had a functioning cigarette lighter, they charged the radio’s battery while listening in to the HAM broadcasts. These had begun to pick up in recent weeks despite the ever-present threat of drones triangulating in on the transmitters, and Scott wondered how many, if any, were set up as drone traps.

  Most of the transmissions dealt with local matters that meant little to the Kellerville partisans. This enclave or that small community was looking to trade for food, or spare parts, or less often, fuel. Everybody was looking for food, though. Once the group settled in for the night and sentry duties drawn, the radio went with them as they settled down around the center of the cold camp.

  They listened with the volume turned down low, heads nearly touching to hear the words. One broadcast caught their attention and Ben stopped roaming the dial to tune in for the whole report. An unidentified female voice reported that elements of the Kansas National Guard were embroiled in a pitched battle just outside Wichita with a Homeland “Army” that included several tanks in their column. Nothing was said directly about the strength of the two forces, but from the way the woman sounded, the DHS thugs had the superior numbers and the heavier equipment.

  The frantic voice on the radio cried out for relief from the Federal troops still holding on in Fort Riley. When the voice began to repeat this plea, Ben reached over and switched the dial.

  “Sorry,” he had said, “I just can’t listen to her anymore.”

  “Think the Army will come to help? The Regular Army, I mean.”

  Yalonda’s soft voice made Scott squirm as he realized how upset the normally unflappable woman sounded.

  “You got people up there?” Scott asked.

  Yalonda looked up, her eyes bright and pained.

  “My brother and his family. They live in Park City, just outside Wichita.” Yalonda looked up, trying to force a smile. “Despite the name, that’s a pretty rural area. They live on a farm, anyway. I was hoping they might hold out there, like you guys have done.”

  “Like WE’VE done,” Scott replied with emphasis. “This is a group effort, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Yalonda nodded in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I get you. It’s just…my brother, Harry, is likely the only family I have left. My sister, well…she was in San Diego when the lights went out, and she’s not what you’d call self-sufficient.” The blonde woman sighed and shook her head.

  “I think I’ve finally accepted that Julie is gone,” she continued, “but I kept up hope to hear from Harry once things settled down. Now, this just makes me more worried about him, and his family.”

  Scott thought about what Yalonda said and not for the first time, thanked the Lord for sparing his family that pain. So far, anyway. All of his immediate family was gathered at the home place, and he went to bed each night knowing that his beloved little girl was surrounded by people who would give their lives to protect her. Finally, he admitted to himself that even though he was not exactly fond of his brother Gary, he was happy Brenda and Glenn were safe. Not their fault, after all.

  As for Yalonda’s sister in California, he secretly agreed with the woman’s assessment. After months of a virtual news blackout, bits and pieces were trickling out from all corners of the country. For Southern California, Nevada and southern Arizona, the news was truly horrendous.

  Listeners heard the stories, mostly from second-hand sources. They heard about the rampaging fires after the lights went out, and the locals being powerless to halt their ravenous spread. Others told of the massive gangs of criminals roaming the scorched landscape, raping and murdering to their dark hearts’ content. As communication improved, tales of starvation and deprivation haunted listeners’ sleep for weeks of trave
lers braving the dangers to pass through these blighted areas.

  Out of all the horror stories, though, the worst predator to emerge out of the Southwest was simply the nature of the land. Despite all the changes wrought by mankind, the area was, after all, mostly desert. When the power stopped flowing, so did the water.

  One broadcast made by a group traveling out of southern California stuck out in Scott’s mind as the speaker, an older man whose voice reminded him of his drill instructor from decades ago, reported on what they’d witnessed outside Phoenix. Bypassing the sprawling city altogether, the traveler reported their convoy picked up Interstate 10 near Casa Grande and for a hundred miles, all they saw were successive waves of desiccated corpses covering all lanes of traffic. Few if any of the bodies bore signs of violence, which led the speaker to conclude they’d most likely died from dehydration in a fruitless effort to flee the dead city.

  Even though the speaker tried to remain detached in his manner of speech, the older man clearly broke down several times in his recitation before stopping in mid-sentence. From his language and use of various familiar acronyms, Scott guessed the man was retired military, almost certainly a fellow Marine, and the horrors clearly too overwhelming for the man to finish his story.

  Similar reports came in from other regions of the country, and Scott knew the northern-most states were already starting to see dropping temperatures each night. Only a matter of time, that.

  “So, will the Regular Army send help?” Mike asked, repeating Yalonda’s question.

  Scott shrugged, his motion barely visible in the dying light, before he tried to respond.

  “Don’t know. Depends on the base commander, but more and more are starting to break out of their holding pattern now that Dandridge started broadcasting. According to the Constitution, he is the next in line for the Presidency.”

  “Didn’t the President suspend the Constitution, though? Before he went nuts, I mean?”

  Sarah scoffed audibly at the question, then turned to the young man.

  “Sorry, Mike,” she said sincerely, “it wasn’t making fun of your question. Just the idea that the President can wave a magic wand and make the Constitution disappear. No matter what some Executive Order might claim, the Constitution is the law of the land. Seems we’ve gotten away from that idea in recent years. All this Continuity of Government baloney makes me sick. What good is continuing a federal government that is just waiting for all of us to conveniently die so they can emerge from their bunkers to resume power?”

  Scott had to smother a chuckle at Sarah’s words. Or rather, her word choice, since the use of ‘baloney’ instead of the more appropriate ‘bullshit’ simply reinforced her position as unofficial den mother to the group.

  “Well, Dandridge came out, and that counts for something,” Yalonda commented, finally recovered enough from her dark concerns to rejoin the conversation. “But, we got more immediate concerns, don’t we?”

  Scott took that as his cue. They did, in fact, have other things to talk about at the moment. Their After Action Report, or AAR, as the military types said. Scott had been waiting patiently for the others to wind down enough to address the issues of the day, and beyond.

  “Yeah, Yalonda, we do. Can you go stand in for Keith while we go over the operation today? He needs to be here for this, and I’ll fill you in afterwards.”

  “Sure, but don’t leave anything out,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound cheerful even if she didn’t feel it.

  “Count on it,” Scott promised, and in just a few minutes he had his three scouts, Sarah and Kevin Perkins seated on the ground around him, an attentive semi-circle of nervous tension.

  “Alright, folks, first, let me say, good job today. That operation went off without a hitch, and we managed to both degrade enemy transport assets and reduce their effective fighting numbers. That’s what I’m putting in the report to Lt. Conners, anyway.”

  Scott let the sincerity bleed through his words as he spoke to the gathered listeners. Then his voice changed as he continued. More serious.

  “So, a pat on the back to everybody here. Yalonda included. Now, forget it and let’s move on, because today we used up our free pass. Our one chance to act without having to look over our shoulder. We won’t be getting another. We clear?”

  “Clear,” came the response. Not loud, but certain.

  “Alright. First, Ben, you were right on the placement of the explosives. Perfect spot. So, that means next time you get to do it again. As for Mike and Keith, I noted you each took your shots quickly but accurately, so nicely done. Any questions so far?”

  Mike gave a little jerk of the head and Scott nodded, encouraging him to speak.

  “I think I know the answer to this question already, but I want to make sure I understand. Was the reason you wanted us to leave our brass because you wanted the bad guys to notice our rifles were civilian calibers?”

  Scott gave a slight smile of encouragement before replying.

  “Yep, that’s part of it. Good deduction, too. Anyone else think of another reason I ordered the brass left on the ground?”

  “Because it was all reloaded?” Keith said, and then looked down, as if he felt like he’d spoken out of turn. Scott, feeling like a proud teacher, gave the other man a thumb’s up.

  “And that’s the other part,” Scott continued. “We want to convince these bastards that we are a rival band. Another group of raiders, that is. Desperate for supplies and going after the same targets they seem to be hitting. Not a paramilitary group, or local resistance fighters.”

  “We want them looking for us in the ruins of the cities, then, instead of out in the countryside,” Sarah reasoned, her words thoughtful. “That makes sense. So does that crappy camp you had us set up in that vacant lot in town.”

  Scott had to suppress a grin at her description of the rough setup, and the need for the team to gather and then scatter out the empty bottles and cans at the site. Then, he continued with the same focused intensity as he’d projected when the debrief started.

  “We want them looking for us, instead of butchering our friends and neighbors. The goal is to reduce their mobility and cut their numbers until the Guard can free up enough assets to assist us in exterminating these things. We kill all of them, understand?”

  “Understood” came the growled reply from his team of scouts, with the other three new additions just nodding their agreement. Scott could tell the fierceness of the response made Sarah and especially Keith a little uncomfortable. Alright, time to give the newcomers a few more details, but first he needed to go over what each member of the team did right, and where they could make improvements.

  Every member of the team needed to be in top form if this was going to work. He thought about what Mike had said about his feeling that not all of them would be making it back to the home place. Suppressing a shiver, he plunged on into the rest of the AAR.

  Then, after taking thirty minutes, forcing himself to relate several grisly stories of what he’d observed, Scott excused himself, stretched mightily, and headed to the clump of hedges where Yalonda was standing sentry. The canny medic, of course, had shifted around, finding a new hide, but Scott finally spotted her in the gloom and gave her a little whistle.

  “How the hell do you do that?” she huffed, crawling out of the small bed of ferns she’d been using to conceal her shape.

  “Just a gift,” he replied drily.

  In truth, her position was quite good, but Scott managed to spot a tiny piece of grass out of place, and that told his senses where to search. Look for the lines in shadow, his primitive hindbrain commanded, and see the break in the natural order of things. Years before, Scott learned to listen to that tiny voice in the back of his head, and as a result he was still alive while others who’d sought his trail were not.

  “Go on back, Yalonda. I’ll take over for a while.”

  “You the boss, boss,” she simply replied, and gathered her gear.

 
; Scott sat in the quiet and watched the trees for signs of movement. Really, he had a feeling the nothing would be stirring tonight.

  After what seemed like only a short time, but turned out to be three hours, Keith arrived to take over the watch. Scott moved back towards the camp, but set down his blankets under a rough semicircle of pine trees just back from the rest of the group. He’d noted the location earlier and found it to be quite comfortable.

  “Room in there for me?” Sarah asked, and Scott scooted over without saying a word. Smooth as a cat, Sarah wormed her way under the branches and oriented her body so she was facing away from Scott, but with her back pressed to his.

  For several long minutes, Sarah said nothing. When she did, Scott nearly failed to make out her words even in the growing stillness of evening.

  “You think we can stop them? Just us?”

  “No,” Scott replied. “Not by ourselves. We can slow them down, though. Pin them in place until we can get more shooters on the job. We are the Marines in the Pacific, you see.”

  That stopped her cold for moment as she worked to puzzle out his meaning.

  “You mean like in World War II?”

  “Yep, just like that. Roosevelt saw the Germans as the biggest threat, so he gave Eisenhower and his Army all the new shiny toys. At the same time, the Marines had to make do with old gear, limited resupply, and the dubious assistance of good old Bugout Doug. See, the war against the Japanese was just supposed to be a holding action, a sideshow, while the main effort was directed at the Germans. Or so they taught us in boot camp.”

  “But the Marines invaded all those islands, and the Japanese fell before most of the forces used against the Germans even arrived in theatre. Or so I recall from my American History class in high school,” Sarah said, the question evident even in her statement.

  Scott nodded, then realized she couldn’t see his movement. “Huh. We didn’t get past old Calvin Coolidge in my history class. Never made it to the Second World War at all. Didn’t get the straight dope until I was in college. But you are right. See, the Marines and their taxi drivers, the U.S. Navy, couldn’t wait around for the rest of the Army to show up for the fight, so they did the heavy lifting themselves. Marines are all knuckleheads, you know.”