Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 77
The fire snapped in the silence. “Where are your kids? I take it they’re safe in another state somewhere?” Natalie asked, receiving only light snoring in reply.
17
Skin of Our Teeth.
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 31 Days.
“I’m going out the back!” Earl yelled into the radio as he slammed the heavy wood door. A round went through the door a few inches above Earl’s head.
“Got the back covered!” Larry said.
Though Earl couldn’t hear it, Larry had already taken out two pursuers with his hunting rifle. It was still the wee hours of the morning and too dark to see much.
Earl ran back through the large living room and karate kicked the glass French doors leading to the impressive wood deck. They splintered the center post out, losing half their glass in the process, as the 6’ 2” combat vet knew better than to stop for anything.
He pushed through the pieces of door and ran for the stairs that led from the deck to the snowy yard between the cabin and the woods to the west. He didn’t have the time to find the little earbud button to key up his mic. He just sprinted for the woods, flipping his NODs down, which turned the snow into a bright green reflector. He knew about where he’d left Larry.
As soon as he saw his partner take another shot, he yelled, “Larry! Coming from your south, and I ain’t stopping!” Larry’s muzzle flash had been a huge beacon to the incoming horde—the snow and trees around the two men began to take fire.
“Switch guns!” Earl yelled as he passed Larry. Earl wasn’t in the best of shape and they were running uphill in the snow—and now he was towing a sixty-five-year-old man. “There’s a small crest for a little dell just up here a bit! We have to make it there!” Earl yelled at Larry as the two tried to sprint in almost eighteen inches of fresh powder.
They could hear probably six to eight people behind them. As Earl reached and jumped over the small crest, he pivoted and dropped to his knees. Larry was huffing and puffing, with about twenty meters to go. Earl saw the beams of flashlights cutting through the dark around the fir trees.
Pop! A shot flew over both their heads, as Larry finally crested and plopped down low next to Earl. “You ever see Butch and Sundance?” Larry cracked.
Earl ignored the old man. “Reach into the rear, lowest pocket on the back of my pack,” he ordered.
Larry did as ordered and shoved his hand into the pouch. “Is that—?”
“Yes. The round ones, not the cylinders! Grab them!” He was starting to throw bullets down at the group.
“They’re going to know where we are!” Larry protested.
“Correction!” Earl yelled as he passed the man, grabbing the two fragmentation grenades from his hands. He started running south below the crest in the dell, where they couldn’t be seen. “Where we were!”
Larry dragged himself back up to a low squat and tried to keep up. They ran another hundred meters. Earl was looking up. They were in a large grove of trees with heavily laden branches of snow.
“Hand me that AK,” he ordered. “Keep running south! Count two hundred paces and find a good hiding spot! Go!”
The old man took off, and Earl let the AK fall in the middle of their tracks, as if someone had dropped it. He then got to one knee and laid the round fragmentation grenade under the rifle.
This is some real ‘Red Dawn’ magic, here. Let’s hope this works…
He set the handle directly under the rifle and slowly pulled the pin, carefully making sure the handle stayed squeezed. Once the grenade started cooking, there was nothing to do but pray. Earl was too old and tired to run at least five meters in the snow in five seconds. He carefully backed away. He could see the lights approaching the crest, so he took off for the south in a sprint to catch Larry.
A few minutes later, he was behind another snowbank with Larry, waiting…hoping to hear an explosion that never came. The pack of men caught up and were slowly spread out along the trail. The snow was too fresh and deep to run in and it gave them away anytime they stopped and made a plan.
“The snow, Larry,” Earl whispered. “They know we’re here.”
Larry squeezed his hunting rifle, kissing it on the stock. “I’m ready, young fella.”
Earl popped the pins on the two smoke grenades Larry had dug out on their small respite, throwing one to the east and one to the west. The men could hear them, but the woods, pre-dusk light, and snow made them hard to see.
Earl could tell there was a commotion ten to fifteen meters north of his snowbank, as he heard men arguing about what to do. He yanked the pin out of the second frag grenade and gave it a good toss over the bank. Five seconds later…
KA-BOOM! He heard at least three sets of screams. He and Larry sat up and looked to acquire targets. He was able to pick out at least two, which he dispatched with several shots.
“Cover me!” he hissed to Larry. He got out and could see bodies through some of the smoke. The screaming helped him home in on the carnage. He shoots, he scores! he said to himself, realizing he’d gotten at least four of them with the grenade toss. He heard the report of another dispatched by Larry’s hunting rifle. Earl started to walk north again, seeing a wounded man running away.
He began to sprint after the man. Need to make sure none of these guys makes it back to town. He started following a blood trail. Earl was most of the way back to the booby trap that had never been sprung when he saw the escapee crawling in the snow.
“You’ll never reach it in time,” Earl said.
“You!” the man said as he turned and looked at Earl. It was the big one with the attitude who had tried to keep Earl from reaching the stew pot about twelve hours earlier.
“Awww, what the hell—go ahead,” Earl egged the man on. He sped up the pace of his crawl toward the rifle, thinking that he and Earl were in some sort of quick draw competition. All’s fair in love and war, Earl thought. Although, I always heard that if you fight fair then your tactics suck.
Just then, the bully reached the AK he thought was his reprieve of safety and spent the last five seconds of his life wondering just who Earl Garren was.
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 32 Days.
The forest service road had shown signs of people using it, with trash strewn everywhere. Nick and Josh had passed more than one burn mark indicating places where people had lit small fires. They were keeping a five meter distance between themselves, Nick leading and on the left side of the road, Josh on the right. The men were carrying their rifles up front, not sure exactly who they would run into. The road crossed over into the next valley after they crested.
“I sure wish we had the right kind of map,” Nick said. He had even used the little GPS device on his boat to take a look for some better guidance but to no avail.
“I have a Gazetteer back home in Shelton that would have all this on it,” Josh said regrettably.
Nick looked back in surprise. “You’re from Shelton? How’d you wind up in Slaughter County?”
“Tagged along with my brother’s family to his in-laws.” He thought about the accuracy of that. “Well…to his in-law’s bugout location…”
“And that’s where you came to guard Stu?”
“Pretty much. Stu’s a doctor in a world that suddenly found itself two hundred years back in time. And this place we’re staying is about sixty percent geriatric.” He left off the part about his biggest concern—that Payton was entering month seven of pregnancy. “Knowing his folks are probably…” He stopped scanning long enough to look at Nick, who was looking back at him. “…you know. We figured he’d need a place to stay when he figured it out, so Jeff and I are here to bring him back safe and sound.”
Interesting, Nick thought as he turned his head back to scanning. He stopped and stared west at a small path. “Let’s try this game trail. Hand me that machete, will ya?”
Josh took the blade off the side of the man’s pack and handed it to him. The pair started west on a game trail. There were still occasional pieces of trash. Everyone has hunted this land to extinction, Nick thought. Jerks can’t even pack their trash out. They ducked under branches and stepped over logs, only using the machete where the trail grew over with huckleberry and salal.
“So, this location…” Nick said about fifteen minutes later. Josh looked puzzled. “Where you’re staying…”
“Ohhh. It’s a gun club. The main guy is an ex-Marine.”
“Don’t let him hear you say it like that!” Nick kidded.
“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t much care, except—” Josh stopped short.
Nick stopped and turned out of curiosity. “What?”
Josh started smirking, sheepishly. “Nawww. Never mind.” He looked forward, trying to get Nick moving again.
“What? Is the dude you’re daddy or something?” He studied Josh’s smirk.
“Would you get moving, already?” Josh insisted.
“A girl,” Nick concluded. He turned and started hiking. “There’s a girl. Lemme guess—he’s her daddy?”
“Dude, shut up!” Josh said as they continued to hike west. “How on Earth could you tell that by looking at my face?”
Nick started laughing more than he wanted to on a patrol. But he did miss the camaraderie of giving another soldier a hard time. “Easily,” he said. “Gettin’ laid is about the only reason an 11-Bravo would care what a Marine thinks!” They both had a good laugh.
“It’s not just the girl,” he admitted. “This place has become family. We’ve already gone through a world of crap. I…I feel fortunate to have met these people. And—we’re starting to protect the community…patrols and such. Formed up a posse endorsed by the sheriff.” Josh didn’t feel like telling the whole story. “What about you?” he asked, changing the topic. “What are you doing after the hunt is over?”
“Well,” Nick said as they were about to crest the hill, “turns out I have a lady friend, too. Not too far from here, actually.” It had just dawned on him that he’d done nearly a full circle since the beginning. He held up an upright hand, telling Josh that party time was over. They slowly crested the trail at the top of the hill and stopped. Nothing but a valley and another hill. Nick pulled the map out as Josh caught up to him. “See that creek on the map?”
Josh knew that creeks on maps were always in the valleys. “Probably just past that next hilltop, then.”
Counting a small break, the pair spent three more hours crossing over the next peak and finding a clearing below the crest. Nick doffed his pack and opened it, pulling out a hard, plastic watertight case. He retrieved a mil-spec M-151 spotting scope. It would provide forty-times magnification.
Josh gave a low whistle. “Man, I bet that cost a pretty penny!”
Nick just looked with a slight grin but didn’t say anything. He left it in the case while he took an all-black tripod off the side of his pack. He set his poncho on the ground and started adjusting the tripod, which would enable him to stay seated. After he’d assembled the whole unit, he started scanning the roads below him. He pulled the map out of his coat pocket and referenced it a few times. He finally looked at Josh.
“You might as well get comfortable. Just keep an ear out for trouble. I think I know which one is Stu’s house—and I see exactly where I would be surveilling it from.”
18
New Alliances.
There was only so much President Jeremiah Allen could do. The United States Military was making every possible move it could to the American West Coast. Not only was part of the Atlantic Fleet being pushed through the Panama Canal to change homeports to San Diego and Pearl Harbor, the American President had worked out an emergency revision to the protection agreement with Japan—the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Halsey was destined to pick up her air-wings in California and change homeports to Yokosuka. The Washington State Naval Shipyard was trying desperately to have her seaworthy after narrowly getting the vessel out of a destroyed dry-dock without flooding the ship. The president had been promised that the ship would be on the way to San Diego within a week.
Across train tracks and highways in the southern half of the US, Army and Marine units were in transit, leaving a bare-bones force on the East Coast. The president had been forced to activate the Eastern states’ National Guard and Reserve units, as the Western states’ units were tied up with riot control. In the gulf city of Pascagoula, Mississippi, decommissioned naval ships—particularly those meant to haul aircraft, tanks, and troops—were being put through emergency overhauls. The Navy had been trying for many years to correct an error of too much force reduction from the 1990s, but there just hadn’t been time. The ships were being made habitable and provided with new electronics for their Combat Information Centers. The engine rooms and other systems were just too time-consuming to upgrade in a state of national emergency. Another world war had been brewing for close to two decades, and the release of Tahoma’s hammer had been the kettle’s call.
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 37 Days.
“How ya doin’, James?” Phil asked his radio operator.
James Bryant, though only thirteen years old, had trained and learned enough from Jerry that he was now standing Command Post duty as a lead operator. Jerry had personally grilled the young man enough to know that had they still been in a time of law, young James would be able to pass the technician’s test and operate without walking on other people’s signals. That was good enough for him. After watching Jerry for a few weeks, he was finally able to give Jerry a chance to go move around a bit. He’d been mentored in all facets of running the Command Post—keeping the log, marking activities on the map, and taking reports from the salvage and intel patrols.
“Pretty good, Mr. Walker.”
This made Phil grin. “James, I’ve told you to call me Phil.”
“I know, but my dad says to call you Mr. Walker. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”
“Ahh,” Phil understood. “Jerry must have a lot of faith in you to leave the CP.”
“I guess. This stuff is fun—at least, when I actually understand what they’re saying. The HAMs use lots of letters and numbers as code to keep things short. That’s why we have these posters,” he said, pointing around.
“Gotcha…well, good job, young man. I never had the interest to learn all this…kind of wish I had, now…”
“It’s not too late, Mr. W!”
If only that were true, Phil thought. Just too stinkin’ busy all the time. “I suppose not. Now, did Jerry remind you to text me on the mesh network if anything urgent comes up?”
“Yes sir. Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you—any idea when my brother and uncle will be back?” The teen showed a bit of concern on his face.
“Sorry, bud…no. But they know how to take care of themselves. I wouldn’t sweat it until there’s a real reason to.” Phil put on a confident face, but inside he was growing a bit concerned, too. “You have anything to report?”
“There is traffic from the north end that I put on this message form here. I was going to let Jerry look at all of this when he got back…”
“No, no…it’s alright, James. I don’t need to be called for every detail. There’s an art to sensing when something is unique or urgent. It’s the kind of sense you get when you turn into an old fart like me or Jerry.”
Phil scanned the traffic log while James laughed. Interesting…a civil navy of sorts up in the Strait, keeping the piracy at bay. Unknown number of boats…estimates as high as twenty…maybe more… “James, is there a way to get ahold of these boats if we need to?”
“I’m not sure…sorry…”
“Relax, my friend. Just do me a favor and ask Jerry when he gets back on duty. Okay? Now…the real reason I’m here is to have you make a contact for me. You up to that?”
“Yeah! I mean yes, sir!”
“At the next scheduled time, I need you to arrange a meet up of Posse leaders. Tell them…” Phil picked up the current roster of code words that had been pre-arranged to give location, time, and priority. “…Sandpiper. Tell them Sandpiper. Ya got that?” James was jotting it in the logbook.
“Yes sir!”
“Thank you, son. Keep up the good work,” he said as he exited the canopy. Son… And like that Phil once again thought of Crane, though each time he was just a tad less sad. I miss you, boy…
He walked back down the hill. The rain wasn’t horrible, though he did miss the days of pulling up a weather radar on his phone. He stopped in his tent to get off the prosthetic when his phone buzzed. He checked the mesh-text and saw that he had an unexpected but welcome guest up at the office.
Phil kept on the fake leg for a bit longer and wandered up the path to find Charlie and his family in the small trailer. “Hey!” he said as he gave Mel a hug and high-fived Charlie’s kids.
“Will work for lodging!” Melinda Reeves said a little nervously. Though initially resistant to move out to the gun range earlier, once at the range she didn’t want to leave. It was only after her husband and Phil had a temporary falling out that she and the kids had braved the FEMA camp in Bartlett.
“You know you don’t have to beg, Melinda,” Phil said as endearingly as possible. He could see her eyes tearing up, though she was trying not to cry in front of her kids. “Why don’t you all go set up your gear? I think your old camping spot is still open,” Phil told her and the kids. “Deputy Dog will be along in a couple of minutes.” They watched Melinda drag her kids out to Charlie’s patrol rig to grab their stuff.
Charlie went first. “I…I guess—”
“Save it, brother. Buried hatchets, as your heritage goes, and all that. Is it getting bad down there?”
“I don’t know what we’re going to do, man!” Charlie was in a place where he could vent and speak freely. “The sheriff and Adam mean well, but there’s just too many people. The good news is that any Guard and police left are staying for good. The bad news is that it’s like watching a reality show—people always sneaking off for sidebar conversations, backstabbing… The way everything is crumbling is like watching a grape turn into a raisin at a hundred miles-per-hour.”
