Divided We Fall (13 page)

Brad shrugged and lifted his M4, clicking the three-point sling to
the shoulder of his gear. “Well, let’s go then; I can’t wait to debrief him.”

Chapter 21

Joe heard the rustling of leaves and forced his eyes open. The
thick Appalachian fog settled in on him and made every part of his body shiver from
the dampness. The prisoner was grunting again. Joe watched as Dan pulled away
the man’s gag, fed him more pills, and then poured water in his mouth. The man
shook his head, refusing to swallow, so Dan pinched the man’s nose and poured
in more water until he finally gagged down the pills. Joe watched the older man
work on the prisoner; he showed no emotion as he carried out his ugly deeds.
The old Marine was business-like, as if he was hanging a picture frame. Not a
question of mercy or brutality, he was just performing another task.

Dan allowed the man enough time to catch his breath before
replacing the gag and pulling the hood back over his head. The prisoner was
already wearing heavy shooter’s earmuffs and thick dark-tinted goggles. Dan
called it sensory deprivation; he said it was one of the best ways to convince
a man to cooperate and force him to rely on his captors. Especially out here,
where everything was a threat, the man’s own thoughts would scare him more than
the reality around him. Since the man had been blinded and deafened, his
actions went from defiance to childlike, quickly submitting to them.

The trucks were a treasure trove of information: maps, stolen
mail, and pictures. There were boxes of ammo, canned goods, and plenty of
narcotics, which the prisoner was currently enjoying. The intel gave Dan a good
idea of what they were up against. This was not a group of do-good survivors; they
were more of a street gang. Dan referred to them as pests that required
extermination.

After the initial contact, Dan gathered the rest of his men and
sent them up the mountain after their families. He told them to leave no trail.
If Joe and Dan managed to fail, he wanted the strangers’ attack against them to
end at the cabin. He told them he would get information from the wounded man
and take care of Chuck and company—slow them up as best he could then meet them
in a day or two.

The wounded man was reluctant at first, but Dan had a way with
people and this prisoner was no exception to the rule. The prisoner slowly came
around the longer he bled. Dan promised to treat his wounds and give him drugs
for the pain if he could lead them back to where Chuck and the others were
camped. They had travelled through the night to reach this place. It wasn’t
much to look at, lying on a muddy slope at the edge of a wooded valley looking
down over a cluster of rusted, tarpaper–sided shacks. A tall wooden fence
surrounded most of it with chain link in the front section and a tractor-trailer
turned on its side covered one end.

Joe watched as the wounded man slumped back against the tree. “How
do we even know he’s telling the truth, Dan?” Joe asked. “I ain’t seen anything
move down there; maybe it’s empty.”

The old Marine looked back at Joe over his shoulder. He was
checking the bindings on the prisoner’s wrists and ankles. “Well, he’s had more
than a double share of Demerol and Prozac; I guess he could still be in a mood
for lies, but why would he? I have been doing my part to keep him in his happy
place. You will find the more drugs you give a man, the less he tends to give a
shit. At this point, I doubt he cares much for Chuck and those scumbags at the
bottom of the valley.”

“Can’t we just leave them alone? I mean, hell, maybe they’ll never
come back up the mountain after the beating they took.”

Dan laughed and shook his head. “And maybe unicorns and puppy dogs
will take over the free world. You just don’t get it, boy. Guys like that
always come back, like a wild dog that craves meat. They’ll take a beating, but
they will continue to return until they get it. I’m sure Chuck brought his
people back to lick their wounds. But they will always know there is something
up that mountain, and eventually they will go back for it.”

Dan let the prisoner fall back into heavy brush then turned and
crawled down alongside Joe. They had replaced the shotgun with a pair of
mini-14s from the barn. Joe was now wearing a heavy parka and a load-bearing
vest weighed down with magazines. Dan was dressed the same except for a large
scope on his rifle and the pouches of grenades he carried. Dan lifted his rifle
and swept the compound below.

The sun was breaking the top of the mountain, casting an orange
glow over the cluster of buildings. “Look there, behind the long steel building…
does that look like their vehicle?”

Joe strained his eyes and looked below at the small compound.
There was a large one-story building just inside the chain link fence with a
large gravel courtyard next to it. The buildings were arranged in the shape of
an L; the one-story building being the short leg, then two rows of long, narrow
buildings making up the long leg. Just at the back of the buildings, Joe could
see a number of vehicles, and one he was sure was the truck.

“That’s the truck; I’m certain of it,” Joe whispered. “What are we
going to do?”

Dan yanked a long strand of grass from the damp ground and chewed
at its root. “Well, I was thinking we should take our friend home. He held his
end of the bargain and got us here.”

Joe opened his mouth to argue when he heard voices coming from
below. He turned to Dan and could see from the expression on his face he’d
heard them too. Joe held his breath and looked down at the trail below them.

Moments later, a group of men appeared on a previously unseen thin
trail just meters below. The lead man, wearing camouflage pants and a gray
sweatshirt, carried a crossbow; the two behind were younger and skinnier and,
together, they struggled to carry a whitetail deer. A fourth man, farther back,
lugged a large burlap bag over his shoulder. The bottom of the sac was red and
dripping with blood. Aside from the man with the bow, none carried weapons at
the ready.

One of the young men grunted and lost his grip, dropping the front
half of the deer to the ground and causing the second man to trip over the
carcass. Crossbow turned back and scowled at them. “Come on, dammit, this is
taking entirely too long!”

The man in the back moved forward and dropped his canvas sack.
“Here, Jeb, take the bag and I’ll have myself a spell on the deer.”

The young man stared at the bag, then looked up at the older man
and nodded. He got back to his feet and hoisted the bag to his shoulder,
allowing the other to grab the deer by its neck and lift it to his hip. Crossbow
scanned the area and stepped back off down the trail, the others following
close behind.

Dan let the strangers move to the bottom of the trail and create
separation before he spoke. “That’s it, we got the right spot; looks like we
caught them on a grocery run,” he whispered. “What I wouldn’t do for a radio
and a C-47 Spooky right now. Good ol’ Puff the Magic Dragon would knock these
boys outta their socks.”

“Dan, what the hell did you do in the Marines?” Joe asked.

“A bit of this… a bit of that,” Dan said.

Joe shook his head and pressed his face back into the tall grass.
He watched the men navigate the hill and cross a street at the bottom. They
casually walked to the chain link fence and removed a bit of chain, letting the
others through before latching it behind them.

“Arrogant bastards don’t even post a guard,” Dan said. “We’ll let
them get inside, give them a few minutes to get lazy, and we’ll follow the
trail.”

Joe bit his lower lip; Dan looked at him and smiled. “Don’t sweat
it, kid; this is going to be fun.”

Joe scowled as Dan crawled back up the hill; he manhandled the
prisoner back to a sitting position, and then forced him up to his feet. Dan
dragged the man forward, and then pointed for Joe to move down the trail. “I
hope you’re right about this,” Joe protested.

“I’m always right, 60 percent of the time,” Dan laughed.

He stepped off into a controlled slide in the damp grass, dropping
down the slope and emptying out onto the trail below. Joe looked up to see Dan
pushing the prisoner ahead of him; the man fell hard to his back then half-tumbled
ahead as Dan dug in his heels to guide the man to the bottom. The prisoner
moaned through his gag but quickly faded back to a low grunt.

Dan shoved the prisoner forward then back to his feet. He pushed
him to Joe. Joe clenched the back of the man’s shirt in a balled fist and
guided him ahead of them. When Dan pointed to the front gate, Joe acknowledged
the direction and moved down the trail toward it.

“You sure on walking right to the front door?” Joe said.

“Not particularly. Let me move out ahead of you; if anyone takes a
shot at us, leave him where he stands and run to cover. If we get separated,
make your way back to the blockhouse.”

“Okay, Dan,” Joe said. He stiffened his arm and guided the
prisoner straight ahead. The man was slumping in his steps, fatigued and
staggering from the drugs. Dan moved past them and stopped where the hard-packed
trail met the side of the blacktop road. He searched in both directions then
ran across. Joe held in place, waiting for Dan to scout the immediate area. Dan
pressed his back against the wood part of the fence then ran at a low crouch to
the gate. He put his hand to the latch and then looked back at Joe, waving him
forward.

“What the hell are we doing here?” Joe mumbled to himself.

He took the prisoner and pushed him onto the road and then, eager
to get out of the open, he nearly dragged the man behind him as he crossed. He
quickly moved up beside Dan, who grabbed the prisoner by the arm and nudged him
gently against the gate. Dan turned and pointed to a gravel parking lot. The
lot was filled with several empty vehicles on flat tires, and at the back of
the area was a pair of overflowing green dumpsters.

“We’ll hide over there while we watch. Get ready to move; this
won’t take long,” Dan whispered.

Joe watched as his mentor handcuffed the prisoner’s wrist to the
chain link fence. Dan then tied a small bit of wire through the bottom of the
gate’s frame and laced it along the ground to the corner fence post. He pulled
a grenade from a pouch and used a small strip of green tape to fix the body of
grenade to the post then took the slack out of the wire and attached it to the
pin.

Joe shook his head. “That’s dirty, Dan.”

“Yup,” Dan said. “Dirty Dan, that’s what they used to call me.”

“You like this shit, don’t you?” Joe asked.

Dan looked back at him. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nope,
I’m just good at it.”

Dan pulled the hood from the prisoner’s head and removed the
wounded man’s earmuffs, goggles, and gag. The man looked at Dan, his eyes
squinting from the bright light. “Deal’s a deal; you showed me the way home,
and I brought you here. Try and stay out of trouble, okay?”

With bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils, the prisoner looked
through Dan—obviously stoned out of his mind. “Well, see ya around,” Dan said
before pushing the man against the gate.

Dan drew his 1911 and fired two quick shots into the dirt. Joe,
not expecting it, jumped.

“What the hell you waiting for? Run!” Dan shouted.

Joe quickly bounded forward, following the older man to the
dumpsters. Together they ran at a full sprint, sliding on the gravel and
ducking between the cars and the green dumpsters. Dan pulled the scoped rifle
from his shoulder and nestled in under a big truck. Keeping Joe positioned
behind him.

Joe pulled his own rifle and went to crawl next to Dan. Dan held
up a fist and waved him off. “Just watch my back; if you see something, point
it out to me,” he said.

It didn’t take long for the shouting inside the fences to start.
Doors slammed and men yelled obscenities at each other. A man walked into the
open, just behind the gate. Barefoot and shirtless, wearing torn blue jeans, he
clutched an AR-15 to his naked chest. The man staggered toward the gate then
stopped and raised his rifle; he held it for a moment then took his eye off the
stock, showing recognition. He lifted his head and yelled to someone out of
sight just behind him. “It’s that son of a bitch Chris; thought you all said he
was dead.”

A voice hollered; the sound of it chilled Joe—he knew it was
Chuck. “Can’t be. I saw Chris take a round to the chest.”

The shirtless man stepped forward, his head swiveling while
searching the surroundings as he walked. “Yeah, it’s Chris alright. Hey, buddy…
Chris… it’s me. What’s wrong with ya?” the man hollered. He stopped again and
looked back. “I think he’s drunk or something.”

“Hold up; maybe he’s infected,” Chuck said.

Shirtless held his ground, hesitating. More men came into view
around him, one far larger than the rest of the group, wearing an olive green
jacket, and carrying the MAC-9 at his side. Joe immediately recognized him as
Chuck. The man moved into the group, stopping to examine the man standing at
the gate.

“You high or something? What the hell’s wrong with you, Chris?”
Chuck said.

Joe lowered himself to the ground, still keeping the men in sight
from his hiding place behind the truck. “The fat one, it’s the leader; kill him
so we can get out of here,” Joe whispered.