Cade smelled the undead long before he saw them. They were locked up in a horse trailer secreted inside of the tree line. He was very careful to give a wide enough berth so they wouldn’t start their god-awful moaning and give him away.
He had been stalking the four men for twenty minutes and watched them as they reached the top of the hill, lingering longer than necessary. This slip up confirmed that they had little or no military training. Any soldier would know how to use the “military crest” of a hill to mask their movement and limit silhouetting themselves.
He wondered where these amateurs had stolen their desert ACUs. Using the binoculars he determined they were wearing authentic U.S. uniforms with insignia, name and rank. It appeared they were AWOL Idaho National Guardsmen. His sixth sense was really telling him something different. These definitely were not United States trained soldiers. He was stalking imposters.
The four men crossed the westbound lanes and headed straight for the foothills in the distance. They moved slowly because they were loaded down with all they had looted from the attack.
Cade was going to follow the murderous brigands to their staging grounds and lay dog and observe until he had a firm grasp of how many he would be killing.
The terrain was perfect for tracking. It was high desert and dusty and there were lots of small to medium juniper and other hardy scrub brush to conceal a pursuer. Not only were the men oblivious to noise discipline, they were leaving MRE food wrappers in their wake as they ascended the hill.
The camp was on a large piece of land a short hike from the interstate. On one end of the grassy plot was a giant mound of gravel. Parked nearby were three Idaho Department of Transportation sanding trucks. On the other end of the land was a broad expanse of grass where the biker horde had set up camp. Four fifth-wheel trailers were arranged in a semicircle on the back side of a small hill. One of the pickups was detached from its trailer; the other three were still connected.
To his amazement he noticed two military Humvees, painted in desert camouflage, partially hidden behind the trailers. One of the Hummers was a gun truck with a Dillon minigun mounted in the bed. Cade and his team had used similar ones in the sandbox. The vehicles were positioned for a quick getaway where they couldn’t be seen from the interstate.
There were numerous brightly colored tents of all different shapes and sizes dotting the clearing. The grass was trampled everywhere he looked. Judging by the many old campfire pits and the trash strewn about, he knew there would be scores of people returning to spend the night.
Suddenly a large man with a flowing black beard walked out of the brush to the left of the circled trailers. He wore the same desert fatigues as the men Cade had tracked; a floppy boonie hat was pulled down low over his eyes. His head was constantly moving, scanning his surroundings. Cade could tell at once that this man was nothing like the others; he walked with confidence and purpose, he moved like an operator. Cade recognized the Barrett M-82 sniper rifle the man carried by its distinct outline and large wedge shaped muzzle brake. It was fitted with a high powered scope and could deliver a hefty .50 caliber bullet out to 5,900 feet. Cade had a feeling he was looking at the man who had killed Rawley.
A second man emerged from the brush. He was in civilian clothes and didn’t seem as confident as the first man. He carried a very large spotting scope and slung over his shoulder was an AR-15.
The sniper went inside the unhooked trailer and slammed the door behind him. In response to the loud noise, a man in fatigues poked his head out of another trailer and emerged, appearing to guard the camp. Shortly thereafter the other three men that Cade had tracked to the camp filed out of the same trailer, beer bottles in hand.
The bearded man reemerged into the clearing and although they were out of Cade’s earshot, it looked like he was calling the men over for a group meeting. He was definitely in charge. Cade could tell by the body language of the other men.
The youngest of the group produced a bag with the food and supplies pillaged from the ambush; the big man poured it out on the ground and divided the contents. The kid also handed over the SKS assault rifle and after a cursory inspection the bearded leader handed it back to him.
Cade keyed the Motorola and hailed Harry. Holding the radio so that both he and Duncan could hear, he answered, “This is Harry. Duncan is listening in.”
“I’m laying dog and watching a large camp with at least twenty tents but so far I’ve only seen six personnel, all armed. I’m a mile and a half northwest of your position. It looks like most of the people that were here are out and about, so stay alert. Cade out.”
“OK, roger that,” Harry replied.
Cade watched the camp through his binoculars. The five men arranged folding camp chairs and sat in a semicircle drinking long neck Buds, which they replenished from a big silver cooler.
For thirty minutes they drank and carried on a very animated conversation. He took note; the youngest amongst them was nursing his beer. Judging by the amount of empties, the other men were on at least beer number three.
The door to one of the trailers flew open with a bang. The bearded sniper emerged with a petite woman in tow. She was naked and appeared bruised and battered; her long red hair was wrapped around his ham sized fist. She looked mentally broken, her eyes locked on the ground.
Cade put down the binoculars and retrieved his sniper rifle; through the scope he watched as another man violently took hold of the woman’s wrist and walked her away from the camp towards the woods. Cade recognized him as the same man that had been spotting for the sniper. This mutt needs to die. He kept the crosshairs trained on the skinny man’s neck. If he took the shot while they were moving then it would unnecessarily put the redheaded woman in danger, plus he didn’t want to alert the bad guys to his presence just yet.
The two were nearly at the tree line. A metallic whirring sound carried on the light breeze from the clearing below; Cade recognized it for what it was the instant he heard it. He still had the man and woman scoped and he watched them disappear in an explosion of flesh, organs, bone and pink-misted blood. The bearded leader had covertly made his way to the Humvee and was now manning the 7.62 mm Dillon minigun mounted to the gun truck. He released a 300 round burst, leaving the pile of human remains seeping into the dirt.
Shifting his aim to just below and behind the man’s left eye, Cade adjusted for elevation and windage. He relaxed his breathing. This one’s for you, Rawley, he thought as he gently caressed the trigger. The suppressed rifle coughed once. It was a perfect head shot, and the waste of skin fell atop the minigun, the top half of his head nonexistent, leaving only his bushy black beard and jawbone still attached at the neck.
The four other men fell to the ground, desperately looking in all directions for the shooter. Cade smirked as the fat man hid behind his green canvas camp chair. Peek-a-boo asshole, this one’s for Leo. The .338 Lapua round went through the makeshift fabric shield and shattered the man’s sternum before lodging in his heart, killing him instantly.
Shocked and in total disbelief, Jerrod slowly commando crawled under the nearest trailer. He didn’t want to be the next victim of the unseen shooter. Shaking off the little buzz the beer had given him, he shimmied out from under cover and quickly snared the SKS by the sling and launched himself into the underbrush, then patiently crawled away from the slaughter.
Cade chambered another round and watched the remaining three men low crawl, attempting to take cover near the Humvee’s front bumper. Cade saw the terror evident on the man’s face magnified through the scope. The bullet impacted above his upper lip and proceeded upward into his nasal cavity. The velocity of the round peeled his face away from the skull, rendering him unrecognizable. The man cowering near him was showered with human detritus. “One shot one kill” is the sniper’s motto, and so far Cade was living up to it. It almost wasn’t fair. The grown man was visibly sobbing, his body heaved up and down as he struggled for air. The balding spot on the crown of the man’s head was where the cross hairs rested. Cade mouthed the words, “And this one’s for you, Sheila,” as he sent the man to Hell.
The youngest of the four men that had been drinking beers around the cooler was the only one left. Cade had no idea where he had gone, but he knew he wouldn’t stray far.
Ever so slowly he backed down from the slight berm he had set up his over watch behind. The sagebrush concealed him from any eyes below as he patiently disassembled the sniper rifle, first folding the stock and then removing the suppressor. It was a hunch, but he had a strong feeling that the kid would fall back and hide out, waiting for his friends to return.
What have I gotten myself into now? Jerrod thought as he slowly tried to flank the shooter. His best guess was that the sniper must have been on the hill facing the circle of trailers. There was no way the headshot that took out Trask could have come from the trees behind them.
There was a shuffling sound, followed by the sharp snap of a twig. Cade bent to one knee and swept his M4 towards the sound. Slowly scanning his surroundings, he perceived movement at his eleven o’clock. The young man crept into view; he was a rookie and didn’t use any of the available cover to his advantage. Suddenly he went to ground and low crawled through some underbrush. He is pretty brave or just plain stupid trying to out sneak a sniper. He let the kid get comfortable and then silently approached from behind with the M4 at the ready. Rawley’s SKS was in the kid’s possession; this was going to have to be handled quietly, up close and personal.
Jerrod was hyperventilating, just like he did when he played paintball with his buddies back at the compound. This was for real and he tried to calm down but he couldn’t, he could hear his blood rushing in his head and his heartbeat pounding in his chest. It was like this the first time he had sex a couple of days ago. He didn’t want to, but everyone else had raped her already and it happened to be his turn. The other guys heckled and cajoled. It didn’t take much though. She looked at him with those dead eyes, silently pleading to get it over with and leave. Jerrod unbuckled his pants and found he was ready. It lasted fifteen seconds, but he stayed in the trailer for another ten minutes lying next to the redheaded woman, not ashamed at what he had done but at how quick it was. The last time, earlier today before the ambush, was better because he lasted a little longer and actually got it in before he ejaculated; she gave him a smart ass smile that made him lose it. He punched and kicked her until somebody came in and pulled him away. He had beaten her badly. Bitch had it coming, too. Deep in thought with a dull throbbing in his groin was how he died, the ten inch Gerber carving him ear to ear, severing his carotid artery and slicing through his trachea and vertebrae, nearly severing his head. Cade stabbed the dagger in the dirt, stared deep into the dying man’s eyes and watched the life ebb from him. Cade cleaned his knife on the kid’s fatigues and repossessed Rawley’s prized SKS before descending on the quiet camp.
The Humvees bore markings of the Oregon National Guard and had bullet holes pockmarking the Kevlar bodies. It was evident that the bandits had overtaken a military convoy or checkpoint somewhere and stolen the vehicles, uniforms, weapons and explosives. The latter they had been using to make their roadside bombs. Cade found three pounds of C4 plastic explosives as well as the radio frequency detonators and remotes needed to set off the charges. The Guardsmen may have been engineers sent to drop the bridges on the border and possibly set up a checkpoint. If that were the case, then drastic measures were being undertaken to slow the pathogen’s rapid spread.
Wasting no time, he went about setting five half-pound C4 charges. One was affixed to each propane tank on the four travel trailers; he buried the last brick of C4 and placed the cooler over the disturbed soil.
Each C4 block had a radio frequency detonator embedded in the soft putty surface. They all worked on the same frequency and would detonate at the same time. One push of the button on the small plastic remote would unleash hell on anyone in the vicinity. Cade made certain the devices were armed and put the little black box in the cargo pocket of his ACUs.
Cade was in the act of placing the dead bodies around the cooler when he heard the distinctive sound of Harley Davidsons… a lot of them. Luckily for him the road leading to the campsite was potholed enough to slow their approach. He knifed his way through the brush keeping a low profile. Given all of the engine noise, Cade didn’t need to worry about stealth. He made it back to his hide before the bad guys arrived. The bikers dismounted and gawked at the three dead men. Cade had hastily arranged them on the folding camp chairs around the booby trapped cooler. In death they appeared to be shooting the breeze over beers.
A large number of the Nomad Jesters were crowded around the seated dead men when Cade remotely detonated the charges. There was an initial ear splitting WHOOMPH. Cade burrowed face-first into the fine silt, his head protected by the tactical helmet. The immense heat from the exploding propane tanks warmed his back. Now secondary explosions boomed. The two Humvees were fully engulfed. The ammo onboard started cooking off. The steady pop, pop, pop of various calibers of bullets discharging filled the air. Every trailer down below was now in the process of becoming a molten pool of aluminum. The propane tanks were of the larger variety and added more fuel to the fire. It was no surprise that no pleas for help or screams came from ground zero. Burning bodies and body parts were strewn everywhere. The human toll appeared to be immense. He had no remorse for the biker’s “old ladies.” Cade considered anyone associated with this crew to be less than human; even though he hadn’t seen the big redhead’s demise, he was satisfied. Whoever had said “Revenge was a dish best served cold” hadn’t seen an inferno like this. Cade watched the flames lick towards the row of fallen motorcycles; they had been knocked down like dominos from the blast. One by one the bikes caught fire. The heat from the flames warmed his face even at this distance. Cade thought about Harry and Duncan; they were probably beside themselves wondering what was happening.
The radio was on the lowest volume setting so he turned it up a notch.
“Come in, come in. Are you there Cade?”
It was Harry’s voice.
Click, Click, was Cade’s response. He policed up his pack and weapon and then took a different route back to the two men waiting for him.
His leather jacket was starting to catch fire when the man came to. He knew the popping sounds that he was hearing weren’t due to enemy gunfire; still he kept his head down as he crawled away from the immolated Humvees lest a stray bullet do what the booby-trapped camp had failed to do. Richard Ganz was blessed that he had to piss when he did. Several of his lieutenants also stopped to provide security. He was a survivor and always would be. Save for a few bruises and a wicked headache he was unscathed. Richard Ganz swore to himself he would track down the son of a bitch that took out his second-in-command and most of his foot soldiers, even if it killed him. The redhead wasted no time; he started barking out orders to his surviving underlings.