A New World [7] Takedown (13 page)

We gather beside the entrance to the trail. A multitude of footprints mar the surface, again the same size that we found at the radio station. I pause, listening. The area is dead silent. There’s not a sound of bird chirping or a squirrel irritated with our presence. I don’t know the area so this could be normal but, under usual circumstances, this would be a sign that something predatory is in the area.

“Just so you know, sir, I’m with you on not bringing Robert and Bri. This whole situation has the feel of being in Wonderland,” Gonzalez quietly says, crouching and looking up the trail and off through the trees. McCafferty nods in agreement.

“Yeah, no kidding. I keep expecting the Mad Hatter to come bouncing along any minute,” I reply.

“Just as long as we don’t find the Red Queen,” Gonzalez replies.

“I’m with you on that,” McCafferty whispers.

I radio my findings and tell Greg that we are proceeding up the path.

“We’re going in. Slow and steady and keep your intervals. You know the drill. If we take fire from the front, the point empties a mag and leap frogs back. Continue until we’re disengaged and beat cheeks back to the Stryker. If we’re fired on from the side, empty one mag and disengage. Let’s not get caught up in a firefight,” I say.

“Hooah, sir.”

“You’ve been saving that, haven’t you?”

Gonzalez and McCafferty grin. “I don’t possibly know what you mean, sir.”

“Let’s move before I decide to put you on point…smartass.”

Rising, we step onto the trail and slowly begin making our way up the hard-packed surface. The dense forest closes in on either side. I’m not a big fan of being on a trail but the underbrush in the woods to either side isn’t exactly penetrable – at least at this point. I keep to the side as much as possible, pausing every few feet to observe and listen. The silence seems even more complete with the trees closed around us. The path itself is lit by the overcast day but shadows under the trees make it hard to see anything in their depths. An occasional patch is lit as daylight manages to filter through.

I feel my heart rate increase as we edge farther up the path. The eeriness of the day adds to the level of tension. My senses become more alert. I take in steady, calming breaths. My thumb caresses the selector switch, comforting me even further. This is a habit pattern I developed, and I have no idea why it is so calming. Back in the day, everyone had their own thing and this was mine. My brain registers that I’m on ‘auto’ which may be part of the comfort. I can unleash a torrent of fire at a moment’s notice.

I crouch next to a tree where the trail curves. Gonzalez and McCafferty crouch to their knees behind me, watching to either side. The only sound is the occasional swish of the breeze blowing across the tops of the trees. If anyone was up on top of the hill, I would expect to hear something of their movements but there’s nothing. Of course, they may have gone to ground upon hearing or seeing us arrive. This thought doesn’t bring a warm, happy feeling.

I peek quickly around the tree. Beyond, the trail straightens and continues upward. Lining the sides of the trail, skulls sit on top of poles driven into the ground.

Where the hell did they get so many skulls?
I think, not really wanting to know the answer.

It really looks like some B-rated horror movie. I up that to an A-rated one as I am now smack dab in the middle of it. Looking into the woods, I notice some leafy branches on the ground. They are turning brown and look out of place. I’ve seen this kind of thing a few times in the past. I motion for Gonzalez and McCafferty to stay in place and edge into the trees.

Low crawling, I check each inch of ground in front of me and to the sides prior to moving. Reaching the border of the branches, I reach out and lift one. It’s just as I expected. The branches are screening a layer of thin sticks laid over a pit. That’s one thing some who build these things forget – you have to periodically change the overlay or they dry out. That makes it stand out more. I take out my light and shine it into the pit. Sure enough, there are sharpened stakes driven into the ground.

“Stay on the trail. Punji traps to the side,” I whisper into the radio.

“What next?” I hear Gonzalez whisper.

“Just wait until you see around the corner.”

Inching back to the trail, I glass the area ahead but don’t see anything out of place. That is if you can call skulls posted along a trail not being out of place. Stowing the binoculars, I wave Gonzalez and McCafferty forward and slip around the corner.

“What the fuck, sir?” Gonzalez whispers.

I guess she made it to the corner
, I think, chuckling in my mind.

“Punji traps and skulls? Are we continuing on?” she asks quietly.

“What do you mean? It just got interesting,” I reply.

“Anyone ever tell you that you are fucking crazy...sir?”

“I’ve heard that a time or two,” I respond.

“Lead on then, sir.”

Some of the skulls still have a bit of hair attached to them which adds to the creep factor. I’m just glad that whoever put these out cleaned them for the most part. Having bits of tendon and tissue clinging to them would be a bit much. Passing the first ones, I don’t see any obvious injuries. You know, other than being dead. One has an “X” painted on the forehead. In the past, any marking on trees, sticks placed in branches or laid out in a pattern, or other similar signs were warnings of traps or areas to be aware of. Not for opposing forces obviously, but for friendlies to know that they need to watch out for traps.

I pause just prior to the marked skull. A few inches off the ground, a string of fishing lines runs across the trail. I follow it with my eyes. It wraps around a nearby tree and, tracing it, I find where it is attached to a pole in the ground which is connected to another notched stick. The notched stick is tied to a stretched tree branch lined with sharpened sticks. Yep, another trap. Pull on the line and the pole driven into the ground moves, releasing the branch, which then swings out into the path. Yeah, this is becoming more interesting by the minute.

Oddly enough, this is an environment I’m more familiar and comfortable with. Well, that’s not the honest truth. The environment I’m most comfortable with is swinging gently in a hammock on a white-sand beach. However, it’s infinitely more comfortable than being in command of the entire survival group. Yeah, it sounds odd but it’s true nonetheless. I almost – almost mind you – wish I had brought Robert and Bri so they could see this for themselves.

“Watch for marks on the trees or on the ground. We have traps across the trail. Watch for the line by the marked skull,” I whisper over the radio, receiving a double click of acknowledgement from both Gonzalez and McCafferty.

I stalk past the skulls. A trail opens off the main path to the right leading to a small, open area. In the middle is another ash pile considerably smaller than the one we found in the bottom of the pit. I would investigate it but I have the feeling I’d find much the same as we did at the previous one and I’m experiencing enough weirdness for the moment. Stepping across the path so I don’t leave an imprint, I creep a few more feet before pausing.

Something hanging in the trees lining the path catches my eye – dolls hanging from pieces of cord from the branches.

Seriously…dolls hanging from trees? Okay… this is too much
, I think, waving Gonzalez and McCafferty forward.

They reach my position and I point out the hanging dolls.

“Seriously? Are those really dolls hanging in the trees?” Gonzalez asks, whispering.

“Still interesting enough for you, sir?” McCafferty asks.

“No. Interest level gone. I think the banjos are playing a little too loud for me,” I answer. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m right behind you, sir, if not in front,” Gonzalez says.

“Greg. We’re on our way back,” I say.

“Whatcha have going on?” he asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it for yourself,” I reply.

“Alright. See ya soon.”

We reverse and begin tracing our route back, avoiding the trap across the path. Passing the skulls once again, I hear something moving off in the woods to the side. Crouching, I look and see a flash of movement. I pick up sounds to the other side. Someone is trying to be furtive with their passage but failing miserably.

“We have company on both sides,” I radio.

“What do you want to do, sir?” Gonzalez asks.

“Keep moving. If we’re fired upon, engage and move. Gonzalez, you empty a mag left, McCafferty, to the right. We fire then make a break for the Stryker. Clear?” I again hear the double clicks of acknowledgment.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Greg asks.

“For now,” I reply. “We’ve just gained some interested followers.”

We creep down the trail in formation. I keep an eye ahead in case they’ve set up behind us while Gonzalez and McCafferty keep an eye on their sectors. I continue to hear sounds of passage on both sides.

“I have movement to the left paralleling us,” Gonzalez calls.

“Same on the right,” McCafferty says.

“Keep moving,” I reply, hoping we haven’t kicked up a hornet’s nest.

The trail entrance opens ahead and the movement on both sides cease. I don’t know if this is a good or bad sign. My experience has been that when sounds of movement stop, it’s because the opposing force has set up and are gearing for an attack. I really hope that’s not the case here.

“Almost there. Stay alert,” I say.

“We see you on the trail,” Greg states.

“Roger that. Do you see anything in the tree line?”

“Negative, Jack. It’s all clear that we can see,” he answers.

“Okay. Break. Gonzalez, McCafferty, keep it steady.”

“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez replies. McCafferty answers with a double click.

Keeping low, with gray skies above and tension filling the hard-packed trail, we edge inch by inch toward the path’s entrance. The feeling is one of having the end in sight but thinking that it’s just an illusion of safety and all hell’s going to break lose prior to reaching it. I want to pause and ascertain the situation prior to moving out, but I know that we need to keep going. The longer we’re here, the more time whoever is off to the sides will have to get into a position against us.

The apprehension is such that I want to toss a grenade to either side and make a break for it. However, we haven’t been fired on and I don’t know if their intentions are harmless or not. The dolls in the trees really upped the creep factor. I mean, fucking dolls…hanging in the trees!

I reach the entrance to the trail and crouch by a tree. Gonzalez and McCafferty are behind and pause with me.

“Gonzalez, McCafferty. Go. Beat cheeks to Stryker. I’ll cover and follow.”

This time, the acknowledgment is in the form of both women rising and streaking past as they sprint for the waiting teams. Gonzalez and McCafferty spread out as they exit the trees. I rise as they pass and follow.

The others of both teams are spread in a line behind what cover they can find. I sprint to the rear of the Stryker where I meet Gonzalez, McCafferty, and Greg. I’m winded from the sprint across the open terrain and lean with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

“That was seriously fucking creepy!” Gonzalez says, catching her breath as well.

“No fucking shit!” McCafferty agrees.

“So. What was it that made you come back?” Greg asks.

With my hands still on my knees, breathing hard, I shake my head slowly. “Dolls, man. There were dolls hanging in the trees. Lots of them.”

“Noooo shit,” Greg says.

“Seriously?! There are dolls in the trees?” Robert asks from nearby. “That’s all kinds of fucked up.”

“No shit. I took one look at that and I was done.”

“Sounds like we are dealing with kids that have watched too many movies,” Bri states.

“Could be, but that’s all I cared to see,” I say.

“Still want to investigate?” Greg asks.

“No, I’m good, thanks. I’ve had enough fun for one day. If someone’s up there, they’re on their own. Let’s mount up and get out of here,” I answer.

The radio comes to life. “Sir, Henderson here. We have company. There’s movement in the tree line. I count twelve so far.”

“I have them on thermal,” a soldier from inside the Stryker reports. “I have sixteen in sight.”

“Damn. I must have missed a couple,” Henderson states.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

“They’re taking positions behind trees and fallen logs just inside the tree line. They appear to be mostly armed with hunting rifles,” Henderson answers.

“Looks like the fun isn’t over yet,” Greg says.

“Fuck it. I’m done. Let’s pull out,” I respond.

“Sir. Someone is emerging from the trees onto the path,” Henderson calls.

“What are they doing?”

“Just standing there, sir.”

I step from around the Stryker and bring my binoculars up. There’s a kid, wearing a woodland camo top and pants, standing at the entrance to the trail holding a scoped deer rifle at his side. A red bandana is wrapped around his head and dark streaks line his cheeks like war paint.