FORSAKEN: THE SYSTEMIC SERIES (12 page)

“Incoming!” she cried, pulling her head back from around the SUV and laying flat on the ground.  She knew the front of the SUV would bear the brunt of the impact and was more concerned about flying shrapnel or being crushed under flaming car parts or the SUV itself after the rocket’s impact.  She felt a body fall atop hers.  She thought it was Jake, but instead looked up into the face of Johnny Switchblade.

“Keep down!” he said firmly, doing his best to envelop her body in his for added protection.  For some reason, Ava wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t Jake.

They all waited for the sound of the rocket and the ensuing explosion.  Both came, but not as they expected.

What they had missed in their escape from the SUV and ensuring efforts to take cover was first a well-placed shot from the Kill King still perched atop the garage adjacent them.  The shot struck the heavy machine gunner in the head, dropping him lifelessly to the ground.

The King’s second shot occurred just as the man with the rocket launcher prepared to fire the round that would have demolished Jake and Ava’s SUV.  Kill King squeezed off one more round that stuck the man square in the chest, spinning him around to the right.  As he fell, the rocket launcher fired, sending the projectile hissing towards the warehouse office and directly at the steel barrels behind which the trader and his bodyguard were taking cover.

The Kill King’s shots and the rocket’s impact instantly quieted things down around the armory grounds.  As Jake and Ava recovered themselves, they could still hear some light fire coming from inside the main garage from what they assumed was their men mopping up.  Moments later they saw the Fallback Man and Steel Will exit the garage.  They waved the all clear, and Jake, Ava, and Switchblade made their way up to where they stood.  Moments later they were joined by the Kill King.

“Good work up there,” Ava said to him.

Jake ignored her comment.  He didn’t like giving credit; he only liked taking it.  He felt that his men were rewarded handsomely for their efforts, so he didn’t think it necessary to go groveling to them with gratitude after a job well-done.  It was their job, and they should do it right without his having to thank or compliment them.

“What’s the situation inside?” Jake asked, nodding at the garage.  

“We lost two of the newer guys,” Steel Will said.  “And there are two of your boys left,” he nodded to Ava.  “They’re itching for their payment.”

“Give it to them and drop them off,” Ava said to Johnny Switchblade.  “Find a vehicle around here and take that.  Make sure you get their guns.  I know they’ll try to keep them.”

Switchblade nodded and left to go find a new vehicle, round up the couple remaining junkies, and get them their fix.             

“I don’t think they’ll be up for another of our raids,” Steel Will said.  “They seem pretty shaken up.”

“Who gives a shit,” Jake spat as they walked over to where the final rocket had impacted near the warehouse office.  Smoke still rose from the pile of jumbled and shredded steel that had once been stacks of fuel drums.  “Junkies are a dime a dozen.  They don’t want to fight anymore, then fuck ‘em.”  He kicked aside a drum that had been torn in half to reveal what they all took to be the remains of the trader.  He’d been ripped in half at the waist.  His bodyguard lay dead nearby in a pool of blood.  “Let’s get to the important stuff,” Jake said to Steel Will, turning and heading towards the garage.  “What’d we get?”

They followed Will inside the garage through the rolling door that had been forced off its tracks by the armored SUV as it punched its way through.  Several of their men were dragging dead bodies into a far corner of the structure; others were reloading weapons or tending to minor injuries. 

A generator was running nearby.  Extension cords snaked their way from it and to an array of overhead lights and power tools stationed between three hulking armored personnel carriers.  Ava recognized them as the Stryker armored fighting vehicles that her intelligence gathering had informed her would be at the armory. 

The Stryker was an 8-wheeled vehicle, weighing in between 16 and 18 tons depending upon the particular model and armaments.  It had 14.5 millimeter armor and could reach a top speed of 62 miles per hour.  Standard armament was the Protector M151 Remote Weapon Station.  The station could be equipped with a .50 caliber machinegun, 7.62 millimeter M240 machinegun, or the Mk-19 automatic grenade launcher.

Jake walked over for a closer inspection, ogling his prizes. 

One Stryker looked set and ready to go and appeared to be armed with a .50-cal machinegun.  Another Stryker – armed with the M240 machinegun – was in disrepair and had an array of engine components scattered on the floor around it.  It appeared that the trader and his men had been in the process of stripping down this particular vehicle for parts to use for fixing the third vehicle which was armed with the Mk-19 automatic grenade launcher.

  “Glad they didn’t have time to open up one of
these
bad boys on us,” Jake said, staring at the monstrous vehicles around him.  “Don’t think we would have come out the other side of that engagement too well.”

“No shit,” breathed the Kill King.

Jake walked around the vehicles, his minions following him.  “Extra tires,” he pointed to a pile beside one vehicle.  “Looks like more ammo over there,” he pointed to several large crates stacked against the wall.  “Will, you think you can get these up and running?” he asked.

Steel Will stared at the machines.  “Well…” he paused, considering, “…that one looks okay,” he pointed.  “This one here…” he walked over to the one with parts strewn around it, “…looks pretty well shot.  That one over there,” he nodded towards the one that was in the process of being repaired, “it looks promising.”

“Two outta three ain’t bad,” Jake nodded.  “Tell you what,” he said, the little emperor taking over, “King, you and Fallback round up the rest of the men.  Search the place…the barracks, the warehouse, anywhere there might be some loot.  Have the guys pull out anything of use.  Make sure they get that heavy machine gun and the rocket launcher they used on us during the attack.  Load all that shit up into the pickup.  Once you’re done, Fallback, you take the truck and two guys back to base with you and get it unloaded.  You stay there as security, but send Rambo down here.  Rambo will help Steel Will get these Strykers fixed up.  We’ll have to conceal them once we get them back to base, but we’ll deal with that later.  King, you stay here with anybody else who’s left as security and to help with the vehicle repairs.  Make sure we take these extra tires, ammo, parts, tools, and whatever else is of use laying around here for the armored vehicles.  It’s not like we can pick up spare parts for this shit whenever we need them.”  He looked around at his men.  “Any questions?”  He stared at them. 

They shook their heads. 

“No?” said Jake.  “Well then?” he stared.  “Get the fuck moving.”

The men all departed to get started on their various assigned duties.  Jake stood there, arms folded, proudly watching as his soldiers scurry off to do his bidding. Then he turned to Ava.  “Not a bad haul,” he said.

“Not bad at all,” Ava nodded her head.

“A bit more fucking dangerous than I thought it’d be though.”

Ava was about to respond with something to the effect of, “It
is
an armory.  Did you expect them not to have weapons?”  But she didn’t give her the chance.  Instead, Jake stepped close, glaring at her.

“You need to get your shit straight before we really get our asses handed to us one of these days.  We almost got blown the fuck up back there.  If it hadn’t been for the Kill King, we’d be blobs of shit to be scraped up off the fucking pavement.”

“That’s why I put him up there,” she tried to defend herself. “He was to handle situations just like…”

But Jake interrupted, “
You
put him up there?  You mean
I
put him up there.”

Ava opened her mouth to speak but Jake smacked it closed. 

“You get this through your thick fucking skull,” he glared at her.  “You might be one fucking fine piece of ass, but don’t get to thinking you run this show.  I let you give your input so that you feel good about yourself, and every once in a while you get lucky with one of your schemes.  But these guys...” he gestured around him to the men working, “…they don’t fucking respect you.  They respect
me
. To them, you’re just another sperm bank, and without me here to keep things in line, you’d better believe they’d be passing you around until you were all used up, then they’d toss your ass out on the street…
if
you were lucky.  So remember that.  You go prancing around here all high and fucking mighty like you’re Queen of fucking Sheba or Cleopatra or some shit, and you’re gonna get your fucking ass beat.  You fucking got me?”

Ava stared at him silently and then slowly nodded.

“Good,” Jake said.  “Now, let’s go have a look around at some of these buildings.  I want to see what else we got.”

Ava knew what Jake
really
wanted, and she’d give it to him – for now.

Chapter 11

As April eased into May and then June, we began to fall into a groove in Olsten.  It had been a wet end to spring, so our water supply had been holding out reasonably well, especially after Bessie had moved on to that great green pasture in the sky.  But the last week had been dry; and yesterday, we’d made our first trip in about three weeks over to the pond to bolster our water reserves.

By this point in our stay, almost everyone was healed and healthy.  It was nice not seeing anyone in need of a cane or crutch for support or hearing anyone hacking and coughing miserably due to illness.

All of us were beginning to find our niches and fall into a regular routine of sorts. 

Many of us would start our day by helping Sharron and Sarah out in the garden before it got too hot.  That’s where much of our water supply had gone since the last rain, to keeping our crops from wilting in Georgia’s severe afternoon sun.

We’d built a nice little fence around the garden to help keep critter damage to a minimum.  However, seeing as how Cashmere was truly enjoying the run of the place, Sharron was having a hard time keeping her from turning the garden into her own vast litter box.  I tried to explain to Cashmere that she didn’t need to help fertilize the crops, but she didn’t seem to pay my words any heed.  I figured she just felt she was doing her part to contribute to the collective group effort.

I had built our family pet a little kitty door in the store’s back entrance.  She’d trip-trop in and out at will.  Occasionally she’d proudly bring in a bird – sometimes dead, sometimes not – often jumping up and casually depositing it atop our sheets early in the morning after a long night’s hunt.  More than once, I awoke to Claire scrambling out of bed in terror as a wounded bird flopped its way around the covers.  I’d get up and remove the poor thing while Cashmere sat perched upon on the bedroom window sill gazing curiously upon us, watching to see how her masters dealt with the gift she’d presented.

The garden itself though was coming along nicely. Things were starting to bud, sprout, and flower, and Sharron said it wouldn’t be long before we could start harvesting certain items like tomatoes and peas.  The rows of corn she’d planted had sprung up to about ankle high and were well on their way to meeting the old farmer adage of “Knee high by the fourth of July.” 

During our labors as farm hands, we’d take direction from Sharron on what needed to be propped up with stakes or fencing for support, what needed to be watered and in what amounts, and where things needed to be trimmed or thinned out.

There was still a bit of burger meat left from old Bessie, but not much more than a few meals worth, so we were doing our best to ration it.  And while the supplies we’d hauled in from Mary’s diner were holding out, the addition of fresh vegetables would certainly help bolster our supplies and add variety to our diet.  We hoped that we’d be able to grow enough of certain items to can or dry in order to provide us with food for the fall and winter seasons.  With the poor hunting we’d encountered around Olsten, we had no illusions that things could get a little bleak during the colder months if we weren’t able to stockpile ample food reserves.

Thankfully, we’d discovered a few apple trees nearby along with a couple peach trees, which added to our food stocks.  And Sharron had pointed out various trees from which we could harvest nuts in a few months time. 

Most days, we typically tried to get our most laborious chores done by noon.  Then we’d clean ourselves up, have lunch, and enjoy what were commonly becoming extremely hot afternoons either by having siestas inside or sitting in the shade of the front porch. 

Each of us had our particular chair of choice out front.  I had the old oak rocker we’d brought from upstairs.  Claire had chosen a wicker rocker from a nearby home.  Will selected a recliner we’d hauled over from one of the trailers.  Sharron preferred a straight-backed and terribly uncomfortable-looking dining room chair from one of the homes that she said was ergonomically correct and great for posture and back support.  From her upright position she’d often mend clothing or knit little items for the kids to wear during the upcoming winter.  She had already created a litany of booties, blankies, hats, mittens, and more for Ray and Pam’s baby.  They were extremely grateful, but I couldn’t resist giving my sister-in-law a hard time, telling her that if we were back in the old days, I’d consider renting her out as labor in a third-world sweatshop.