Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) (50 page)

He could challenge them with his Sig or the M4, but what if they called his bluff? They were much more likely to do so at a distance than they were at point-blank range. He needed them both to focus fully on Tex so he could get closer. His heart sank as they separated.

One of the men started toward Tex, pistol drawn, and the other stayed behind, both with their backs to him now. He covered the distance to the closest in long silent strides and raised the rebar to deliver a crushing blow to the back of the man’s head. Wiggins was inured to the violence now. It would haunt him later, but not now, not with Tex’s life on the line.

Wiggins grabbed the man as he fell, almost toppling from the weight before stabilizing himself and easing the man to the ground. The second man continued towards Tex, oblivious to the action behind him. Wiggins had almost overtaken him when the man heard him and spun, pistol leveled.

“Don’t shoot! It’s Baker,” Wiggins tried for a repeat.

But the dead man lying on the pavement behind Wiggins gave lie to the claim, and the guard fired without hesitation, but missed. Wiggins flung the rebar underhand with all his might, knocking the man’s NV goggles askew as Wiggins jogged left.

Sightless now, the man fired repeatedly at where Wiggins had been, until Wiggins drew his own Sig and shot the man three times, center mass. The man fell, and Wiggins stood trembling, his heart pounding.

“Bill?”

“Here, Tex,” Wiggins said. A flashlight came on.

“TURN THAT OFF!” Wiggins said.

Tex complied. “But how—”

“Wait there,” Wiggins said, stooping to strip the NV gear off the dead guard. He pulled his own glasses off and looked through the guard’s. Dead. Optics didn’t like being smacked by rebar. He dropped the damaged gear and hurried to the first guard he’d dropped, to find his NV gear working. He hurried back to Tex with it.

“NV gear. Put it on and grab one of these guys’ M4s. We’ll divide their extra mags. The guys in the house will likely be out here any minute.”

“Let’s just crash the bridge,” Tex said. “The guy further out is probably confused. We can get past them if you drive and I lay down suppressing fire.”

“The guy on the bridge isn’t a problem,” Wiggins said. “Creeping through that obstacle course they’ve set up is. We’ll never make it through in time, and if they catch us in transit, they’ll just hunker down behind the concrete wall of the pedestrian walkway and shoot us to pieces at point-blank range. It’ll be a friggin’ shooting gallery.”

“Speak of the devil,” Tex said, pointing toward the stone house, where flashlights bobbed. “They’re coming.”

Wiggins studied the bobbing flashlights. “They traded off the NV gear during the watch change, and they wouldn’t be using flashlights if they had any more. Now we have it and they don’t.”

Shouts now accompanied the bobbing flashlights.

“Uhh … I think maybe we should curb their enthusiasm while we figure this out,” Tex said.

“All right. Grab a gun and let’s separate a bit and both fire a short burst toward the lights to send them to cover, then move in case they return fire at the muzzle flashes. On three?” Wiggins asked.

Tex stooped to pick up the fallen guard’s rifle and nodded, and she walked away a few paces. Wiggins counted down, and they both fired a three-round burst, then scrambled thirty feet to the right. Sure enough, the pavement where they’d been standing erupted in sparks.

“What now?” Wiggins asked.

Tex shrugged. “You’ve been right so far about what they’d do, so why not turn this into OUR shooting gallery.”

Bear Mountain Bridge

Pedestrian Walkway Near Toll Booth

“Who the hell’s out there, and where are our guys?” Saunders asked.

“How should I know?” Hollingsworth said. “The chickenshits likely ran off. I never did trust that Atwood.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I can tell you what we AIN’T gonna do. We ain’t gonna move from behind this wall until we know what we’re facing,” Hollingsworth said.

An engine started to their left, somewhere along the entrance ramp to the toll plaza. It seemed to move toward them as they listened.

“Now that’s more like it. The dumb ass is gonna try to shoot through our little obstacle course.” Hollingsworth grinned. “We’ll chew him up. Lay those three big flashlights on the wall, pointing toward the obstacle course, but everybody pick out a firing position at least ten feet away from the lights in case they draw fire. When I hear him stuck in the obstacle course, I’ll give the word to light him up; then you guys turn on your lights and jump back to your firing positions. After that, it’s just a turkey shoot.”

***

Tex stared at the backs of the four men lined up along the wall, oblivious to her presence. Gaining her present advantageous position had been no more difficult than walking through the pitch-black night down the middle of the paved driveway to the parking lot.

She thought about what she was about to do. It was murder, really. Or was it? No, murder was what was done to her parents and many good people like them by scumbags like the four in front of her. This was an execution, and a just one. Wiggins had volunteered, but someone needed to create a diversion to keep all of their opponents focused on the same place, and Bill had done more than his share of killing.

Tex felt a flash of remorse at what they’d become. Mild-mannered Bill Wiggins, well liked on the ship for his quick smile and even temper, a man who seldom raised his voice much less his hand to anyone. A man who just killed four human beings without hesitation. They weren’t the same people they were just a few short weeks ago; their ‘old selves’ couldn’t survive in this new world. And she would survive. Tex pushed her misgivings to the back of her mind and studied the men in front of her.

She heard the Honda and watched the men prepare their trap. She could hear them clearly, and their laughter and apparent enthusiasm for the task erased any lingering doubts. It was over in four three-round bursts, and she walked over and pointed one of the large flashlights skyward so as not to blind Wiggins. She flashed a signal in the air and watched through the NV glasses as the SUV approached the roadblock and zigzagged through the obstacle course.

She turned and looked east, over the bridge. They were lucky this time, again. She wondered where their luck would run out.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bear Mountain Bridge

Hudson River—West Bank

Day 33, 00:55 a.m.

They found the women locked in a storeroom, beaten and thoroughly traumatized. Tex comforted them as Wiggins checked out the stone building, originally some sort of local museum.

One room was crammed with guns and ammunition of all types, and another held canned goods, MREs, and other nonperishables—all undoubtedly looted from refugees. A carport held the greatest treasure, two rows of red plastic gas cans of various sizes, all full. Here was the fuel to get home—all the way home.

He returned to find Tex sitting with the women in the glow of a Coleman lantern, drinking instant coffee she’d found and prepared on a nearby camp stove. Wiggins shot her a questioning look. She gave a hesitant nod and he moved to a couch across from the women.

“Bill, this is Fran and her daughter, Carly,” Tex said.

Wiggins nodded. “Nice to meet you ladies.”

Fran nodded, but Carly just stared at the floor. The silence grew.

“I … uh … I’m sorry about your husband,” Bill said.

The woman shook her head. “We only met John three weeks ago, at our hotel in Scranton. We all live near here and he was helping us get home. He’s a … I mean he was a good man. Did you find … I mean is his …” She trailed off, unable to finish.

Wiggins shook his head. “I’m sorry. His body’s not there. They probably dragged it into the woods, and I’m afraid we don’t have time to search. We need to be far away when the sun comes up. More bad guys might turn up at any time.”

The girl whimpered and moved into her mother’s arms. Tex glared at Wiggins and he gave a helpless shrug.

“We can’t ride the bikes in the dark,” Fran said. “But we live near Lake Carmel—only about twenty-five miles. Tex said … I mean I thought maybe … can you take us there?” Her plea was heartbreaking.

Except Wiggins couldn’t afford a broken heart. He shook his head. “No, but there’s plenty of gas, and I’m sure I can get one of the cars in the parking lot running for you. We’ll gas it up, give you food and guns for protection, and you can go on your own.”

“But Tex said you were following the Appalachian Trail,” Fran said, “and it crosses Route 52 not three miles from our house. So it’s not really out of your way. And you could rest at our house a bit and sleep in real beds. And—”

Wiggins raised his hand to cut the woman off and glared at Tex. “See you outside a minute, Tex?”

He started for the door without waiting. Tex found him pacing in the dark, ready to explode.

She didn’t give him a chance. “Look, Bill. Those women have been through a lot. I thought we could—”

“YOU thought. No, actually, you DIDN’T think. She doesn’t just want a ride, she wants us for protection against the unknown, can’t you see that? What happens if their house is burned down or full of gangbangers or subject to any one of a hundred horrible, screwed-up conditions now common in our new
Mad Max
world. What then? Do we just say ‘see ya’ and drop them in the bad guys’ laps? Do we take them with us? Or do we get guilt-tripped into taking them to a friend or relative’s house, which will further delay us?”

Wiggins blew out an exasperated sigh. “Look, Tex. I’m glad we saved them, but we can’t keep saving them. I’m worried about my OWN family. If they can’t make it twenty-five miles on their own with guns, a car, and a full tank of gas, they sure won’t be able to cope with whatever disaster they find when they get there. I can’t be responsible for that. I WON’T be responsible for that. My family comes first. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

Silence grew. Finally Tex nodded.

“I didn’t think it through,” she said. “It’s just they’re so traumatized, I wanted to offer comfort. I let my heart overrule my brain, and in this world, that’s a recipe for disaster.” She paused. “That said, it’s done and we are going in the same direction. I think we can help them without getting further entangled.”

Wiggins sighed. “Okay, then how do you see that playing out? I damn sure don’t want to be a houseguest or guilted into taking them to Aunt Suzy’s.”

“We figure our closest point of approach to their house. If they’re right, it’s a few miles at most. How much food and gas is there?”

“More than we can possibly carry in two cars,” Wiggins said.

“Okay. We load up the Honda and another car with as much as we can carry. We’ll go heavy on gasoline in our car, but they just need enough gas to get home. We’ll give them all the food and water they can carry and whatever weapons they think they can handle. How many sets of NV gear do we have?”

“Three, if the set of the guy on the bridge wasn’t damaged. Why?” he asked.

“Are you going to give them a set?”

“No way. We’ll be able to drive at night now, with one of us driving and the other as security. I’m not giving that up. Presuming the third set’s working, we’ll keep it for a spare. It’s like Levi says, ‘two is one and one is none.’”

“All right. I’ll drive them in the second car, using the NV glasses and following you. Even going a roundabout way to stay close to the AT, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to reach the point we part company. We find them a side road to hide on and leave them there. They drive the few miles home at first light. By then, we’ll be far away. I hope everything goes well with them, but whether it does or not, it’s no longer our concern. What do you think?”

“Works for me,” Wiggins said. “Let’s get on it. You bring them up to speed and start trying to find a working car. I’m going to look around for a charger for the NV batteries. If we’re lucky, there’ll be a solar-powered one.”

“I’m on it,” Tex said.

I-84 and Mountain Top Road

Near Stormville, New York

Day 33, 3:40 a.m.

They dropped the women off at the intersection of State Route 52 and Mountain Top Road and proceeded on their way after making sure the women’s car was well concealed in the wooded verge. It was clear Fran wanted them to accompany her home, but Wiggins was resolute. They parted company stiffly with a curt nod from Fran and no word of thanks.

Thirty minutes later they sat in the Honda, stopped on the narrow ribbon of blacktop called Mountain Top Road. Wiggins studied the bridge ahead over the broad lanes of I-84, alert for any signs of a trap.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Tex shrugged. “It’s pitch black, with no lights on the interstate or background light at all, and the bridge looks clear. If anyone was using so much as a flashlight down on the interstate or in the woods, the NV would probably show it. I think it’s clear, Bill.”

“Agreed.” Wiggins took his foot off the brake and drove forward. “Let’s see how much mileage we can make by our usual stopping time. I’m starting to feel good about this.”

***

Wiggins’ good feelings soured just across the New York border. River crossings were their greatest challenge, and as the Appalachian Trail wound its way northward through Connecticut, it hopped back and forth across the meandering Housatonic with frustrating regularity. They decided to take the last bridge the trail crossed, north across the Connecticut border in Massachusetts. They stayed to the west of the river, roughly paralleling the trail as it wound from one side of the river to the other.

Wiggins gripped the wheel tightly and peered at the green landscape ahead, the twisting back roads and range of the NV glasses limiting his speed. But as irritating as it was, he reminded himself they were making miles under cover of darkness they couldn’t have made before.