Defiance: A House Divided (The Defending Home Series Book 2) (13 page)

“We should leave soon.”

He pulled her in close and she closed her eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead, he squeezed her in a firm and loving hug. That was what he needed most at the moment. Dale wasn’t the type to say much when things were troubling him. He was a man who believed words were cheap and that actions were the only currency that carried any real value.

They stayed like that for a minute, maybe more. He couldn’t tell, but he’d meant what he said before. He appreciated everything Sandy had done, both big and small.

They found Zach waiting for them at the top of the basement stairs.

“You didn’t think you were going to meet this guy without me, did you?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be interested,” Dale said.

“Well, I am,” he replied.

Dale and Sandy shared a look. Zach was unpredictable, but sometimes that could work to your advantage.

Shortly after, Dale, Zach, Sandy and Brooke piled into the front and back seats of the pickup. Needless to say they were well-armed and Dale was hopeful they would be able to skirt around the existing cartel checkpoints and positions with relative ease. The truth was, Edwardo didn’t have the manpower yet to guard static sites. He apparently wanted his men to remain mobile and nimble.

The drive to the public works depot along the eastern outskirts of town took close to twenty minutes. Once there they found a large flat space enclosed by a series of concrete slabs. Inside were smaller areas where piles of gravel and sand were kept. To the right, a handful of dump trucks sat parked, each emblazoned with the town name.

“You sure this is right?” Zach asked from the back, searching in vain for signs of life.

Dale pulled the note from his pocket and read it again. “Seems that way. What time is it?”

“Five fifty-eight,” Brooke replied.

They exited the pickup, weapons in the low ready position. A lone figure appeared near a squat beige building to the right. He drew nearer and Brooke whispered his name.

“Caleb?” Zack whispered back. He squared his shoulders. “Well, whoever he is, he looks twelve and a half.”

Brooke elbowed her uncle. “He’s my age and the only reason we’re even here.”

“I’d ask that you lower your weapons,” Caleb said, now less than thirty feet away. “But somehow I don’t think it’d do any good.”

“Smart kid,” Zach said, pointing a thumb in his direction.

“We know about the war you’ve been waging against local law enforcement as well as the cartel,” Caleb began.

“They’ve been waging war on us,” Dale corrected him. “We came here to meet your boss Nobel and I’m starting to wonder whether he was worth the effort.”

Nobel emerged from behind a dump truck. “I’m glad you came.” Sunglasses covered her eyes and a blue bandana the rest of her face. She came within a few feet and removed them both.

Zach rubbed his eyes. “You’re a woman.”

She stared Zach up and down. “Then it seems we have something in common.”

“And sharp too,” Sandy noted.

“My real name is Vickie, but when all of this first began, folks seemed more inclined to listen to someone with a fancy code name.” Her eyes flitted over the group and stopped at the end. “You must be Dale. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Once the introductions were squared away, Vickie explained how she’d formed the organization to fight against the growing autocracy in town, and how with the arrival of the cartel, her job had become so much more important and so much more dangerous. She then outlined her group’s vision for Encendido’s future.

“You don’t expect Ortega and his men to just pack up and go home, do you?” Zach said with obvious derision.

Vickie wasn’t impressed. “We have a plan in place,” she began. “Someone important on the inside. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t share the details with people I just met.”

“Does that plan involve destroying water trucks?” Dale asked.

“That wasn’t us,” she told them. “I was getting to that. There’s another movement headquartered in an old Baptist church under a man named Calvin, and let’s just say they’ve started pushing back against the cartel and anyone who supports them. They want them dead and gone, no matter the collateral damage. We don’t want our town turned into a war zone and I’ve been trying to reel him in.”

“Or maybe you could let him do his thing,” Zach said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “If you’re sitting back and hoping the bad guys suddenly find Jesus, we could be waiting around for a long time.”

If Vickie didn’t like Zach earlier, she was hating him now.

“Listen,” Zach went on, “I just think the passive approach never got anyone anywhere.”

“It’s even harder to get anywhere when you and the people around you are dead,” she replied sternly. “We want lasting change. There’s no point trading one dictator for another.”

“She’s got a point,” Dale piped up. “All I want is for my family and me to be left in peace.”

Vickie fixed him with her deep brown eyes. “Believe me, that’s something we all want. But you can see now that standing on the sidelines isn’t an option anymore. If not you wouldn’t be here.”

Dale nodded. “What can we do to help?”

“That depends. There may be times when some of our agents will need a safehouse, a place to lie low for a few hours or even days. We could also use some resources―”

“I see where this is going.” Dale cut her off. “You need water.”

She nodded.

“How much?”

“As much as you can spare,” Vickie told him. “I could also use someone like you on our side.”

Dale grew quiet while Zach looked offended at being excluded.

“I’m not a soldier,” Dale told her straight up. “I’m a farmer, a family man, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

She wasn’t buying it. “You held off more than one attack when you were outnumbered and probably outgunned.”

“Not without losses,” he said, his mind going to Shane and Nicole and the festering wound their deception had left. “I’ll do what I can to help, but for now, let’s keep it at that.”

Vickie put her glasses and bandana back on. “We’ll be in touch,” she said enigmatically and left.

Dale watched her go, wondering if she was Encendido’s best hope or another townsperson obsessed with playing soldier who would only get innocent people killed.

Zach

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Z
ach spent the rest of the evening mulling over what Vickie—or Nobel—had told them, all the while formulating a plan of his own. The next morning, after breakfast, he told Colton and Dannyboy to meet him in the barn out back. The air inside was cool and a nice contrast to the stifling heat under the baking sun. It looked like the thermometer would push a hundred and ten degrees today. Zach was beginning to appreciate the hardships his ancestors had suffered, trying to tame a wild and unforgiving landscape. In those old pictures you could see how outdoor work had left their skin a deep shade of brown. By contrast, his time in Florence Supermax had left him pasty and nearly translucent. Only now was he starting to get some color back.

“You gonna finally tell us how it went yesterday?” Dannyboy asked, upset Zach had opted to keep them both in the dark so long.

“She hated me,” Zach began, not bothering with any kind of context.

“Who hated you?” Colton asked, confused.

Zach paused, collecting himself. Some folks were great at telling stories—knew exactly where to start and how to ratchet up to a riveting climax. Zach wasn’t one of those people. He tended to rely on the sheer force of his character to keep those around him following what he was saying. He started at the beginning, telling them all about the meeting with Nobel and her vision of a liberated Encendido, then about the explosion and how some other group had been responsible for it.

“Sounds to me like she’s all talk and no action,” Dannyboy said with disgust.

“So what’s this other group that blew up those water trucks?” Colton wondered.

Zach raised an index finger between them. “That’s where I was heading to, if you’d give me a chance to get there, son.”

Colton’s expression changed noticeably, but not in reaction to being scolded by Zach. He was beaming with joy at hearing his father call him
son
for the first time in years.

Zach hesitated before continuing. “There’s another group operating out there who seem to think along the same lines we do and have already started taking the fight to the enemy.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Dannyboy asked.

“Nobel said they were holed up in an abandoned Baptist church,” Zach told them.

“That’s south of town,” Colton said.

Zach’s eyes lit up. “Praise the Lord. Grab a few weapons, boys. We’re going for a drive.”

•••

M
inutes later, they were in the Brinks truck, gunning past the school, taking a screeching left on Del Sol Avenue toward the southern end of town.

“What did Dale say when you told him we were leaving?” Colton asked.

Zach and Dannyboy burst into laughter. “We’re grown men and we come and go as we please.”

“I know that,” Colton said, backpedaling slightly. “I was just saying.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Zach said, shifting gears on the large armored truck. “Dale’s doing his best to turn you into his clone and I’m not having it. He’s not a bad guy—fact, he was there for you when I was locked up—but you’re a Baird, not a Hardy, and don’t you forget that.”

Colton nodded, although he didn’t seem entirely convinced. It was easy for Zach to talk tough, but even he had to admit to being away for the most important part of his son’s life. The thought tore at Zach often and in ways he wasn’t prepared to let on to anyone. That guilt was part of why he’d rushed home from Colorado the minute the opportunity presented itself. If he couldn’t change the past, then he’d sure as hell work to change the future.

They pulled onto Baker Street and found the area about as deserted as the rest of the town. It was hard to believe sometimes there were nearly three thousand folks still eking out an existence in Encendido. Seemed many of them had gone underground, both literally and figuratively.

The homes here showed fewer signs of vandalism and disrepair. Was this because they were still occupied or had the roving gangs of looters not made it this far? A sign on a front lawn answered their question.

Anyone caught looting or trespassing will be shot on sight!

“These people mean business,” Zach said, leaning over the giant wheel as they cruised down the street.

“We might be making the wrong impression,” Colton said.

“How so?” Dannyboy said, as though he found the very notion personally offensive.

Colton looked through one of the side windows, the bulletproof glass turning the world beyond into something out of a carnival house of mirrors. “This truck probably looks to them like a tank. Something Sheriff Gaines or the cartel might go around in.”

Dannyboy nodded. “Kid does have a point.”

The comment made Colton laugh. “Kid? You’re only a year older than I am and I’m twice your size.”

“Boys, stop fighting,” Zach called from the driver’s seat. “Don’t make me pull over.” He turned and winked at Colton. The family drive from hell. They sure were making up for lost years.

“On your right,” Dannyboy called out when he spotted the church, a quaint white structure topped by a tall white spire.

“We’re about to enter the Lord’s house, boys,” Zach said. “Hope your souls are clean.”

He pulled the truck into the parking lot around back, each of them searching for any sign of life, threatening or otherwise.

Dannyboy stood up in the narrow confines of the truck, his shotgun in both hands. “You know those zombie movies where the hero thinks he’s found a safe place and then gets swarmed by an army of undead?”

“Uh, sort of,” Colton replied, suddenly looking even more uncomfortable.

Dannyboy leaned in. “Well, this is that movie.” He racked his shotgun.

Colton flinched and stumbled backward. Dannyboy burst into gales of laughter.

“Lock and load, boys,” Zach said. “We’re going in. And in case it wasn’t already obvious, neither of you says a word. Leave the talking to me.”

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T
he three men were no sooner out of the truck than a disembodied voice told them to freeze. Zach glanced around and saw a fence line that divided the houses beyond church property. A rifle crack pierced the air, the round dinging off the Brinks truck a few inches from the roof. Zach swung around and swore when he saw the dent.

“Weapons on the ground and your hands in the air,” the voice ordered them. He was hiding somewhere behind the fence.

Zach did as they were instructed, motioning for the other two to follow suit. When he was bent over, laying his pistol on the ground, he whispered to Dannyboy. “I like these guys already.”

Two men came rushing out from the church, carrying a pair of Kel-Tec SU-16s. The first guy was dressed in cargo shorts with a green military-style t-shirt, the other torn jeans and a white shirt.

A moment later, the sniper from behind the fence emerged into the open. He was decked in full camo and carried a Ruger American hunting rifle.

“You nearly shot us with that piece of junk?” Zach barked, insulted.

The sniper glanced down at his rifle and shrugged. “Woulda done the job if you’d tried something stupid.”

“They look like scavengers to me,” said the one in the khaki shorts. His arms were well muscled, but his legs were skinny.

“We aren’t scavengers, but you do need to change your workout program,” Zach observed. “Those twigs you call legs aren’t doing you any favors.”

Colton nudged him. His son seemed worried they were about to get their heads blown off, but Zach knew what he was doing. These guys had to see they weren’t afraid, that they belonged here, maybe even owned the place.

The one with the jeans collected the weapons they placed on the asphalt. His arms full, he said, “So far all you’ve done is sling insults. That isn’t good for a man’s health.”

“I call it like I see it,” Zach replied. He reached behind him and all three men aimed their guns at him. “Relax, boys, it’s eight hundred degrees out here and my shirt’s starting to feel like a second skin. Any chance we can take this party inside?”