Joshua (Book 2): Traveler (18 page)

Alton knew the first thing he had to do was get the bleeding under control, but he had very little time. Taking cover behind another large tree he took off his jacket and peeled off both of his shirts, then he got his first good look.

Robert was a good shot. He hit Alton twice in the chest at a distance of ten feet and in the blink of an eye. The first shot hit him square in the sternum; with his fingers he could feel the bullet buried deep in the bone. It hurt like hell but to his surprise there was very little blood. The second round entered to the far right of his chest, just below his armpit, but didn’t pass through. From the amount of bleeding and his shortness of breath he reasoned it must have hit his lung.

From a pouch on his belt, he unpacked a small trauma kit and found two bandages inside, including a chest sealing one. He took a packet of antiseptic towlettes and wiped both wounds down, then applied the dressings. Hastily he put his clothes back on and was once more up and moving again.

Alton knew someone would come looking for him. From his two years together with Rob he knew the man couldn’t let him go. But he was weak; he had to find some shelter, somewhere to catch his breath if only for a minute. At a distance he saw a clearing, countless columns of light cutting through the thick patch of forest on the other side. He made his way for it.

He had to assume they were right behind him, whoever was coming. As he stumbled into the open, he searched around until a plan finally came to mind. Alton staggered down the hill, across a county road and to the other side. He crawled into the ditch and out of view and started taking off his clothes.

Working as fast as he could, he packed his coat, pants, and gloves with snow. He formed them into a rough shape and placed them on the road next to the ditch along with his boots, where his footprints ended. He did the best he could with the time and strength he had, and it didn’t look half bad.

At a distance, to someone in a hurry, it looked like he collapsed there by the road.

Alton grabbed his guns and equipment and crouched down as he made his way along the bottom of the ditch out of view. He looked for someplace to hide, but there was nothing nearby, nothing he could get to without having his tracks and blood seen from the road.

He took a quick weapon inventory. He had his Beretta with three mags, a Savage rifle with twelve rounds, and his M4 held exactly six rounds. From his pouch he retrieved a small emergency blanket. He unfolded it and wrapped it around his tired body. Alton began digging in the soft snow until he made a deep depression in the side of the ditch. Then he got in, wrapped the blanket around him again, and covered himself over with snow, as much as he could.

Waiting there in his long underwear, shaking, he knew someone would be coming, but didn’t know who it was or how long it might take. Rudd or D’Cruz could be fooled by his trap; Rob, McCain, or Martinelli, maybe, if they weren’t paying close attention. He only knew he would have to kill whoever it was and hoped he didn’t pass out before the time came.

After about fifteen minutes fighting to remain conscious, he could hear voices and someone coming out of the trees on top of the hill. He got down and clutched his M4, and steeled himself to kill whoever it was.

As they got closer he could hear the two arguing, one was McCain, he was sure of that. “Look! There he is! Damn, I hope he’s not dead yet!”

He could hear them running through the snow and fast approaching, now they were nearly on top of ‘him’ before McCain spoke again, “Wait, that doesn’t look right. Something’s wrong! Rudd, hold on!”

Alton heard a burst of full auto fire, and he immediately pulled off his blanket and popped up. He squeezed the trigger and unloaded his rifle into the first one he saw.

Rudd grabbed his belly and immediately collapsed to the ground.

Alton dropped the carbine and picked up his pistol.

But now McCain was running and coming right at him as both men were firing. McCain emptied his rifle too and immediately threw it aside and pulled out his knife.

Alton braced his arm on the shoulder of the road. He shot McCain at least twice but he never even slowed. Suddenly the gun wouldn’t fire, Alton looked and the slide was locked back, the pistol empty. He dropped the mag and searched in the snow for another as McCain rapidly advanced.

He was blindly grabbing for another mag, or the other rifle, whatever he could find first.

But by then McCain was on top of him, his knife raised over his head. He jumped and landed on Alton and they both slid back down to the bottom of the ditch.

As they struggled, Alton grabbed his own knife there on his belt and thrust it in McCain’s belly. While McCain sunk his blade deep into Alton, right through the top of his shoulder.

Before either knew it, they were both in a clench, each trying to kill the other. Rolling around as they both struggled for control. Alton was able to make a deep slashing cut to McCain’s hand. They broke apart and quickly stood up again at the bottom of the trench.

The two soldiers stood there staring at each other about six feet apart, both bloodied and cut. After a second to catch their breath, they both charged and hit head on. Alton blocked McCain’s knife with one hand while he sunk his again and again into his adversary’s stomach and chest. At last it ended when McCain dropped his knife and collapsed into Alton’s arms.

He let him go and McCain dropped to the ground. Alton stood there, bleeding heavily and struggling to breathe. After a second he noticed a movement in the corner of his eye. It was Rudd staggering away holding his belly, his rifle left behind.

John Alton climbed out of the ditch and started quickly walking in his direction. Rudd saw him and tried to pick up his slowed pace, with no real effect.

He rapidly closed on Rudd, the knife still in his hand.

“No, Alton ... NO!”

Alton wrapped his left hand around Rudd’s face. Then he shoved his knife deep in his back, up under his ribs, where the renal artery should be, making a long, wide cut.

Rudd feebly grasped at his back, took a few stammering steps and was dead when he hit the ground.

Alton checked Rudd for magazines and there were none. Rudd’s rifle was covered with blood. It was jammed, an empty casing halfway in the chamber and another loaded round wedged right behind it.

He inspected McCain’s rifle too, it was empty but he still had one partially loaded mag on a pouch there on his belt. It held thirteen rounds.

Armed once more, Alton did a quick survey. He was covered with numerous cuts and scrapes, but there were only three wounds that gave him cause for concern. He was shot through is outer bicep, the bullet passed straight through the meat but fortunately did no damage to the bone. There was also a puncture wound on top of his shoulder, and a deep ten-inch gash across his stomach. He was out of bandages so instead bound up the wounds using some clean socks and a lot of duct tape.

Alton picked up his clothes and started shaking out the snow inside. As he dressed, he knew he had to find shelter soon; he lost a lot of blood and was wet and cold.

Then he started picking up the weapons that littered the snow covered ground. He retrieved the lever action he never got a chance to use. Alton also found his Beretta and one loaded mag; he never did find the second one. His M4 was fine once he brushed off all of the snow. He also went through Rudd’s and McCain’s gear finding a few items he could use including their food and some dry socks. The radio’s battery was dead and no use to anyone.

He took out his map and compass, looked at the setting sun and knew where he had to go.

Alton didn’t get very far before he had to stop. His main priority now was starting a fire. No matter who saw him he had to get warm. He found a nice spot, the canopy under a large Scotch pine, and with scraps he collected nearby he quickly had a fire going. After only a few moments he passed out.

He awoke just before dawn and didn’t feel much better. He ate some and was quickly moving again. Using his compass and map, he finally arrived at his destination mid-morning, a small church there by the road.

Setting up a modest observation post about two hundred meters south, he settled in and waited.

After a short while he noticed two sets of footprints in the snow, one of a boy and the other a man, he assumed James and Cornwell had been banished out in the cold.

But as he observed a while longer he could see Cornwell there inside the building. Now he wondered who left with James and where they might be going.

After another twenty minutes of observing, he could see the only men left were Cornwell, Martinelli, and D’Cruz. Alton knew he could kill one of them in the door but couldn’t wait the rest out. He would never get a chance at the other two. Alton thought about it a while, took out his map and checked his compass again.

On his way once more, he tried to make the best time he could, but now with a plan.

Later that afternoon, he came into view of a large water tower and knew the house couldn’t be too much farther.

Alton quietly crept up as close as he could, without setting off one of the many traps he found. He laid out his blanket on the new snow and started working on the plan already there in his mind.

Observing with his rifle scope, he could see the truck had been pulled off the poles and the fence repaired, as best it could. Inside the perimeter he could see most of the enemy, although there were several on patrol outside the fence line. He assumed they were also using the spider holes he helped construct.

As he watched the old farmhouse, he could see several of the enemy there in the yard. Two were waiting for their turn with the barber, standing on the front porch with his current customer sitting on a stool. On the steps another man seemed to be applying tattoos and had a few waiting in line. A group of seven sat on a large tarp out in the yard, beside them a carton of something Alton couldn’t identify.

Alton studied them a while and now his plan was ready; it wasn’t perfect but he was feeling weaker by the hour, so he had no more time to waste.

Pulling the Savage rifle to his shoulder, he took precise aim on the truck out in the yard. He squeezed the trigger, the rifle bucked in his hands and a second later the front tire exploded. He took aim again and this time the back tire was destroyed in his scope.

By now gunfire could be heard coming from his former home.

Alton reloaded, killing one of the barber’s customers standing on the porch. He continued firing and reloading until the rifle’s ammunition was exhausted, managing to kill the only two serious marksmen the enemy had. With the rifle he also put down a lone man watching from the front window. Alton could only hope it was the man in charge. John Alton knew he could have easily done much more damage, if he wanted to, but he needed most of them alive.

The mob was now stirring as he could hear the sound of their fury only growing louder. A group numbering over forty charged out the gate; the sound of their rage made him feel real fear.

Alton aimed again, firing one last time. He didn’t hit a thing and he didn’t care; it wasn’t needed by now. He threw the rifle down in the snow; it was empty and had served its purpose.

He got back up, started moving as fast as he could, that sound of the enraged pack quickly coming up from behind him.

Martinelli was standing in the front doorway watching the road, Cornwell and D’Cruz were both lightly napping on the floor.

At last Martinelli spoke, if only for himself, “I wish Rob would hurry up ... and where in the hell are McCain and Rudd? I want to get moving.” He gazed across the room and saw a human tongue, shriveled up and in a puddle of nearly dried blood, and then the pew where he had his fun. “This place gives me the creeps.”

He looked out the door again and suddenly from behind heard the sound of heavy boots on the hardwood floor. Martinelli turned just in time to see John Alton coming right at him from across the room.

Alton slowed for only a second, as if looking for someone, and then jumped over Cornwell and D’Cruz laying there on the floor. Before Martinelli could even lift his gun up, Alton hit him head on, slamming him against the wall. He leapt out the front door and just kept running.

By now Cornwell was on his feet and helping D’Cruz get up too, “Who the hell was that?!”

Martinelli picked himself off the floor and thought he might be in shock. “I think it was Alton!”

“Alton?!”

Martinelli snatched his rifle off the floor, “Yeah ... you think we should go after him?”

Cornwell grabbed up his rifle too, “We better, if we don’t want to be in trouble with the boss again.”

Just as the three of them made it to the door they could hear a terrifying noise coming from behind them. Not too far off over the hill came a sound they had heard before ... one they hoped to never hear again.

Chapter Eleven

Rob continued to drag her through the snow, the girl kicking, biting, and fighting every inch of the way.

As they made their way closer, the sun was near to setting. A strong gale was bringing another heavy snow that was now starting to fall.

When they got their first good look, Rob let her go and just stared at them, the girl stood there in shock too.

Robert slowly came closer, stunned and staggering through the front yard. James was following right behind him, the two dumbfounded with the horror of what they saw.

Around them were twenty-two men, all stripped naked and scattered about the church yard, the majority having gunshot wounds. Most were dead but the low groans of a few could still be heard over the sound of the approaching storm.

The yard of the church was littered with anonymous bodies, most already corpses, the others soon would be. They didn’t recognize any, except two faces.

Cornwell was hanging in the front door of the church, right under the steeple. His hands were nailed to the top of the doorframe and he had a look on his face neither Rob nor James would ever forget. Like all the others, he had no clothes. His whole body was covered with deep puncture wounds. It appeared someone used him for bayonet practice and did a thorough job of it.