Six Feet From Hell: Crisis (18 page)

CHAPTER 27

Rick ran for his life. He’d held his eye to the scope on his rifle for as long as he could, but once the C4 went off, he flinched. When he’d looked through it again, the Humvee was destroyed and the LAV was sitting askew in the middle of the road. His heart jumped in his chest as the LAV sat for a moment. The Humvee’s occupants were likely dead, and the armored vehicle’s inhabitants soon would be. But no one exited the LAV. Rick heard his father tell everyone to hold their ground; the LAV was not done for just yet.

They will be soon, though
, Rick thought as he readjusted his aim. It was difficult to see anything in the low light, but the silhouettes against the snow would be easy to pick out. As the turret of the LAV moved, Rick’s heart nearly stopped. The giant cannon on the front swung back and forth, firing off several rounds. Rick felt the earth move under him as the rounds hit hard below. He wasted no time in bugging out once his father told them to fall back. He had taken a quick peek below him to see Jamie running for his life. His weathered friend had made it across the road and sprinted across an onramp on the opposite side. He didn't run towards the pickup as it rumbled up the ramp towards Joe; instead, he sprinted in the direction of the wall. Rick had an idea of what he was going to do, but didn't have the time to wait and find out.

Once Rick and Kane leaped into the truck, it sped away as fast as the horrible road conditions would let it. The rear end fishtailed as Balboa brought it around to the left and attempted to straighten it. Tires squealed and gears jammed as he righted the ship. Rick and Curtis slid against the fender well of the bed as Balboa wheeled the truck down the street. Rick righted himself as the truck did, scrambling over to the .50 cal. He grabbed the Ma Deuce as he looked behind them.

The LAV was closing in behind them.

“Shit! Big fucking problem on our six!” Rick screamed towards the front of the truck.

The LAV made it clear that it was not in pursuit. It was in
search and destroy
mode. The eight-wheeled light armored vehicle was clearly not out to chase, it was out to kill. The 25mm cannon lined up its target and fired six more of the high explosive incendiary rounds at the back of the Dodge. The earth shook as the rounds landed just behind the Ram, bouncing the truck forward from the concussive force of the explosions.

“Shit! Dad! They're shooting at us!” Rick screamed.

Joe flung open the divider between the bed and the passenger compartment. “Then fucking shoot back! Aim for the tires!”

Rick grabbed the butterfly triggers on the .50 cal and let loose with a barrage of rounds. The massive salvos from the gun skittered and tore chunks out of the pavement as Rick aimed it towards the tires of the LAV. The right-front tire looked as if it had been hit several times as the rubber flew off in large pieces. It did not slow the pursuing vehicle, unfortunately.

The LAVs turret had moved up slightly, adjusting its aim. Rick closed his eyes and waited for the end. With the amount of firepower it put out, at least it would be a quick death. As if to reiterate the point, the Dodge’s engine clanked and sputtered, no longer able to keep up with the demands on it. Rick sagged his shoulders and let out a long sigh, hanging his head.

Then the world exploded.

Even though he was expecting a blast, it still surprised him. The world around him hadn’t vanished, but the giant turbocharged monster behind him nearly did. Bits of asphalt, glass, and other objects peppered the back of the truck bed like a shotgun. Rick and Curtis ducked down in the bed, the aforementioned parts raining down around them. Both men covered their heads for a few seconds as the debris finally settled.

Balboa slammed on the brakes, bringing what little momentum they had to a stop. He slowly turned to look behind him, fleetingly making eye contact with Joe as he did. Both men turned in unison, half-expecting the world to not be there when they did. Joe’s heart thumped like a racehorse. Neither man spoke for several seconds, the world eerily quiet aside from the diesel engine of the Dodge.

“What in the name of God was that?” Joe finally spoke.

“I think a fucking comet just hit the LAV,” Balboa answered.

Joe stared wide-eyed at the hulking wreck behind him. “I think you might be right, dude.”

Rick got up from his protected position in the back of the truck and stood. He slowly uncovered his ears and opened his eyes. He couldn’t believe the sight a hundred feet behind him. The LAV was on its top, a small fire burning near it. The tires were almost disintegrated and the frame of the vehicle was noticeably bent. The huge 25mm turret barrel on the front was also bent about halfway down the shaft. Whatever had happened, it had done a hell of a number on the nearly thirteen-ton vehicle.

The blast had knocked out nearly every window near it. Small fires were burning in the remains of houses on either side of the road. All four men exited the truck silently, gathering near the tailgate. Joe stepped forward, raising his M4 and slowly moving ahead. He assumed that there wouldn’t be anyone living inside, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“C’mon, let’s go clear it,” he said.

“What in the hell caused that?” Curtis asked as he got out of the bed.

“I caused that! Holy freakin’ shit that was loud!” Cornbread appeared off to their right, dusting himself off. Then he grabbed Jamie around his left arm and helped him along. Jamie limped forward.

Rick rushed forward and assisted Jamie. Cornbread loosed his grip as Rick took over, supporting Jamie and taking him to the bed of the truck. Curtis lowered the tailgate and Jamie sat down, exhausted.

Joe looked at Cornbread. “How did you cause this?”

“Well, when y’all gave Larry the rifles, I noticed that Jamie had quite a bit of C4. I asked if I could have some, and he gave me about ten pounds of it. I figured after I heard about y’all setting up this ‘Captain’ asshole that I’d help with the escape route. I put two spots of five pounds each in the road,” Cornbread answered, laughing. “I guess it did the trick.”

Joe scowled at Cornbread. “I didn't want you guys getting involved. This wasn’t your fight.”

Cornbread waved a dismissive hand. “You told
Larry
not to get involved.” He grinned and winked at Joe. “You never said anything about
me
helping.”

“Yeah, Joe. You have to admit – he's right. He just saved our ass; give him a little credit,” Jamie retorted. “Plus, when I ran away, he gave me a hand. If it hadn’t been for him, I woulda been stuck on the side of the road down there. You guys left me behind – he didn't.”

Joe couldn’t argue. The LAV had been taken out, and Jamie was still in one piece. Cornbread had done them a huge favor; one that he wouldn’t be able to return, like so many others.

“Fine,” Joe conceded. “Rick, Cornbread, come with me. We still gotta clear that LAV.”

Rick scowled. “There is no way in hell that someone survived that.”

“I'm not taking any chances. Let’s just clear it and be done with it.”

Joe strode forward, his M4 at low ready. Rick followed behind him, his .45 pointed ahead. As they approached the hulking remains of the LAV, the hatch for the crew area slowly creaked open. Both men stopped and aimed their respective weapons at the hatch. A bloody hand slowly appeared, pulling after it a battered body. Joe moved his rifle behind him, the three-point sling holding it in place on his back. As he approached the opening, he drew his .45 and aimed it at the lone survivor.

“Stop right there, asshole,” Joe told the solitary figure.

The man fell face-first onto the snow-covered asphalt. Joe came up to him and rolled him over. There was no beating around the bush. He wanted the Captain, Wyatt, whatever the fucker was calling himself. Joe grabbed the man by the collar and hefted him up, face to face.

“Where is he?”

The man grumbled unintelligibly.

Joe put his .45 into the man’s shoulder and fired a round through him. Blood and bone flew out of the exit wound. The man screamed and writhed in pain, desperately trying to get away. Joe put the barrel on the man’s testicles next and cocked back the hammer. The man let out another pitiful scream and held his hands up.

“Fuck you!” the man blubbered out.

“Good, now that I have your attention. Where is he? Where is the Captain?”

“What?”

Joe pressed the .45 harder into the man’s balls. “Say ‘what’ one more time and see what happens, shithead.”

The man looked genuinely confused. He shifted slightly, lowering his hands. “I'm the Captain. Captain Marcus White.”

Joe’s eyes widened in horror. His heart raced and his breathing became heavy and rapid. “You are
not
Andrew Wyatt. Where is he? He was a lieutenant in the U.S. Marines and he killed some friends of mine several years back. Wyatt, Lieutenant Andrew Fucking Wyatt.” Joe brought the man inches away from his face. “WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?” Joe screamed.

Captain Marcus White coughed in his face, bloody spittle flying from his mouth. “General Wyatt is readying the Peacemakers for war.”

“
General?
Where is he? Tell me how to find him!”

“Fuck you,” Captain White said tiredly. “I'm not telling you a goddamned thing.”

Joe grabbed Captain White up and shoved him violently towards the bed of the pickup truck. “Oh, you're gonna tell me exactly what I want to know.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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