Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line (30 page)

“Crystal.”

Ellis motioned to the door. “You’re free to go.”

“And Sabrina?” Liz said.

“Her too.”

A female officer brought Sabrina to us in the lobby. She smiled when she saw us and gave Liz a hug.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said.

As we walked out the front door, Sabrina slipped her hand into mine and gave it a squeeze.

Three days after I got out of jail, Gabriel walked into the lobby of the Sky River Hotel and joined me at the bar. He smelled like a sweaty horse, his clothes were stained and filthy, and there was dirt caked in his beard and creased into the lines of his face.

“’Bout damn time,” I said.

“Would have been here two days ago if you’d left me a few more markers.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

He shook his head. “Asshole.”

“I heard Hicks had to go to the Springs. Some kind of special assignment.”

Gabe turned his head. “Where’d you hear that?”

“General Jacobs.”

“When did you talk to him?”

“Long story. Tell you later. Any idea what Hicks is up to?”

“No. I don’t think Jacobs told him much. Generals aren’t usually in the habit of explaining themselves to sergeants. They give orders and expect them to be followed.”

Ross came over and poured him a drink. Gabriel downed it in one swallow and pushed the glass across the bar. Ross poured him another and set the bottle in front of him.

“Let me know when you done,” Ross said, Southern drawl firmly in place. He glanced at me briefly before walking to the other end of the bar. I took the bottle and refilled my glass.

“Took me a few hours to find you after I got into town,” Gabe said. “Had to ask around. Talked to a few cops. Sounds like you’ve had some trouble.”

“Nothing me and the girls couldn’t handle.”

“How are they?”

“Tired. It’s been a rough week. Liz is a little traumatized. Sabrina’s worried about you.”

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs in our room. You should take a bath before you go see them. Maybe put on some clean clothes.”

“Don’t have any.”

“I’ll get you some.”

Gabe looked me with one eyebrow raised.

“We went back for Liz’s trade before we left Haviland,” I said. “Brought some of your clothes along. I’ll leave an outfit with Ross while you clean up.”

“Sounds good. You manage to save any of the livestock?”

“All alive and well.”

Gabe nodded. “You made out better than I’d hoped for. Want to tell me what happened since you got to town?”

“Later. Go get cleaned up. My eyes are starting to burn over here.”

Gabe nudged me in the shoulder with an elbow as he stood up. When I looked at him, he was smiling.

“Good to see you alive, old friend,” he said.

“Bath. Now.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.”

Ross guessed Gabe’s intentions and rang a bell above the bar. One of the hotel employees came out and asked Gabe if he would please follow her. They went through a door and out of sight. I went upstairs to pick out an outfit for Gabe.

“What are you doing?” Sabrina asked as I rooted through our luggage.

“Getting some clothes for Gabe.”

She and Liz both sat bolt upright. “He’s here?” they asked simultaneously.

“Yes. Just got into town today.”

“Where is he?” Liz asked.

“Taking a bath. You want to let him clean up before you see him. Trust me on that one.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Smelly, but fine.”

The relief on Liz’s face was heartbreaking. “Thank God.”

“Tell him to hurry up and get his ass up here,” Sabrina said.

I faked a truly terrible British accent. “I shall relay the message, my good lady.”

Ross was still at his usual perch behind the bar. I handed him Gabe’s clothes, which he passed off to another hotel employee.

“Going to need another room,” I said.

“One next to you open.”

I thought about Gabe and Liz, and how long they had been apart, and had a vision of Sabrina holding pillows over her ears to block out the grunts, moans, thumping of bedframe against a wall, and creaking of strained mattress springs.

“Maybe something down the hall,” I said. “Or on another floor.”

“No problem.”

“Still on the house?”

Ross put down the glass he was polishing. “I told you. You in Dodge City, this where you stay. You eat free, your room be free, you drink free. You and everybody with you. Just so long as you don’t abuse the privilege.”

“Never would have pegged you for the grateful type, Ross.”

A shrug. “Depends on the favor rendered.”

The bottle Ross had left for me and Gabe was still on the bar. I retrieved it and sat down in front of Ross. He handed me a clean glass.

“How go the, ah, acquisitions?” I asked.

“They going fine. Had to bust a few heads, get some folks used to the new regime. But things be linin’ up good.”

“Have any trouble buying up Lopez’s properties?”

Ross looked at me with a blank expression.

“Right. Dumb question. How’s Terrell? Haven’t seen him around.”

“Terrell be on the mend. And you won’t be seeing him around no more.”

“You fire him?”

Ross shook his head. “He quit. Say he going back to work in the residential district.”

“Doing what?”

“Bodyguard for some rich cat.”

“And you just let him walk?”

Another shrug. “Plenty more where Terrell came from.”

I poured myself a drink. “What about Santino. Any trouble out of him?”

“He mad as a rattlesnake in a sack, but there ain’t shit he can do with CID breathing down his neck.”

“The investigator is in town?”

“Yep. Him and a whole posse. Got here yesterday.”

“He talk to you yet?”

“No. But I figure he be here soon.”

I finished my drink and got up to leave the bar. As I was walking toward the stairs, the front door opened and two men walked in. One of them was Chief Ellis. He pointed toward me and said, “That’s Riordan. The man behind the bar is Demetrius Ross.”

I stopped and stared. The man Ellis spoke to wore Army fatigues and the rank insignia of a sergeant first class. He took off his hat as he entered the building and approached me.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Jeff Barnes, Army CID. I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

Ross and I shared a glance. “Yes, Sergeant. We have.”

*****

Two weeks later, Major Santino was relieved of duty and detained at the Dodge City Police Department. He was not alone. Most of his staff and nearly a dozen enlisted men were detained with him. A grizzled-looking captain, who had been a master sergeant before being given a field commission, took over his duties. I did not envy him the job. And I almost felt sorry for Santino and his cronies. They were crooked as the Appalachian skyline, but what they were doing was no worse than what was going on all over the country. They had just been dumb enough to get caught. That said, I didn’t lose any sleep over it.

With Santino out of the way, the deal we had struck to get a spot on the Army convoy headed for the Springs was null and void. But as it turned out, the deal was unnecessary. Gabe used his ever handy satellite phone to call in a favor with General Jacobs, and we got to ride along for free.

The day we left, I stood with Gabe, Liz, and Sabrina outside the city gates and waited for a red-cheeked lieutenant to tell us which truck we were assigned to. A long line of APCs, Bradleys, trucks, Humvees, and HEMTT transports sat on the broken pavement like a long green snake, fumes pouring out of blackened stacks and staining the air with the reek of exhaust. Our livestock was out there somewhere, occupying a large horse trailer Liz had rented for the journey, and our trade was in a locked crate in one of the HEMTTs. The sky was clear and sunny and bore down on us with the heat of the oncoming summer.

“How long do you think we’ll be on the road?” Sabrina asked.

Gabe scratched the scars on his clean-shaven jaw. “About three days, maybe four. It’s only a little over three hundred miles, but the convoy has to make a few stops along the way.”

I wiped sweat from my forehead and adjusted my hat. “Be glad to get out of this place.”

Gabe grunted. No one spoke for a while. The lieutenant got a message over her radio and directed us to a deuce-and-a-half in the center of the convoy. We walked over to it and took seats next to a couple of squads of soldiers. The troops were in good spirits and spoke loudly of how much they were looking forward to getting back to the Springs. If their boasts were to be believed, the state of Colorado would soon be experiencing a shortage of alcoholic beverages and an unprecedented baby-boom. Gabe glanced at them, gave a short laugh, and shook his head.

“Some things never change,” he muttered.

I looked at Gabe, and Sabrina, and Liz, and felt a sudden weight in my stomach. One of the things I had been working hard lately not to think about came to the front of my mind, and I had to face the fact that things were ending. Three of the most important people in my life were starting over in a new town, and I would not be a part of it. I would spend a few weeks with them while I handled some business matters, but then I would have to say goodbye and head back to Hollow Rock, and our lives would continue on separate courses. It was a rotten feeling. The thought of going back home without Gabe living next door, and Liz as mayor, and not being around to watch Sabrina grow up, and Gabe not witnessing my son become a man, and how different things were going to be without my friends close by made me feel bereft and empty inside. Sabrina must have guessed what I was thinking because she reached out and took my hand.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Her eyes tracked to Gabe. “Doesn’t matter the distance between you two. He’ll always be your friend.”

“More like a brother.”

The hand in mine squeezed. “Family is family. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“I know.”

Family is family
, I thought, and decided it was a good summation.
Family is family
.

I kept telling myself that all the way to Colorado.

Heinrich crouched in the darkness and thought things had turned out as well as they could have since the Army attacked his tribe.

Most of his men had made it to Brawley’s Cove just north of the Arkansas border. A few had been lost to accidents and encounters with the infected, but not enough to make a difference. Once reassembled, they had taken on supplies and begun the journey south to Parabellum.

The map he’d purchased from one of Necrus Khan’s men had turned out to be accurate. He and Maru and a few other of his lieutenants had split the tribe’s forces and led them through a series of underground tunnels into the heart of the settlement. And now, Heinrich stood beneath a hatch leading straight into the Khan’s private chambers.

“I hear the Khan’s voice,” a sergeant whispered, his ear pressed to the hatch. He moved his lantern in Heinrich’s direction. “Guess the map was good.”

So it is. Almost makes me regret killing the man who gave it to me.
“Keep it down,” Heinrich said. “Don’t want them to know we’re here yet.”

“Right, Chief.”

Heinrich checked his watch in the dim light. Thirty seconds to go. He holstered his pistol, wiped his sweaty palm on his shirt, and then redrew the weapon. Twenty seconds. Ten. He held up his diminished left hand where his men could see. The remaining fingers counted down three, two, one.

“Go.”

The sergeant under the hatch raised a breaching shotgun and pressed its barrel to the latch.

“Fire in the hole!”

The boom echoed deafeningly through the tunnel. Heinrich had his earplugs in while his men stood with hands pressed over their ears. The sergeant dropped his shotgun, threw the hatch open, and went up the ladder as fast as his feet would carry him.

“Move!” Heinrich shouted. It was the only shout to be heard as he and his raiders pushed upward through the opening. He had admonished the men before entering the tunnels to be quiet, not to scream and yell and call challenges to their enemies. In a building this size, a shotgun blast would sound like it could have come from anywhere. The sound of raised voices, however, would be easy to track.

Heinrich blinked in the bright light cast by nearly a dozen lanterns as he scrambled up through the hatch. He was in a large bedroom, the rug covering the trap door flung aside by his men. To his right was a desk, wardrobe, macabre paintings, and sculptures on the floor and shelves. To his left was a bed currently occupied by two naked women and the man himself, Necrus Khan.

“Cover the door,” Heinrich said, pointing at a squad leader.

The man motioned to his squad mates and did as ordered. The two remaining squads trained their weapons on the Khan as Heinrich approached him.

“On your feet,” he said.

Necrus did as he was told, his expression blank as he stood naked before the armed raiders.

“You’re a fucking dead man, Heinrich.”

“Hands over your head. Do it now.”

Necrus’ hands went up. “You have no idea what you just stepped into. You just signed your own death warrant, small-timer.”

“No. I just signed yours.” Heinrich covered the distance between them in one swift step, drew his knife, and plunged it upward just below the tip of Necrus Khan’s sternum. The blade sank deep into the doomed man’s heart, blood pouring out over Heinrich’s hand. He twisted the knife and shoved upward again. Necrus’ eyes went wide, his mouth a rictus of pain. Then the muscles in his face went slack and he slumped to the floor. Heinrich removed his knife as the body fell. The men began to cheer, but Heinrich hissed them to silence.

“You,” he said, pointing to one of his men. “Give me those bolt cutters.”

“Yes sir.”

Heinrich used his knife to cut the tissue around the Khan’s neck, then crunched through the spine with the bolt cutters. There was no hair to hold onto, so he held the head up with both hands until the blood finished draining. And as always, when he decapitated someone, he was amazed at how much scarlet liquid came out.

“I need something to stick this on,” Heinrich said. One of his men unslung a short spear from his back and offered it to him.

“Perfect,” Heinrich said, and had the subordinate hold the spear while he stuck the head onto it. The blade held firm as it pushed upward into the dead man’s brain. Necrus’ jaw flopped open and the eyes rolled backward. Heinrich found the expression comical and smiled.

“Clear the building,” he said to his men. “Spare the women and servants if you can. Everybody else dies. Rourke, you’re in charge of the assault.”

Rourke grinned at the unexpected honor. “Yes sir. You heard the man. Let’s move.”

As the men poured through the doorway and the gunshots and screams started, Heinrich looked at the two girls on the bed.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

The girls nodded, eyes bulging with fear. Heinrich hoisted Necrus’ head, drew his pistol, and followed the last of his men out the door.

The main objective had been accomplished, but there was still work to do.

*****

Before the attack, Necrus Khan’s guardsmen had numbered somewhere between seventy and eighty, depending on how many he killed from one week to the next over violations. As Heinrich watched, the last surviving dozen of them were marched into the town square, the hulking form of Ferguson among them. The moon was bright overhead, and torches had been arranged and a bonfire set to provide onlookers with a clear view of the proceedings.

“That’s the last of them,” Maru said, standing beside Heinrich. His second in command had a shiner under one eye and a blood-soaked bandage on his right bicep. If the injuries caused him any pain, he did not show it.

“Bring Ferguson up here.”

Maru walked down the steps of the building Heinrich had already renamed the Governor’s Mansion and proceeded across the dusty square where nearly a third of the Storm Road Tribe stood in a semi-circle around the last of Necrus’ troops. The rest of the raiders were still patrolling the streets, putting down small pockets of resistance. Most of the people who lived in Parabellum had given his men no trouble. This was not the first violent regime change they had lived through. But some, for reasons that defied explanation, were loyal to their dead tyrant leader and chose to fight. This did not concern Heinrich. His raiders knew how to deal with them.

The citizens of the encampment stood in doorways, looked out windows, and gathered in clusters in the streets. Ragged, barefoot children clung to their mothers’ legs. Hard-faced men looked on in stoic silence. Some of the women seemed worried, others indifferent. Slaves clutched their collars and gravitated close to their owners as if hoping they could shield them from danger. Heinrich found this ironic, slaves seeking protection from the very people who held them in bondage. But, if he was fair about it, it was not as if they had a plentitude of options.

Maru ordered Ferguson to his feet and motioned to two of his raiders. The four of them walked toward the steps where Heinrich waited. When they reached the base of the stairs, Maru ordered Ferguson to a halt.

“Good to see you again,” Heinrich said.

“Wish I could say the same,” Ferguson rumbled. Despite the fact he was on the ground and Heinrich at the top of the stairs, the giant’s head was still nearly level with the raider chief’s. Ferguson had been stripped to his underwear, but appeared uninjured.

“You give up without a fight?”

Ferguson shrugged. “Caught me fucking one of my slaves. Wasn’t much I could do, staring down eight barrels with my dick in my hand.”

Heinrich laughed. “Were you mistreated?”

“No. Your boys were downright polite.”

“As they were ordered to be.”

Ferguson nodded as though confirming a thought. “So what do you want?”

“You told me once you don’t much care who you work for as long as you’re allowed to do your job as you see fit. You worked for Necrus’ predecessor, and then for Necrus.”

“You want me to work for you?”

“If you’re willing.”

“And if I’m not?”

“I respect you, Ferg. You’ve always dealt straight with me. If you don’t want to work for me, I’ll have my men escort you to your house. You can gather your things and leave town at first light. When it comes to my tribesmen, I want volunteers. Not slaves.”

Ferguson looked dubious. “You for real?”

“What reason do I have to lie? It’s not as if you’re holding any cards, Ferg.”

The giant nodded and considered the offer. Finally he said, “What the hell. Man’s gotta make a living somehow.”

“Glad to hear it,” Heinrich said, and nodded to Maru. “He’s free to go.”

Maru holstered his pistol. “Welcome aboard.”

Ferguson grunted and began walking away.

“Hey Ferg,” Heinrich called.

“Yeah?”

“Come by the mansion tomorrow around noon. We’ll talk then.”

“Sure.”

As Ferguson departed, the remaining prisoners stared at him with manic hope in their eyes.
Maybe they think I’ll hire them too,
Heinrich thought, and chuckled.

“What about the rest of them?” Maru asked.

Heinrich let out a long breath. He had planned to make a spectacle of the execution, something to let the townsfolk know exactly who they were dealing with. But the journey from Brawley’s Cove had been arduous, the night’s work had been stressful—albeit enjoyable—and Heinrich was tired down to his bones. He wanted a stiff drink, a hot meal, a blow-job, and ten hours of sleep. In that order.

“Shoot ‘em and hang their bodies from the walls.”

“Right, Chief.”

Maru pointed his thumb and forefinger at the squad leader in charge of the prisoners and let his thumb drop. The squad leader shouted an order and raiders stepped forward with guns in hand. Each man put his weapon against the back of a prisoner’s head. The doomed men closed their eyes and muttered prayers, begged for mercy, and in many cases, simply wept. A few cried out for their mothers. The squad leader shouted again and the reports of pistols echoed in the town square. The prisoners slumped forward.

“Mandatory curfew tonight,” Heinrich said to Maru. “Make sure the civilians stay indoors until told otherwise. Anyone caught breaking curfew is to be shot.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Heinrich thumped his second in command on the shoulder. “You did good work tonight, Maru. Tomorrow, we’ll go down to the auction house and you can pick your reward. Horses, guns, ammo, booze, anything. And you can pick any five girls from Necrus’ harem you want. My gift to you.”

Maru’s eyes lit with an acquisitive gleam. “Thank you, Chief. You honor me.”

With that, Heinrich headed back into the mansion, his personal guard in tow. His next order of business was to see how many servants he had left. Someone had to cook his dinner and fetch his drinks, after all.

*****

Half a kilometer from the walls of Parabellum, Tyrel Jennings took his right eye away from a night-vision spotting scope and turned his gaze to the man lying in the dirt two feet away.

“Well that was unexpected,” he said.

“No shit,” Mason Harker replied. He was a former SEAL, like Tyrel Jennings. Both men were dark of hair and eyes and sported short beards. But that was where the physical similarities ended. Where Tyrel was medium height and compactly built, Mason was tall, broad shouldered, and strongly muscled.

“Had to be tunnels,” Tyrel said, looking down the hillside at the marauder settlement in the valley below.

Mason turned the spotting scope his way and looked through it. “I think you’re right. No other way they could have disappeared like that and then reappeared in the middle of town. I think one of the tunnels led into the leader’s compound.”

“That would explain why we didn’t see anybody go in but saw a shitload of raiders come out. I’m pretty sure that’s the former leader’s head on a pike in the town square.”

“Must not have been well liked.”

“Evidently not.” Tyrel keyed his radio. “Hawk, Eagle. You get all that?”

“Affirmative, Eagle,” a voice replied. It belonged to Andy Turner, team leader of one of Tyrel’s elite Blackthorn units known as Raptors. He was on a hillside on the opposite side of town snapping photos with a long-range digital night-vison camera and recording video from a stealth drone flying high enough not to be heard by anyone in the encampment below.

“General Jacobs is gonna shit a brick when he sees the footage,” Mason said.

“I don’t know. The general’s seen some things. Doubt anything shocks him anymore.”

“Probably right. Should we do anything about the supply train?” Mason asked, referring to the long line of wagons the conquering raiders had hidden in the hills near the fortified settlement. The two Blackthorns had been watching the raiders for the last couple of days.

“Not yet. Let them move their supplies inside. People with FTIC claims on that cargo are going to want some of it back.”