Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (63 page)

They’d decided the night before to head west to Interstate 5. Dutch figured the invaders were sticking to the major highways and would eventually make their way inland. For now, he’d bet they’d go for securing major cities via main highways and then move inland.

This technique made sense to Dalton tactically, so their plan of action was to see just how close the invaders were to their homestead. That meant traveling west through the little towns of Concrete, Hamilton, and Lyman near Sedro Woolley, along State Highway 20. It flanked a hair north of the Skagit River until it reached Burlington, where it blossomed into little cities. There Highway 20 met Interstate 5, which ran south to Seattle and all the way to Los Angeles.

If he were the invaders, Dalton would make sure to secure the port of Bellingham and work his way down. “They’re too damn close,” had been his conclusion the night before when they studied the map. “It’s only fifty miles away to Burlington.”

“If they wanted to, they could be at our camp in little more than an hour,” was Sam’s response.

“Well, don’t do anything to attract their attention,” Rick had warned them all in jest.

“We won’t,” answered Dalton. “We’ll go take a look and see if they’re that far up and then go as far south as we need to. Hopefully we won’t see any sign of them.”

“You guys have an exit strategy from camp? Just in case?” Dutch had asked.

“Yeah. Pick forest service and back roads through these mountains north of us and deport into Canada,” Steven said, pointing at the map.

But Dutch had disagreed. “Again, man, these guys don’t recognize borders. There’s no asylum up there.”

“No, but there’s Mount Baker, and this is our terrain. We know these mountains better than them. That’s our advantage. There are still places in here no man has ever seen. We could hide our whole village for a lifetime in there; no one would ever find us,” Sam had said.

“We’re not leaving to give up our land if I have anything to say about it,” Dalton chimed in, causing an end to the conversation. “Let’s call it a night.”

~ ~ ~

Thinking back on the previous night’s meeting, Dutch regarded Sam; he wasn’t like the rest, and Dutch was now beginning to see why they valued his input; Sam knew things, useful things. More and more, Dutch was beginning to like these people.

This morning they’d traveled slowly through the little town of Concrete. Debris was scattered over every inch, and the secondary dam that had blocked part of an inlet creek feeding into the Skagit River rushed out of control with the spring thaw, threatening the roadway. But there was nothing else to see other than how the animals had taken over, reclaiming the grounds for their own. An entire herd of deer hung out at the corner of Superior Avenue and the Cascade Loop, where a truck stop and restaurant stood. Some of the animals got up and moved out of the roadway, but others were more inclined to let Dalton maneuver around them.

“These herds are growing like crazy,” Steven said.

“More territory,” McCann put in.

“Yeah, now that the plague of man is gone, wildlife will fill in the gaps,” Sam said.

“You think there’s anything here worth stopping for?” Steven asked.

“Nah, it looks like it’s been hit pretty hard, and we need to focus on the mission instead of resources this time. Let’s get in, get the data, and get out,” Dalton said as he steered around a random tractor tire abandoned in the middle of the road.

McCann looked around for the tractor that had lost the tire. “Don’t know where the hell that came from.”

“Nothing makes sense in this world anymore; don’t even try,” Steven advised the younger man.

“That’s for sure,” McCann said.

They’d just passed Lyman, and Dalton felt tension rise inside the Jeep’s cabin the closer they got to their destination. There was no more idle chatter in the backseat. They were all on alert and watching for clues. Another twenty minutes and he expected to see more than merely random tires in the road, garbage strewn by Mother Nature, and forest animals foraging on the leftovers of humankind.

As they neared Burlington, more and more relics of civilization appeared. They slowed down to a crawl, weaving in and out of parked cars and remnants of storm debris mangled on the highway, but nothing yet looked like recent human activity. What remained was more a collective randomness that reminded them of the massive loss of civilization. By the time they got to where Highway 20 turned into Fairhaven Avenue and intersected South Burlington Boulevard, they stopped; the entrance was blocked completely by what appeared to be a medevac helicopter.

“Past or present?” Dalton asked after a moment of contemplation.

Sam leaned up to check around at the roadways. “Past,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, then leaned back into the seat.

“How do you know?” Dutch asked out of curiosity.

Sam leaned forward again and pointed. “See that? That’s your pilot, or part of him. He’s been picked clean and the skull's been bleached by the sun.”

“How do you know he’s the pilot?” Dutch asked.

“The rest of him is over there,” he pointed to the other side of the road, “in the uniform. With all the debris and dirt on the road, I can see from here that there aren’t any footprints. The cabin door’s still open and rain rot has caused the interior dyes to leach down the white siding. Anyone could throw debris around to make it look old, but not without leaving traces. This stuff hanging from the rotor blades has stained the paint underneath. It’s been there a while. There’s bird shit all over, and it’s dripped downward. That thing’s been here since the start.”

“Think there’s still med equipment in there?” Steven asked.

“We’re not stopping now,” Dalton said.

“This place is creeping me out. We’re too much in the open here,” Dutch said.

Dalton put the Jeep in reverse and saw a way to turn left through a store parking lot to bypass the intersection altogether. Once they made the turn, they went another few blocks south parallel to Interstate 5 and squeezed between several cars. Dalton focused on the route in front of him. “Keep your eyes peeled for any movement,” he said to the crew.

They had just approached West Fairhaven Avenue on South Burlington Boulevard; West Fairhaven led to the west through two blocks of neighborhood and disappeared under Interstate 5. There was a clear view of the highway from their vantage point before they crossed over to the other side.

“Guy, three o’clock,” Sam said dryly and, for a split second, Dalton thought Sam joked. Then he remembered Sam didn’t joke—ever.

He turned his head to the right just in time to see a form standing by a military Humvee on the overpass of Interstate 5 in the middle of town, pointing a rifle at them.

“
Fuuuck
me! Those bastards!” Steven said.

“Back up, back up, back up!” Dutch shouted. “Movement on the lower left. Cover!”

As soon as Dalton heard the warning, he threw the Jeep into reverse and the first few pings snipped past their location. They’d been seen, and there was nothing immediate to take cover behind. The nearest building was a towing company, and the building itself was covered in corrugated metal. A barrage of bullets cascaded onto the tin roof, emitting a noise like nothing they’d heard in a very long time, and then far away.

The abandoned helicopter remained in their escape path. Dalton swung the Jeep into drive and raced back the way they’d come, through the parking lot of the shopping center, back through town, and turned right on Spruce Street right behind an office building before he stopped.

“Was it just one guy?” Dalton asked. His heart beat out of his chest and he found himself automatically using his old tricks from his military days to calm his pulse down.

“No, there were at least three shooters,” Dutch said.

“Son of a bitch!” Dalton yelled, slamming the steering wheel with his fist.

“It’s a scouting group,” Sam assumed.

“Should we take ’em out?” McCann asked.

“Shit. If we do, the others will come after us. I’m sure they’ve already radioed ahead,” Dalton said.

“If we don’t, we’ll have to deal with them and their buddies another day,” Dutch warned.

“All right. Anyone get an exact visual count?”

“No, I only saw the one,” Sam said.

“I heard three different weapons,” Dutch said. “If we’re going to do this, we gotta do it now, Dalton.”

“Kid,” Dalton said to McCann, looking at him in the rearview mirror, “you’re with me and Steven. Dutch, you’re with Sam. Let’s flank this block and head west. Get up high where you can see; let’s get this over with quick and get the hell out of here. I didn’t expect to find them so fast this far north. We’re screwed.”

The five men separated into their designated groups, and while Sam and Dutch flanked to the right of the block, the other three went to the rear of the building.

A patch of spruce trees behind the building provided them with some extra cover. They ran to the next building with weapons drawn—Dalton in front, McCann in the middle, and Steven at the rear. From there they could see Dutch and Sam peeking around the opposite side and through the narrow alleyway in between.

Dalton motioned for the others to climb the next building, and then he and his crew would go one more block before climbing a bank building while the others covered them.

When Sam gave them the signal to go, Dalton checked around the corner and scurried through an empty parking lot to the next building. As he turned to usher McCann to come, he lost all the breath left his lungs.

What Sam couldn’t see was that below him stood an enemy; not the one they were afraid of, but one just as dangerous. Dalton stumbled backward and turned quickly before a large brown bear charged their position. Steven pulled McCann backward and they ran just in time.

The surreal moment began as they all watched helplessly as the ravenous bear stormed after Dalton. The carnivore lumbered toward him and shook its head left to right, opened its jaws and growled. The giant dinner-plate-sized paws slapped the ground in front of Dalton. There was no easy access ladder to climb as an escape. Dalton tried a door to one of the buildings and found it locked. The prey was trapped, and the bear seemed to know this.

Sam ran forward, leaped to the next building, and took a shot behind the beast’s shoulder. They all knew their cover was blown, but he calculated the risks, and the bear would be on top of Dalton within the next half second. This was his only chance to shoot without wounding Dalton in the process.

The bear turned, distracted for a moment, after the bee-sting shot, but the wound only pissed it off more. Sam aimed and fired a second time, but the bear had already turned its aggression toward Dalton again.

Dalton gave up trying to escape, resigned himself to fight the approaching animal, and turned his weapon on it, face-to-face. He aimed and fired, knowing full well the bear would engulf him next. The animal was too large and smelled of a distinct musk he would not soon forget. Surreally he accepted that in the next instant he’d be mauled, but he wasn’t about to become easy prey for the bastard.

Instantly the animal plunged into Dalton’s body, pinning him against the brick building, and roared. Dalton heard shooting all around him as the bear attempted to gnaw on his head. He attempted to block the animal with his left arm and grabbed the fur on the left of its muzzle. He tried to hold the jaws away from him while he threw fist after fist, with his right arm, into the animal’s jaw. All the while, claws ravaged through his tactical gear and his shoulder. Dalton pushed the massive paw away just long enough to grab his knife out of his sheath with his right arm. He rammed the blade into the bear’s throat repeatedly with every ounce of strength he had left, but the animal still showed no sign of weakening. The gunfire continued, and for a moment Dalton’s only thought was,
Why isn’t this damn bear dead yet?

Then, finally, the animal pulled away from him and turned to his right. Dalton slumped down, seeing only the red rush of blood. He hoped it came from the bear, but he had a sinking feeling some of it was his own. Blackness overtook his vision, and the last thing Dalton saw, as he tried to pull up his handgun to fire again, was a man clad in black pointing his own rifle at him.

Sam focused on the bear and tried to get a clean shot without wounding Dalton in the process. Everything happened so fast. At one point, he was aware of Dutch in his peripheral vision, shooting at something to his left. Then he heard a ping sail by his right ear, and he looked away from Dalton being mauled by the bear for a moment to realize men wearing black were shooting at them, and Dutch was covering him as best he could.

Then he heard yelling down below and more rapid fire ensued as McCann came out into the open and shot one of the three assailants to the left of his position through the trees. Another figure ran for cover not far from Dalton’s position around the corner of the brick building. Sam had yet to locate the third shooter; reluctantly he had to abandon killing the bear and focus on stopping the assailant from killing McCann, who was now out in the open and unguarded.

“He shot him! He shot him! He’s dead,” McCann yelled over the commotion as he advanced on the second shooter.

Sam saw the man behind the building aim at the boy. “McCann, get down!” he yelled. When McCann turned, Sam watched as the boy recoiled from a direct shot to his side. McCann dropped to the ground, and Sam jumped from the one-story building and ran to McCann’s side.

The shooter came around from the side of the building. Sam thought either he wasn’t aware of the bear around the corner or he didn’t care. Then he heard Dutch yell, “Up top!”

Sam had barely glanced up when Dutch shot a surprise fourth shooter on the adjacent building, who fell and landed on the ground only a few feet away from Dalton.

Sam felt for McCann’s pulse at his neck but had his eyes on the last guy, who had dropped his weapon and was now backing away from the wounded and very pissed-off bear lumbering in his direction. Dutch yelled to Sam, “Shoot?”

“No! Let the bear have him!” Sam yelled. “Get the Jeep.” He didn’t want to take his eyes off the bear, now ravaging its new victim. The man screamed in pain, but the worst of it was the ravenous growling of the bear after its prey.

The Jeep’s engine caught Sam’s attention, and as Dutch pulled it up between Dalton and Sam he dragged McCann to the cab. Sam and Dutch lifted the boy inside and sat him upright. “I’m hit? He killed him . . . Steven. Steven’s dead.”

Sam said, “It’s a shoulder wound, kid, you’ll be all right.”

“Steven’s dead,” McCann repeated.

Sam nodded. He wasn’t sure yet, but he figured the kid was right. He left him there and went around to Dutch, who was bent over Dalton’s mangled, bloody body.

“He alive?” Sam asked.

“He’s got a pulse, but he’s lost a lot of blood, man.”

“Let’s get him inside,” Sam said, and they each took one side of Dalton, suddenly aware that the screams from the bear’s new victim had subsided. They lifted Dalton’s unconscious, bloody body, not knowing the extent of his injuries, and laid him across McCann’s lap.

“Oh Jesus,” McCann said while he felt for Dalton’s pulse, even though he himself was injured.

“One more,” Sam said. They ran to the opposite side of the vehicle and retrieved Steven’s body. There was no doubt he was dead as they approached him. It was a clean shot through the head. Sam now felt no mercy for the bear’s victim at all.

“Son of bitch,” Sam said.

“Let’s bring him home,” Dutch said. They picked him up, opened the back door of the Jeep, and hastily laid his body in the cargo area. Dutch grabbed the first aid kit and rode shotgun as Sam jumped into the driver’s seat. They sped away from the grisly scene back in the direction they had come.

“We’ve got to call it in. He’s gonna need some blood,” McCann said from the back.

“We shouldn’t use the radio,” Sam said.

“He’s dying! He’s bleeding out!” McCann yelled.

Dutch opened up the first aid kit and turned around in the seat to lean into the back.

Sam drove with a vengeance. McCann was in a lot of pain, and grunted through it as best he could. The only thing Sam could do was get them home as fast as possible while watching his rearview mirror along the way.

“There’s a lot of blood, man,” Dutch said to Sam.

Sam felt liquid draining down his forehead, and brushed his arm over his brow, realizing now that it was blood. They were all covered in it, not knowing whose was whose. “Is it bright red?”

“Yes and no; there’s a lot of it,” Dutch said. “I’m packing the wounds. Dalton’s left arm is torn up bad.”

“He’ll make it,” Sam said, accelerating further, all the while thinking of how this must end and they must survive.