Read Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 Online
Authors: A. R. Shaw
“I’m going to run it!” Dutch yelled. “It’s the only way to hold them back!”
“No!” Dalton hollered. “It’s too late for that. They’re gaining on us!”
A new explosion rocked the ground. Dalton collapsed out in the open. Shots pinged the ground before him, and he began to crawl toward cover by the Jeep. They had to push them away.
Then his worst nightmare came true. Seven jihadists sprung out of the woods and got the jump on Dutch. He lost his weapon in the melee and tried to fight them off by hand. One of the assailants held a Taser and piled on top of him while he screamed in agony. They finally pistol whipped him and drug him into unconsciousness.
~ ~ ~
“Nooo!” Dalton screamed. He woke by the dim lantern light in a full sweat. He remembered now, and twisted his head first one way and then the other as terror ripped through him. His entire body was on fire. He didn’t know where he was, and for a second he thought perhaps he’d been captured too. He lifted his arms and realized he wasn’t bound, just in a lot of pain.
On his right lay a form on a similar cot; to his left, another. He stared up at the ceiling and realized the corrugated metal meant only one thing: they were in one of the cache bunkers.
He lifted his head and looked around further. McCann had fallen asleep against the wall, near the entrance of their metal shelter, with his rifle across his lap.
“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” Dalton asked. “McCann?” he called out.
“He’s asleep,” Sam said next to him.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What the hell is going on?”
Sam emitted a long breath, and the delay scared Dalton.
“I don’t know where to start,” Sam admitted.
“Tell me this. Are my boys okay?” Dalton thought he’d start there and work his way down.
“Yes. I believe the kids got away and they’re fine.”
Dalton now remembered seeing Clarisse, and how pissed off at her he was. He swallowed before he could ask about her; his throat clenched at the thought. He remembered running toward a Jeep, but nothing else. “Is Clarisse . . . where is Clarisse?”
“She made it, Dalton, but she went back with Graham for Dutch. I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice cracked with grief.
The sound of hope came from McCann. “They’re coming back,” he said in the darkness. “I know they will.”
As Graham and Clarisse trekked through the forest, everything seemed like a dream. They smelled something like a barbeque the closer they came to the clearing at the cliffs. That and a foreign chanting filled the air. As they came closer still, their first vision into the camp was smoke wisping up from the ruins of the prepper camp and what was left of one of McCann’s horses, brutally butchered when it couldn’t escape.
“Get down,” Graham said, and they lowered themselves behind the tip of a rock face. They inched forward on their bellies until they could see farther into the clearing of the former camp. If they were to fire from their position on the jihadists below, they would certainly attract attention and give away their location, but it would take a while for the enemy to climb the rock face to reach them. The cliff would also protect them from gunfire as long as they stayed low enough. Like all things, however, it was only a matter of time before they’d be discovered, so they had to devise a way to save Dutch and do it quickly enough to escape with their own lives.
“What are they doing?” Graham asked in a whisper. Several of the jihadists were chanting; others were on their knees, bowing.
Clarisse laughed. “Praying. They’re such good moral citizens, remember?” She shook her head in disgust while she unloaded their ammo. “I had Muslim friends who died by their hands, too. They’ve killed off an entire planet in religion’s name.”
“I’m pretty sure this has Lucifer’s name written all over it, if you ask me. Not that I’m a religious man,” Graham said. Clarisse nodded in agreement while he set up the rifle on a stand so that he could aim, pivot, and hold the sight steady.
He scanned the area below. “Do you see Dutch anywhere?”
Clarisse looked at the charred remains of the prepper camp below, but he was nowhere in sight. “No. They’ve historically performed beheadings at sunrise. It’s doesn’t look like his body is anywhere on display, which is how they’ve done it in the past, so I’d say we made it in time for the festivities. He’s got to be in one of those trucks or back in the woods, out of view,” she said. “How are we going to get to him?”
“They are all pretty spread apart. We could . . . ” Graham was interrupted by loud shouting began from below. “Damn,” he said, hurrying to line up the scene through the scope.
“Oh, Jesus,” Clarisse said as they dragged Dutch’s bare, beaten body into the clearing. The jihadists formed a semicircle around him. The wild excitement they displayed sickened Graham. He’d seen this too many times on Internet video. He knew what would happen next. Everyone knew what would happen next.
“We . . . we can use the RPG and start firing on them. Maybe one of us could get to him in time,” Clarisse said quickly.
“No, we’d only kill him in the process and—look at them, there are at least fifty of them. They’d get to us before we could wait until Dutch was out of the way.”
Two of the assailants brought Dutch through the crowd, his arms tied behind him in a noose knot. They shoved him to his knees, without his prosthetic leg, in front of the ravenous crowd shrieking in delight of the festivities to come, shooting their guns into the air and wailing into the wind.
Graham’s heart began pounding out of his chest.
Another man showed up holding a knife.
“Goddammit!” Graham muttered. Clarisse grabbed his shirtsleeve as he eyed the horrific scene below through the scope.
Clarisse pulled on him. “Graham! Graham! End this now. Kill him! Kill Dutch now! Don’t let them have the pleasure!”
He knew she was right. He hated the thought of killing Dutch himself but knew he had little choice. It was the only way to save him. He’d hesitated before, once, when all of this had begun, and that hesitation nearly cost him and the twins their lives. It was a lesson he’d learned: kill or die. But this was different; this was kill or let die by the worst means.
He sighted Dutch through the scope as the killer stood before him, intoning his evil spell. The demon grabbed Dutch by the forehead and raised a knife, singing in a language Graham could not understand—nor would he want to in a million years. The assassin began to swing the knife toward Dutch’s throat. The chanting heightened.
“Now! Do it now!” Clarisse begged again.
Graham aimed for Dutch’s head. Dutch’s eyes stared forward, and then looked up to Graham’s position . . . as if he knew. Just as the blade began a crimson line, Graham shifted the sight a hair north and fired a single shot.
Knowing he would die, Dutch would want to go down with a fight.
Blood spewed backward in slow motion. Not only did the bullet end the assassin’s life in an instant, but the chanting ended in abrupt silence. Dutch took advantage, and without the noose tension on his tied hands he scrambled forward, yanking the killer’s knife from his dead hand. Another man looked up at their hidden position and yelled, “
Allahu Akbar!”
As several jihadists surged toward Dutch, Graham began picking them off one by one. He watched as Dutch lunged and gutted one who approached him. Blood splattered over the ground. Dutch grabbed the man’s discarded weapon, and with a knife in one hand and a rifle in the other, he shoved himself up off the ground onto his one leg. Dutch held his arms out in welcome for the next attacker as Graham continued to shoot at anyone who came near him.
Clarisse already had a round loaded into the RPG and fired from her shoulder as Graham began picking off the scattering crowd. She aimed and fired again after reloading. Pandemonium broke out below, and Clarisse fired on them repeatedly. Trees caught fire and, again, she rained hell on them, tears streaming down her face.
As Dutch massacred as many as he could, one lucky shot from a jihadist ended his life. In slow motion, Graham watched as Dutch was struck from behind and hit the ground.
He heard Clarisse screaming. It seemed far away.
A bloodbath lay before them, though several still ran for cover. Bullets careened off the rock face where they hid, sending chunks of it flying. “Time to go,” Graham said, and grabbed Clarisse by the arm. They fled through the forest as fast as they could back to the waiting Jeep. Gunfire exploded chunks off a tree right in front of Graham as they ran. He pulled Clarisse behind him and took cover.
They both took peek shots around the cover and took out three more of the enemy before they chanced running for the next tree cover. Graham fired again as more movement through the brush headed their way.
“Get to the Jeep!” he yelled, shoving Clarisse forward. She ran as he covered her, and dove into the passenger side. Graham ran for it after taking out the last shooter.
They raced away. Graham heard nothing now; only his eyes recorded anything. He watched behind them through the flying debris, kicked up by the high speed of the Jeep, for any signs of a chase and glanced back at Clarisse. She wept openly as she drove, continuously wiping her tears on her sleeve to clear her sight as they put more distance between them and the remaining enemy.
It replayed in Graham’s mind: The recognition on Dutch’s face. The surprised silence. Seizing his chance to fight them. Dutch died fighting them. He died a hero.
I gave him a chance. He would have wanted to go down fighting.
“They should be back by now,” Dalton said, his rough voice intoned with worry as McCann checked his blood pressure again.
McCann looked at him with near panicked eyes. “They’ll be here, Dalton. I know Graham won’t fail.”
“Listen!” Sam yelled at them. The sound of a racing engine came in their direction.
“Open the door!” yelled Dalton. Sam grabbed his rifle and pulled himself over to the edge of the door, getting ready to fire at any oncoming enemy.
McCann tossed Dalton his rifle as he grabbed his own pistol. Rick still lay unconscious on his cot, unaware of the events taking place.
Dalton watched as Sam peered around the slightly open door. “It’s them. They’re back. It’s our Jeep, and they’re coming in fast,” Sam said.
“Someone following them?” Dalton asked.
“I don’t think so. Maybe Dutch needs care?” Sam speculated.
Clarisse stopped the Jeep and ran toward the doorway, like a deer fleeing danger. McCann opened the door all the way, and Clarisse ran into Dalton’s one-armed embrace. He caught her, having thought he might never see her again. She trembled, and Dalton tightened his grip around her. “What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, she’s not hurt,” Graham answered from the door. “Pack up. We’ve gotta go. Now!” Graham ordered.
“Dutch?” Dalton asked, holding Clarisse as close as he was able to.
Graham shook his head. “No. He’s dead.”
“Damn,” Sam said.
Dalton stroked Clarisse’s back, now knowing why she couldn’t speak, and tried to comfort her after all the hell he suspected she’d just witnessed.
“Let’s go!” Graham reminded them as he and McCann lifted Rick up and into the Jeep. “I’m sure they’re following us.”
Sam covered their every move until everything was loaded. They took as many supplies as they could but left much of it where it remained—locked up for another time, another day, when they might return.
“We’ll be back,” Dalton assured them all.
Graham drove toward the coordinates Dalton supplied from the passenger’s seat. Clarisse sat with Sam and McCann in the backseat, and Rick lay in the cargo area, where she could keep an eye on him.
After a while, Dalton reached over the seat for Clarisse’s hand. She still shook like a fragile leaf in a torrent, and he only imagined what she’d seen. In time the horrific events would come out, and he would be there for her when they did.
“Where are we going?” Graham asked as the miles flew on.
“North, to gather the others,” Dalton answered.
“Then where?” Graham asked as he stared ahead to the open road leading away.
Dalton looked out his window as they sped off Highway 20, past the blurring trees that lined the Skagit River, and then turned left to hit the forest service road 1060. Cold, gray, desolate mountains loomed in front of them. Dalton hated to leave it, he hated to let the enemy
have it. He vowed to himself that he and the others would return; their absence would be short, only long enough to make them whole. Then they’d be back.
They pulled past a section of road that looked much like the rest of the scenery they’d traveled past in the past hour.
“It’s here somewhere,” Dalton said, leaning upward to scan the woods closely for a sign of the entrance.
Graham slowed to a crawl. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, according to Reuben’s map, anyway,” Dalton said. Graham stopped, and Dalton opened the door cautiously, only to hear a distinct click.
Mark appeared behind a wall of evergreen shrubs and smiled at him. “You made it, cousin! We were beginning to worry.”
“Yeah, most of us made it,” Dalton said. Mark waved to Graham in the driver’s seat. When the smile left Mark’s face, Dalton could tell Mark knew they were missing one.
Mark began to move the loose evergreen camouflage away enough for them to drive through. Dalton returned to the Jeep, and as Graham drove along the long, forested pathway, they went from day to dusk, a more fitting shade to match their somber mood.
He pulled up to a long, gray hunting lodge clearly bereft of care in recent years. Tala, with Sheriff by her side, appeared in the doorway with a smile, but it was Lucy that Dalton was concerned about.
They exited the Jeep, and amid the greetings, Dalton told them of the one they’d said good-bye to. He looked for the girl with the flaming red hair. “Mark, where’s Lucy?”
“You passed her on your way in. She’s down there. I think she knows already,” Mark said.
Dalton peered back the way they had come, and then Clarisse touched his arm. “I’ll find her. I should tell her,” she said.
“Okay,” he conceded He watched Clarisse walk up the drive toward Lucy’s concealed position with Sheriff and one of Dutch’s dogs trotting beside her.
“You made it!” Reuben said, interrupting Dalton’s stare and shaking his hand.
“Yeah, just barely,” Dalton said, heading inside the cabin with the others.
~ ~ ~
After the new arrivals had eaten, several of the adults gathered around a rustic harvest table that had clearly seen better days. They sat on various overturned buckets, tree stumps, and other things scavenged from the area.
Dalton called the meeting to order, even though he could still hear Lucy’s muffled sobs in the nearby room. Clarisse said she took the news as well as possible, and that she’d be fine in time.
“Well, we’re not safe here. We’re not far enough away,” Reuben said.
Dalton heard him out and agreed. This hunting lodge would never do in the long term.
Then Rick, who lay on a nearby cot, spoke up. “I say we split up. The guys will stay here and form a plan to fight them. The rest go farther north.”
Dalton shook his head. “I’d like nothing more, Rick, but we’re not ready. I’m not, and there’s no way you’re in any condition to fight them. No. That won’t work right now.”
“Where are we going to go, then?” Graham asked.
Dalton spread out a map on the uneven table surface, ran his finger from their approximate location to just north, and tapped his finger on a spot. “Here. It’s the only town in reach, actually. There will be more resources for us to get ourselves together, heal, and formulate some kind of plan.”
Graham looked down at the town.
“Where is it?” Tala asked from her position across the large table.
“Hope. We’re headed north to Hope, British Columbia,” Graham said.
Dalton scanned the solemn faces around the table and tried to reassure them. “We’ll be back before long. And when we return, we’ll be ready,” Dalton vowed.
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A. R. Shaw’s titles include:
Graham’s Resolution Series
Kindle Worlds commissioned novellas
(Steven Konkoly’s Perseid Collapse Series)
Kate’s Redemption
(Blake Crouch’s Wayward Pines Series)