Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) (11 page)

“I gave you 48
hours, you’ve taken 72.  Are we ready?” Chief Gladue asked the skinny GAW leader.  Lou looked on, a smirk on his face and his timber-like arms folded across his chest.  How he enjoyed watching Trevor when he was under the gun, literally.

Dressed in black jeans, heavily embroidered shirt and trademark
, black bandanna, the smaller fellow quickly removed his sunglasses before answering.  “Yup, better late than never,” he said nervously.  The young man had hoped that a bridge of friendship would soon develop between his group and the chief, but more and more he could see himself being used as a pawn in a power struggle that could one day leave him out in the cold.  Circumventing such a calamity had occupied his mind and his time, as of late, shoring up his friendships and alliances within the band.  His greatest obstacle, of course, stood before him, nearly seven feet tall and firmly aligned with Darwin.

“So, how many do we have that will fight?” Gladue asked, walking slowly around the craps table where the circle of ‘friends’ was gathered.

“131, but of those I’d say maybe 113 are reliable and can shoot straight.”  Trevor leaned over the table’s edge and churned a handful of chips with his index finger, trying to avoid eye contact with the hulking security man.

“Okay, good to know . . . good to know.  Let’s see . . . it’s ah,” Darwin hummed, looking at his watch.  “It’s about 9:30.  Why don’t
you take a handful of Braves, drive over to Banff this morning and give it a preliminary once over?  You know, see what kind of resistance we might run into and if the RCMP detachment is still functioning.”  The chief continued his stroll around the table.  Walking seemed to liberate his thoughts and intimidate his self-appointed council, just enough to keep them uncertain and edgy.

Braves
, Trevor thought, smiling at the now stacked chips.  “And if we run into trouble?”

“Let’s not stir the pot until we know what we’re dealing with, but if you encounter hostile Huskers . . . take them out.”

“No problem.  How ‘bout the police?”  Trevor casually knocked over the chips and looked for Darwin, who had stopped directly behind him.

“Yeah, we supposed to shoot it out with the Mounties?”  The less than excited
Ponyrider voiced his concern in a manner that alerted Louis to a possible dissenter among the bunch.  The giant uncrossed his arms and glanced between his boss and the GAW member in question.

Darwin noted his ‘pit bull’s’ concern and waved him off with a simple nod.  “No, I don’t want you
shootin’ up the town, at least not on this visit.  Seek out the authorities and ask for humanitarian aid.  Who knows, maybe they’ll offer all sorts of help without having to fire a shot.  Take two trucks in case you need storage space.”

“Should we suggest they’ll soon be leaving?”  The black-clad GAW leader laughed at his own remark and swung his hand up to receive a high five from his buddy, John.  The smack brought a jolt of laughter from everyone in the room, including Darwin and Lou.

“I think that better come from me,” Chief Gladue confirmed.  “I want a full report by, let’s say . . . six o’clock,” he said, again looking at his watch.

“We better get rolling if that’s the case.  You got anything else?” Trevor asked, while he and his companions swung from their seats.

“Oh, just one.  Lou is going with you.”

The suggestion, phrased as an order, did not sit well with any of the GAW leaders, but it was
Ponyrider who spoke up.  “Perfect, glad to have him along,” he said sarcastically.  Lou thumped his big fist down hard on the craps table, bounced chips to the floor and laughed, as the three smaller men jumped in surprise.

“Let’s just say, Lou will keep your excursion interesting.  Right Lou?” Darwin asked.

“You know it Chief.  Come on boys, we’ve got work to do and not many hours to get it done.”  The giant-sized bodyguard lumbered toward the door, wrapping an oversized, black leather jacket around his shoulders while balancing his fully automatic SLR.  A 20-round clip housed 7mm cartridges, somewhat different than the standard 7.62 NATO shell but in either case, they would easily take down a man at several hundred yards.  Needless to say, Lou was proficient with the weapon and not afraid to use it, on either side of the conflict.

The inn on Banff Ave was a hive of activity.  Officer Nowicki acted as a filtering station, welcoming locals into the facility and directing them to various stations.  Raven took down names, addresses, and assigned rooms with keys.  At the rear of the three-story facility, Mick welcomed vehicles loaded with provisions, clothing and weaponry.  She was the group’s quartermaster and would be responsible for keeping the collective community
stocked and running efficiently; skills any grade school teacher could handle with relative ease.

She scanned a ruled piece of paper on th
e clipboard and lightly hummed; nothing recognizable, but the noise diluted distractions and helped her focus.  “Let’s see . . . that makes about 500 pounds of food this morning and added to what came in last night, we’ve got . . . oh, about 800 total.  Not bad, if we can keep Raven out of the candy and soft drinks,” she said, smiling to herself.  Seconds later she was reminded of her job with the blast of a horn just beyond the large garage door.  Normally semi-trailers would be backed into the spot and emptied of their cargo but today pickups and minivans were doing most of the offloading.  “What you got this trip, Jim?” She hollered from the cement platform just inside the door.

“It’s getting to be pretty slim
pickin’s out there, Mick.  All we could find was some chips and a couple cases of Gatorade, but it’s better than nothing.  Oh, wait a minute I take that back . . . beef jerky.  A junky tourist spot had a box of the stuff in the back, should be good for awhile.”  Jim Burke, a retired banker, slid the items from the truck’s bed to the concrete at Mick’s feet.  He smiled and tipped his ball cap at her, pleased to see that she responded with the same courtesy.

“Thanks Jim, I think you guys can call it a day.  Last thing, did you see any Huskers?  Ziggy, I mean, Officer Nowicki will want to know.”

“Nope, not a one.  It’s like they’ve just vanished.  Maybe they’re doing the same thing we are.”  He joked, having no idea how accurate he was.

Away from the hustle and bustle occurring at both ends of the inn, the medical duo of Bobi and Hannah did health assessments and made notes for Ziggy to peruse later on.  The response they’d received from their bullhorn campaign had been swift but not near as many as they had hoped.  Perhaps this was it.  Maybe the 86 people who had arrived, thus far, were it.  The roommates found the number hard to believe, so many taken, missing or worse.  Was it possible?  Officer Nowicki and the women rightly anticipated there would be stragglers and others who, at first thought, were too scared to venture from their homes.  These unfortunate folks would
, sooner rather than later, be hunted and swarmed by dozens, if not hundreds of Huskers, desperate to fill their bellies.  Undeterred, the roommates would continue to swing through town, calling out to those who would listen, pleading sanity and reason to many who had given up and were unwilling to save themselves.

By 2:00 p.m. they buttoned down the inn, locked the doors and assigned roving, untrained security details to each floor and the main entrances.  Zygmunt stood on the roof with the four roommates, reviewing the stats and talking over the game plan going forward.  “You’re the best recruits I’ve had the privilege of ordering around in some time.  Actually feels pretty good to get something constructive done.”

“What’re our chances?” Bobi asked.  The Egyptian beauty swept back her dark hair and looked around the half-circle of friends.  Bright colored sweat pants, with PINK ironed across the butt, dragged on the ground and covered her sneakers.  She shivered slightly, a light, winter wind cooling her down and causing her teeth to chatter.  Hannah wrapped an assuring arm around Bobi and pulled her close.  A moment later the taller woman leaned over and rubbed the top of her little friend’s head with the point of her chin, eliciting a sharp elbow to Hannah’s ribs.

“Chances of what?” Raven asked, enjoying the antics of her friends.  It was something she’d missed over the past week’s rollercoaster ride of stress and death.

Bobi cocked her head, the way Pooch often did when the girls spoke to her with ‘baby-talk’.  “Really Rave?  What do you think I mean?  What are our chances of surviving this nightmare?”

Raven reached down and scratched the lab behind the ears and allowed Ziggy to answer the question.  “I think our odds are much better than they were a few days ago.  We’ve got food to last . . .
er, how long, Mick?”

“I’d say a good two weeks if we are ultra conservative.  I mean, really careful
, but we can’t starve the kids.  If there’s one thing I won’t allow, it will be withholding rations from the little ones.”  Mick was referring to the handful of small children who had made it thus far and she was determined to see them through to a brighter future.

“Agreed, don’t think there’ll be any argument there but we’ll trust you to stretch the food as long as you can.”  He paused, looked over the roof’s edge, and then down the long, straight road, which was Banff Ave.  “Pretty good view from up here.  We should be able to
spot trouble before it’s on top of us.”

“As long as it’s not at night,” Raven said, completing his thought.

“Exactly, as long as it’s not dark.”

“That’s comforting,” Bobi responded, sarcastically.

“Well, could be worse,” Hannah added, again giving Bobi a ‘noogie’. 

Mick looked at the tussling two and replied, “How so?”

Bobi and Hannah looked at each other and in unison answered, “Could be raining.”  The pair bumped hips, laughing that they’d suckered Mick into the old
Young Frankenstein
joke.

“I walked into that one, didn’t I?  It was worth it to see you two back to your old selves.”

A puzzled look captured Nowicki’s face, feeling a bit like the odd-man-out.  “Am I missing something?  It would be nasty to have it raining right now.”

“Indeed it would,” Raven offered, allowing Ziggy to remain clueless from their little inside joke.

“Well, I guess we’ll just . . . ah.  Okay, whatever . . . I can’t help but be a little pessimistic about the Huskers.  They must be massing; signs are slowing, at least at this end of town.  We know where they are and even though we’ve agreed to leave them alone, my military training keeps telling me to roll up there and wipe ‘em out.  It sickens me to think about it so I guess we’ll just hang here as long as it takes.”

“Amen, and I second that motion,” Mick said, taking a more serious tone than she had a few minutes ago.

“Especially if my dad’s in there,” Raven interjected.  The thought, repulsive, dropped her to Pooch’s side.  The chocolate lab responded with a few quick swipes of her tongue, lashing Raven across the cheek and nose.  Nowicki knelt down, faced Raven and reached out for the dog to smell, and then lick his hand.

“Raven, as hard as it would be . . . you know I’ll have to put the safety of these people above your father’s life.  If it comes down to it, and I hope it never does, the decision is already made.”

“I understand, I do . . . but I pray to God I’m not there,” Rave said, her alabaster skin turning bright pink as the breeze swirled around the rooftop.

The group of friends stayed on the roof telling jokes and enjoying a few light moments.  At 2:30 they welcomed Willie Daniels and his wife to the party.  Nowicki had been pleased to see the elk hunter show up earlier the day before and had assigned them to man the rooftop position today at 3:00 p.m. . . . they were early.  “Good to see you guys,” he said, extending his hand in a heartfelt welcome.  Names were reinforced and small talk continued until Hannah, peering down the road, shouted to alert the company.  “We’ve got visitors!  Two black vehicles rolling this way and they’re in a hurry.”

“Maybe government issue?” Willie asked, craning his neck to get a better look.

They all stared
, hoping to see a Canadian flag waving from an antennae or something that would show they were the cavalry riding in to save the day.  Mrs. Daniels remained quiet while everyone else speculated.  Bushnell binoculars extended from her face, the oculars glued to her eyes.  “They’re natives,” she said quietly, not thinking it would speak danger to anyone present.  Her insight was ignored as the others continued to watch and wait.  When they were close enough for her to see the barrels of their weapons extended from the windows, she shared her knowledge more forcefully.  “They’re natives and they’re heavily armed!”

“What?” Ziggy yelled, not expecting an answer.  He grabbed the binoculars, dragging Mrs. Daniels with them, until he gave her enough slack to pull herself free.  “Damn.  What do they want?  Girls, fetch your weapons and get your butts back up here and help Willie.  Stay low and maybe they’ll cruise by without stopping.”  He turned and ran for the stairs.

“Where you going?” Willie shouted behind him.

“To get everyone away from the front doors.  We don’t need a firefight, especially one we can’t win.”

Ziggy raced down the steps, taking them two and three at a time until he reached the main level, but the sound of squealing tires told him he was too late.  Running for all he was worth he made the foyer and saw four of the sentries, their weapons leaning against the doors and their faces pressed to the glass.  “Get back, get back . . . take cover!” They quickly did what they were told and retreated from the doorway.  A moment later two black SUV’s raced by the inn, and then, as quickly as they had passed, the vehicles screeched to a stop, backing up to idle at the curb.  “Crap.  Okay, I don’t want them coming in here so I’m gonna have to take the conversation to them.  If they start anything, do your best to stay hidden and shoot from cover.  Don’t expose yourselves and keep this place locked down, and above all . . . don’t shoot me.  Am I clear?”