Judgment Day -03 Read online

  “Plenty for your dog, too,” he said, smiling.

  While the food certainly smelled delicious, Mason couldn’t afford the delay.

  “I appreciate the offer. Unfortunately, I need to get out ahead of those I’m after. It looks like my best bet is to cut them off at Richmond Hill.”

  Judge Sterling’s face filled with concern.

  “Don’t do that, Marshal.”

  Dean and Colton both shook their heads as well.

  “No, sir,” said Colton. “You want to stay clear of Richmond Hill. We know. We were there.”

  “What’s wrong with Richmond Hill?”

  “That place has been completely overrun by survivors of the pox. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of them by now.”

  “They came down from Savannah,” added Dean.

  Mason was confused. “I hate to state the obvious, but aren’t you three—”

  “They’re not like us, Marshal,” the judge said. “These people are something else. Not fully human anymore, I think.”

  “How’s that even possible?”

  “I don’t really know. Some of us who caught the pox stayed pretty much the same, save for these damned eyes and stiff joints. But others...”

  “Others, what?”

  “Well, they changed. They grew bigger, stronger. And their minds changed too. They can’t think straight any more. Worst of all, they developed an intense hatred for anyone who wasn’t infected.”

  “The pox drove them crazy?”

  “Not just crazy. They’ve lost some intelligence along the way. They can’t drive cars or operate any kind of technology. Oh, they can do simple things, but not like before.”

  “They’re like Neanderthals,” added Colton. “Big, stupid beasts that only want to tear you apart.”

  “Did they try to kill you too?” asked Mason.

  “No,” the judge said, shaking his head. “Even though we didn’t change like they did, they never held that against us.”

  “Not yet, anyway,” added Dean.

  “Then why did you come out here and set up this camp?”

  The judge looked over his shoulder at the long row of tents and RVs.

  “That’s a fair question. The truth is we couldn’t stand to watch their brutality any longer. It was horrifying to witness. We weren’t strong enough to stop them, so we did the only thing we could—we left.”

  Mason nodded. What they told him seemed to reconcile with his experience with Erik, the infected man who had come to his aid in Boone, and the stories that others had told him about the berserker violence they had witnessed.

  Judge Sterling’s face grew long and serious.

  “Please, Marshal, listen to us about this. Steer clear of Richmond Hill.”

  Mason met the man’s eyes but said nothing.

  The judge frowned. “You’re going there anyway, aren’t you?”

  Mason nodded. “Richmond Hill is my best chance. If I don’t stop them there, I’m not sure which direction they’ll turn. So, yes, that’s where I’ll make my stand.”

  Judge Sterling sighed. “Okay, but for God’s sake, get out before dark.”

  “I’ll try.” Mason nodded to each man. “I’d best be on my way.”

  “Before you hurry off,” said Dean, “let me get your dog a treat.” He wheeled around and hurried back to one of the tents. When he returned, he was carrying a large bone. There was still plenty of bloody meat attached to it, as well as a little fur.

  Bowie’s eyes grew wide, and he gave a little bark. Dean held out the bone, but before taking it, Bowie looked up at Mason. He nodded, and the big dog leaped forward, snatching the bone from Dean’s hand.

  “You got yourself a fine animal there,” said Judge Sterling.

  Mason patted Bowie on the side as the dog began tearing off snippets of flesh from the bone.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Mason found the outskirts of Richmond Hill to be as deserted as nearly every other small town in America. There was an outdoor shopping center to his left that had its windows smashed, and a mom-and-pop store on his right that advertised the best boiled peanuts in all of Georgia. Up ahead was a sign for a Motel 6 and, beyond that, a Burger King. Contrary to Judge Sterling’s warning, he saw no signs of murderous crazies roaming the streets.

  He pulled over and stopped at the on-ramp to I-95. Almost directly above him were two three-lane overpasses, one traveling south, the other north. He smiled. The overpasses presented an opportunity to disrupt Nakai’s plans.

  He climbed out and dug through the supplies in the bed of his truck, finally finding a box of ten-penny nails. The three-inch nails were the perfect size for what he had in mind, long enough to get the job done and still easy enough to be worked with pliers. He knelt down and dumped a small pile of the nails on the concrete beside his truck. Bowie sniffed them and then looked up at him.

  “Just watch.”

  Using a pair of heavy pliers, he bent two nails, each into ninety-degree angles. Overlapping them, he twisted the nails around one other until the four tips pointed off at orthogonal angles. Then he clipped the head of each nail. He picked up the four-pronged spike and touched the tips with his finger. Not perfect, but sharp enough.

  Working as fast as he could, he repeated the process a couple dozen more times. When he had finished, he tossed the pliers into the back of the truck and scooped up a large handful of the improvised caltrops.

  “Come on,” he said, turning and running up the on-ramp.

  Bowie tore after him, barking as he ran.

  When he got to the top of the ramp, Mason saw that a Greyhound bus had jackknifed and tipped over, and was now leaning on the edge of the overpass. The bus was wedged against the concrete barrier, and Mason doubted that it could be moved by anything smaller than a bulldozer. A dozen cars from the other two lanes had been pushed out of the way to form a narrow passageway across the overpass. Nakai’s convoy would have to squeeze between the bus and cars, making it an ideal choke point. Rather than simply tossing the caltrops on the open pavement, Mason moved from one side of the road to the other, carefully placing them like candles on a birthday cake.

  He stepped back and studied the trap. The caltrops were all but invisible when standing more than a few feet away. Getting past them would require careful clearing of the road—a time consuming process that would probably have to be conducted on hands and knees. Moving the cars or bus would be even more difficult, and the heavily congested ramps on and off the interstate would prevent the convoy from taking a detour.

  Mason grinned with satisfaction. The trap wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty darned good.

  Mason lay flat on his belly, peeking out from the tree line on the opposite side of the interstate. Pine cones poked into his side, and the occasional bug crawled along his legs as nature reminded him that he was not entirely welcome. Bowie leaned up against him, snoring softly. The convoy had taken nearly an hour to arrive, and that was about fifty-nine minutes longer than the dog’s attention span.

  Bowie finally stirred when he heard the tractor-trailers’ engines groaning as the trucks powered up the steep incline leading to the Richmond Hill overpass. Two things had changed since Mason had last seen the procession. The entire convoy was now traveling more tightly together, keeping their heavy weapons closer to the payload. And the HMMWVs had shifted so that there were now three at the rear of the convoy and just one at the front. Mason suspected the shift in position was due to Nakai worrying about him coming up from behind. As luck would have it, both changes worked in Mason’s favor.

  The lead HMMWV rolled across the overpass, followed closely by the first tractor-trailer. To Mason’s surprise, the HMMWV rolled right over the area where the caltrops had been placed without even slowing. The tractor-trailer, however, was not as fortunate. The front right tire blew first, followed by the left a couple seconds later, pitching the nose of the truck down toward the road. The drive
r locked up his brakes and skidded sideways into the bus that leaned against the edge of the overpass. The rest of the convoy ground to a stop, and two dozen armed men scrambled from their vehicles.

  Mason smiled. The ferocious lion had been stopped with nothing more than a tiny thorn.

  Even before the tractor-trailer’s tires blew, Nakai knew that something was wrong. The two men left behind had yet to return. Their orders had been simple enough. Catch, question, and kill their pursuer, and then use an abandoned vehicle to return to the convoy. That had not happened. Normally, he would have left them with a radio, but instinct told him not to risk anyone gaining access to their communications. He had to assume that the man following them had somehow managed to kill the two soldiers. He also had to assume that whatever those men knew, his pursuer also now knew.

  Nakai and Jeb both stepped from the lead HMMWV and walked cautiously back toward the crippled truck. Two soldiers were climbing down from the cab with AK-47s.

  Nakai motioned for Jeb to go on ahead.

  “Check the road.”

  Jeb nodded and continued across the overpass.

  Nakai squatted down and studied the truck’s left tire. He worked out a twisted piece of metal from the tread and studied it. Two nails carefully bent together, their heads removed. This was no accident. It was a trap.

  He didn’t need to tell his men to prepare for an assault. They were already doing so. Soldiers manned the two .50 caliber machine guns, rotating them to get maximum coverage of the area. The rest of his men were taking up defensive positions behind the interstate’s concrete barriers and the armored doors of the HMMWVs.

  Within seconds, Jeb hurried back across the overpass, carrying another of the improvised caltrops.

  “We got trouble,” he said, tossing the twisted nail to Nakai.

  “Yes,” he answered, standing back up. “The question is what kind?”

  “If this is the same man who’s following us, he’s a soldier, someone trained in improvised weapons.”

  “So it seems.”

  “The nails won’t hurt the HMMWVs’ honeycomb tires, but the trucks can’t cross until we clear this bridge.”

  Nakai took a moment to consider their predicament. The lead tractor-trailer would be a pain to move now that it had collided with the side of the Greyhound. Crumpled metal had a way of grabbing hold of everything it came into contact with.

  “Transfer the cargo to the other trucks. Then get this one pulled out of the way,” he said. “Once that’s done, sweep the overpass. And let’s be quick about it.”

  “It’ll be dark by the time we finish.”

  Nakai nodded. He didn’t like being caught in the open at night, but he didn’t see a way out of it. Whoever had set the trap had done so with careful deliberation. His goal had been to slow them down, and that was exactly what he had accomplished.

  “Have the men set up a perimeter on this side of the overpass. It looks like we’re going to be here for the night.”

  “Roger that,” Jeb said, turning to leave.

  “One more thing.”

  Jeb looked back over his shoulder.

  “Sweep the tree line on each side of the road. A quarter-mile each way.”

  “You think he’s close?”

  Nakai squinted, scanning the trees.

  “I do.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Tanner darted through the trees, his body stinging from a dozen small burns from where the cattle prod had touched him. When he was about a hundred feet in, he cut left and sprinted up a steep slope, heading in Samantha’s direction. About halfway up, he nearly barreled into her as she came stumbling down the hill, rifle in hand.

  “Come on!” he said, turning to his right and running deeper into the forest.

  They ran for nearly ten straight minutes, weaving through the thick maze of trees and brush. When they finally stopped, both were panting heavily.

  “Rest,” he said, gasping for breath. He turned to face the way they had come, bracing himself against the trunk of an oak tree.

  Samantha dropped to her knees and then toppled back onto the seat of her pants, landing in a thick pile of leaves.

  “Anyone... following... us?” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath.

  Tanner could no longer hear the motorcycles, nor could he see anyone coming through the trees.

  “I think we’re clear.”

  “Good.” She stretched out her legs and laid the rifle across them.

  Tanner waited several more minutes before allowing himself to relax. When he was finally certain that they had made a clean getaway, he moved over and flopped down next to her.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For what you did back there. You saved my life.”

  She looked down at the rifle.

  “Do you think I killed them?”

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  “I don’t think my mom would want me shooting people.”

  He shrugged. “Most mothers want their kids to do whatever it takes to stay alive. Is yours different?”

  She shook her head.

  “I want to tell you something,” he said.

  She let her eyes slowly drift his direction.

  “What?”

  “I’m not one to blow sunshine up your skirt. You know that, right?”

  She squinted at him. “I have no idea what you just said.”

  He smiled. “I’m saying I don’t give out meaningless praise.”

  “So?”

  “So, you should believe me when I say that you’re something special.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Scared as you were, you fired four shots at moving targets probably a hundred yards away. And from what I saw, you didn’t miss a single one. That’s grade-A sniper material in the making.”

  She managed a little smile, but tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.

  “I don’t want to shoot anyone else.”

  He put his arm around her.

  “I don’t want for you to either. But what we want to do, and what we have to do, are often two different things. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “The next time I’m being pulled asunder, I expect to hear your rifle.”

  “Asunder?” She grinned, wiping at the tears. “New word?”

  He smiled and pulled her close.

  “I try.”

  They held one another for a long time. When Samantha finally sat up, she seemed better.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Now we assess and survive. Just like every other day.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking around at the forest. “Where do we start?”

  “We start with what we have.”

  “All I’ve got is this.” She held up her rifle. “And it only has one bullet left.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any spare rounds in your pocket?”

  “Nope,” she said, patting her pants. “Too bad you lost your shotgun.”

  “I’ve got something better,” he said, pulling out a folding knife, equipped with a three-inch blade and titanium frame.

  She looked at it with skepticism.

  “That’s better than a shotgun?”

  “When you’re stuck in the wilderness, it is.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “Tell me something. What can you do with a gun?”

  “Kill things, of course.”

  “Anything else?”

  She thought for a moment.

  “No, I don’t guess so.”

  “Exactly.” He flipped open the blade, and it made a metallic click. “A knife, on the other hand, can save your life in all kinds of ways.”

  “Like how?”

  “You’ll see. I bet I’ll use it half a dozen times before the sun comes up.”

  She took a moment to study the knife, trying to d
ecide whether it was indeed the miracle tool he professed it to be.

  “Even so, we don’t have any food or water. Or even blankets to stay warm.”

  “Nope,” he said with a big smile. “It’s all gone.”