Текст книги "State of Pursuit"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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I slip a little further along the wooded territory line, dropping down. I scan the field, searching for any enemy that might be lurking in the grass. It’s clear. We’re safe, and we’re close to their position. Very close.

I see the ditch where they are hiding. They’re idiots. Stupid tactics. There’s nobody guarding their flanks. They’re wide open to an attack. An enfilade, Chris would call it. I check the area one more time. All clear. My men see the opening, too.

“Okay, boys,” I say, “Finish this.”

In the next minute, we blow through ammunition in a vicious, overwhelming barrage of fire. There is screaming as the men in the ditch twist and fall, dead. Our bullets tear through their line of defense. I pop a red flare to signal Derek. He gives three blasts on his field whistle and his men stop firing.

“Skirmish line!” I yell.

I walk, reload, fire, reload and fire again. My teams spread out beside me, and together we finish off the rest of the enemy combatants in the ditch. They don’t have a chance.

They are dead. All of them.

I choke on a shaky breath, gasping for air. Sweat sticks my uniform to my skin. I stop and look at the bloody carnage around me. I am horrified. How did I get to this place? How did this happen to me? How did I become such a killer?

My men are silent, checking their weapons, looking around them. I know what they’re thinking. The same thing I’m thinking.

We have changed. All of us. We’re not mere civilian survivors anymore.

“Good job,” I say. “Now sweep through this and secure it. Do a search.”

They stand around me, looking at me in a way that they’ve never looked at me before. Maybe they’re just as horrified by what I’m doing as I am. Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t recognize myself anymore.

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Move it,” I mutter.

I turn away. I know that they can see the tears streaming down my face, but I don’t care. If I didn’t cry for this, I would be afraid that I’d lost all sense of humanity.

I slowly lower myself down, sliding on mud and grime. I crouch near the first dead figure. It’s one of the men that I shot. There’s a hole in the dead center of his head. I shudder, disgusted, and turn him onto his back. His entire body is clothed in black. His hands and fingers are wrapped in strips of black cloth. A black bandana is tied around his forehead. The only visible piece of flesh is the skin around his eyes – tiny slits on his facemask. I pull the facemask off. He’s an average looking man. Maybe thirty years old. Uriah, Manny, Vera and Derek arrive at the scene, checking the perimeter.

In all, there are eighteen enemy ambushers.

“Who are these people?” Derek asks, kneeling next to me. “They’re not Omega, and they’re not militia.”

“They’re rogue,” I shrug. “They probably wanted to steal our gear.”

“Or they’re mercenaries,” Vera states.

I bite my lip. It’s possible.

“Search their uniforms for any kind of identification,” I say.

My dad used to call this pocket litter. Clues to someone’s identification. I go through the dead man’s pockets, unbutton his jacket and search the lining. Nothing. There aren’t even clothing tags. Everything is clean. No clues whatsoever.

“I don’t like this,” Andrew murmurs. He’s sitting on the edge of the ditch, staring at the militiamen searching the bodies. “People have lost their minds.”

I take the gun off the dead man’s shoulder and unbuckle his ammo belt. I remove the ammunition and weapons, sorting through the valuable items – and the items that we don’t have room to carry.

“We can’t find anything,” Vera reports. “They’re clean.”

“What’s the age demographic?” I ask.

“Twenties to mid-thirties. No women. They’re all in good shape, too.”

“You might be right. Mercenaries.”

Andrew stands up. “Which means they were working for Omega,” he says. “And when they don’t report back, they’ll send out a search party, find their dead bodies, and then they’ll start tracking us.”

“Then we should get moving,” Manny suggests. “This isn’t the most relaxing rest stop I’ve ever taken, anyway.”

“We have to hide the bodies,” Vera tells me. “They’ll find them eventually, but if we make them search, that’s extra time that we can buy ourselves to hit Los Angeles before Omega starts looking for us.”

“Good plan,” I approve. “Let’s move.”

The militiamen find a spot in the woods that could pass for a pit. With the manpower of twenty-five, the eighteen dead men are moved into the hole and covered with leaves and shrubbery. Under normal circumstances, I would suggest that we burn the bodies. Leaving them to rot in the woods is morbid – and I don’t believe that it’s humane, even if these people were trying to kill us. But we don’t have the time. So we remove traces of our presence in the woods and backtrack to the ditch, clearing away brass and footprints. By the time we’re finished with it, no one would be able to tell that there was a firefight here. Not unless they were looking really hard and they knew what to look for.

“Okay, we’re good,” I say. “Nice work, boys.”

The words taste bitter in my mouth. Congratulating people for hiding dead bodies is not something I thought I’d be doing. Ever.

“The horses have been tended to,” Manny announces as we walk towards the woods again, “but they’re jumpy from the gunfire.”

“They’ll get used to it if they hang around us,” I say.

“True story,” Uriah comments.

“A little gunfire now and then builds character,” Manny adds.

I laugh. It feels good, considering what a depressing night it’s been.

“Shall we move on, my girl?” Manny asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

I want to get as far away from here as possible.

Chapter Six

The next morning, exhausted, we stop and rest the horses again. I stroke Katana’s nose, fighting tears. How many militiamen died last night? Three. Good men and women, volunteer soldiers just trying to do what’s right and defend the things they believed in. They were under my command. I’m responsible for their deaths…aren’t I?

I press my cheek against Katana’s neck and stifle a sob.

I can’t let anyone see me cry. Not now.

So I take a deep breath, blink back the tears, and try to force it out of my head. Someday, when this nightmare is over, I’ll be able to stop and let the emotions roll in – if I’m not an emotional zombie by that point. But today is not that day.

Vera walks around the front of Katana and stands there in silence. I don’t look at her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says suddenly. Harshly.

I stare at her. My eyes are red.

“It was,” I reply. “They were my men.”

She crosses her arms.

“We all volunteered for this, and we all know it’s a suicide mission,” she continues. “You’re the one who keeps pointing that out. For the love of God, Cassidy, just do your job.”

She exhales rapidly – as if she were holding her breath for the entire conversation – and stalks off. I blink a few times and smile. Bewildered? Yes. Confused about her intentions? Sure. But she has a point.

This is a suicide mission.

These militiamen and woman are here voluntarily.

If people die, it is not entirely my fault, is it? It’s horrible, yes, but it’s the price of war. The price of fighting for something you really believe in. The ultimate sacrifice.

The realization that I must carry their deaths as a burden for the rest of my life is harrowing. The price of leadership.

I close my eyes and scratch Katana behind her ear.

“We’ll make it through this,” I whisper.

She shakes her head, nickering. I laugh.

“You doing okay over here?” Manny asks. “I could have sworn you were talking to yourself.”

“I was talking to the horse. Remember, I’m a horse whisperer.”

“Ah, yes,” he says. “A woman of many talents. I remember.” He pauses and assesses Katana. “Your horse likes you.”

“I get along well with animals.”

“So I noticed. But what about people?”

“I can take them or leave them.”

Manny’s weathered, wrinkled face dissolves into an amused grin.

“I’ve often felt the same way, my girl,” he says, “but in the end, it’s not animals or trees or the universe we’re fighting for. It’s people.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“People aren’t all that bad,” he counters.

“I beg to differ. Omega is nothing but a bunch of people, and they suck.”

He laughs.

“That, my girl, is the truth,” he says. “We should talk more often. Your philosophy is entertaining.”

“No more entertaining than yours.”

“Oh, now I could debate that. The things that I’ve seen—”

“—Are probably things we never want to hear about,” Uriah interrupts. His National Guard baseball cap is pulled low over his black hair. His left cheek is scraped up. He looks at me. It’s an intense gaze – then again, when is it not with Uriah? “How far are we from the perimeter of the city?”

Manny answers, “Two days. Maybe three. Depends on if we get caught in any more firefights. Those always stretch the arrival time.” He winks. “What I’m more worried about is Mad Monk Territory.”

“Excuse me…what?” I demand.

“Didn’t Arlene mention it to you?”

“I think I would remember that.”

“It’s in a fifteen mile stretch of territory before the city,” he says. “A religious order of monks took over the area. They were driven out of the city by Omega, and since Omega doesn’t take kindly to any religious groups of any kind…well, they’re living in the mountains.”

“Omega doesn’t take kindly to anything,” Uriah says. “Why do they call it Mad Monk Territory?”

“It might be because of the murders.” Manny reaches in his back pocket, and pulls out his ever-faithful flask. I was beginning to think he’d lost it. “Dozens of survivors leaving Los Angeles have been found dead on the trails. They say it’s because the monks went mad.” He shrugs. “More likely than not, they’re just a little bit…stir crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound like religious monks to me,” I state, tracing the knife on my belt with my finger. “It sounds like a gang. Can we bypass the territory?”

“Not unless you want to add another week to our trip.”

“Screw that,” Uriah comments. “We need to get to L.A. now.”

Manny pulls a map out of his saddlebag. He folds it in half and points to a stretch of mountainside about thirty miles outside of Los Angeles.

“This is Mad Monk Territory,” he says. “Chances are, we’ll be able to go straight through it and we won’t have a problem. But…on the off chance that we do run into some crazies…” he lifts the map up. “We’ll be in big trouble.”

“We know how to handle trouble. Besides, we don’t have a choice,” I say. “Chris can only survive interrogation for so long. We’ve got a deadline to keep.”

“If we want to get to the city in under a week we have to,” Uriah agrees.

“Excuse me.” Andrew has worked his way through the mass of horses and militiamen. His dark sunglasses are hiding his eyes. Three radios are strapped to his belt. Our radioman, ever exceptional and alert. “I’ve heard a lot of talk about the Mad Monks on the Underground radio over the last few days, and we do not want to run into these people.”

“What have you heard, Andrew?” I ask.

“Civilian victims and Omega soldiers have been found in pieces,” he answers. “Omega, militia, civilian. They’re not showing any preference. They’re just killing randomly.”

“Why doesn’t Omega just take them out?” Vera says.

“They don’t have the time or the resources,” I reply. “Besides, what would Omega want with miles of dry brush and grass? It’s not their number one priority.” I look at Andrew again. “What else do you know about them?”

“We don’t know that they’re really monks.” He cracks a smile. “They dress the part. Robes and hoods and shaved heads, but other than that, all I know is that they like to kill things.”

“Sounds like an urban cult,” I remark. “There was a gang called the Metro Monks when I lived in Culver City. They were always a big problem for the Los Angeles Police Department. My dad used to talk about them a lot.”

“It could be an offshoot of the same gang,” Uriah suggests.

“It wouldn’t surprise me. Even the criminals left Los Angeles when Omega came. They’re locked outside, too.”

I look between Manny, Uriah and Andrew.

“What do you guys think we should do?” I say.

I need all the advice I can get.

“I say we risk it,” Uriah replies. “We’re in this to get Chris Young back, and if we bypass the territory, this operation will take a week longer than we planned and he could be dead. That defeats the mission.”

“But we can’t accomplish the mission if we’re dead,” Vera adds, flat.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Uriah answers.

“It’s not like we couldn’t take the Monks in a fight,” Andrew adds. “We could. It’s just the possibility of casualties. That weakens our chances of success.”

“That’s how we live our lives anymore,” I point out. “We go through. Any objections?”

Silence. Good.

Mad Monk Territory, here we come.

Chapter Seven

“I don’t get it,” I told Chris. “How come you know so much about me, but I don’t know anything about you?”

He settled against a tree. The memory is still clear, despite the fact that it happened nearly a year ago.

“Don’t look at me,” Chris said. “You’re the one who likes to figure things out.”

“And you don’t?” I stopped to retie the laces on my boots. “I just don’t know a lot about you. I mean, I know where you come from and who your parents are…but I don’t really know you.”

“What do you want to know, Cassie?" he chuckled.

“All of your dark secrets.”

“Ah, but those are mine.”

“One of these days…” I trailed off, watching the sunrise on the horizon. It was beautiful. One of the few moments of peace we’d had in weeks. “I just want to know who you are,” I muttered.

That’s all I wanted.

It’s all I still want. There are so many questions about Chris Young that have always been left unanswered. As a twenty-eight-year-old Navy SEAL, his world experience has always been far advanced in comparison to mine. What made him such a good leader?

I don’t know. I don’t have the answer to anything these days.

Mad Monk Territory isn’t as scary as I thought it would be. The mountains are beautiful, rolling. Nothing here has been burned or decimated by Omega forces. Nature is still intact. We’ve been riding for hours, and I hate to admit that I’m sore. My hips, legs and lower back are strained from maintaining a position in Katana’s saddle for such long periods at a time.

I’m not the only one who’s feeling battered, either.

My militiamen are used to constant movement, hiking, climbing, and sneaking around. Sitting on a horse is a whole new ballgame. It hurts.

“We’ve got another full day before we hit Los Angeles,” Uriah says. “I suggest that we camp for the night and travel the rest of the way tomorrow. The horses need to rest.”

I keep my eyes on the trail, thinking.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to camp in this area,” I reply.

“There’s been no sign of hostile activity yet.”

“Exactly. Yet.” I shake my head. “We’ll scout for a good area to camp when we’re out of here.”

Uriah doesn’t continue to press me, but I can tell that he disagrees. He’s probably sore, too. But I don’t want to be ambushed by psychos. That would put a serious cramp in my style. We’ve already had enough surprises on this mission, anyway. I’m not up for any more.

As night falls, we rest the horses, feed them, and give them water. We eat a small meal ourselves – enough to keep us moving – and mount up again. In the darkness, we have to move slower. We don’t want our horses to trip on rocks or ledges. They’re not invincible anymore than we are, and we have to keep a sharp eye out for them.

“Oh, my God!” Vera gasps. She pulls back on the reins of her horse, coming to a halt. “Up ahead!”

It’s difficult to discern shapes and sounds in the darkness, but when I concentrate, I can see what she’s looking at. Dozens of poles have been pounded into the ground up ahead. They’re staked on top of a hill.

“What is it?” I breathe.

“People.” Vera doesn’t mince words. “Look harder.”

I have keen eyesight, and the closer I look, the more I see. Dead bodies are tied to the poles. They’re not very old, either. Clothing, hair and flesh are still intact.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” Uriah says.

“No argument there,” I reply.

I swallow a lump in my throat. Seeing dead bodies is nothing new to me at this point. But this isn’t simple shock. This is sadism. We dig our heels into the sides of our horses and move away from the hill. My heart beats faster.

I don’t want to die like that.

I have to live. I have to get to Chris…

And then something happens that I have never seen before. A silent bolt of light flies through the air and hits the side of the trail. The grass ignites, creating a tiny fire. Manny slaps his horse’s side.

“Ride!” he yells.

More fiery bolts slice through the air. What are they? They’re silent. They don’t explode upon impact, either. I hunker down and hold on tight to Katana, shouting orders to my men.

That’s when I realize that the bolts are arrows.

Mad Monks!

What is terrifying about this attack is that there is no noise. No yelling, no gunfire, no explosions, no vehicles. Nothing but the pounding of hooves against dirt and the occasional thud as a militiaman is knocked off his horse. Up ahead, Uriah is struck by a flaming arrow. He loses his balance and falls off Mach’s back, slamming against the dirt. He tumbles a few feet and then drops again, rolling. His coat is on fire.

My militiamen whirl around on their horses and return to help the fallen militiamen. I raise my rifle to my shoulder and snapshot a few rounds into the grass, following the trail of the arrows.

Uriah continues to roll. He tears off the jacket and throws it to the ground, crawling closer to his horse – which has now taken off into the night, spooked.

I pull back on Katana’s reins. I reach my hand out for Uriah. He grabs my wrist and swings himself behind me, gripping my waist. I spur Katana forward. We keep our bodies close to the saddle, trying to avoid making ourselves an easy target. But there is nowhere to go. There is nothing but open fields in every direction. No woods. No cover. And there are at least twenty figures emerging from the shadows. They’re silent as cats – and so are their weapons.

This isn’t the kind of warfare I’m used to.

“Whoa!” I scream, pulling Katana back. A group of men with bows drawn and silver arrowheads gleaming against the moonlight is blocking the trail up ahead. A ring of men is closing in around us. The horses rear up. Flaming arrows plunge through the sky, into the ground, forming a fiery ring around us. Uriah shouts, but I can’t make out what he says over the sound of the horses whinnying and snorting.

The monks – or whatever they are – approach us. Uriah draws his handgun and the bows come up. I stay his hand.

“Don’t,” I say.

He slowly holsters the gun, wincing in pain.

The monks close in. They’re wearing beaten clothing, long robes over combat fatigues and shirts. They carry bows. A quiver of arrows rests across their backs. I notice that they all sport the same shaved hairstyle. But they are not armed only with arrows. They’ve got guns, too.

“Do we run for it?” Vera hisses. Her horse is spinning around, rearing up. “Cassidy?”

No. Running for it would be…inadvisable.

Someone will be sacrificed in the process. I share a glance with Manny. He shakes his head. It’s no good. We’re boxed in. We’ve been trapped by the same techniques that we use on Omega.

“Who trespasses on this holy land?”

A particularly tall, dark-skinned monk yells at us. Two white, vertical streaks are painted under his eyes.

I shout, “Travelers! We’re just passing through.”

“What is your purpose?”

“We’re going into the city!”

“The City of Angels?” The tall monk pulls his hood back, revealing a scarred face. “It is now nothing more than the City of Demons. This is the first I’ve heard of anyone attempting to get into the city.”

“We have our reasons,” Vera snaps.

The fire is still crackling around us. The monks stand their ground. But the horses have calmed down a bit, and I am resting on Katana’s saddle, making eye contact with the tall monk.

“Are you Omega?” he asks.

“No.”

“Are you thieves or vandals?”

“We’re with the National Guard.”

The tall monk regards me with a look of total skepticism.

“Are you in charge here?” he says.

“Yes.” I look around the circle again, consciously checking to make sure all of my men are here. “Look, we’re not here to fight with you. We just want to get to the city.”

“What’s in the city that’s so important?”

I don’t answer his question. Instead I say,

“We have business there.”

He studies our uniforms.

“You’re not dressed like mercenaries,” he states.

“That’s because we’re not,” I reply. “We’re militia. We were with the National Guard, and we’re on a special mission into Los Angeles. Please, just let us go.”

The monk strokes his chin. He looks thoughtful.

“Your name?” he asks.

“I’m Commander Hart,” I answer. “We’re enemies of Omega, and if you are with them, you are our enemies, too.”

His lips twitch.

“Father.” A tall, thin Monk emerges from the circle of hooded men and approaches the man that I have been talking to. “This woman, she may be of the prophecy.”

Vera’s mouth drops. I give her a fierce warning look:

Say nothing. Let them be crazy.

“She is of the Guard, and she is traveling into the City of Demons,” the thin man continues. He is staring at me with electric, nearly possessed eyes. “Am I wrong, Father?”

“You are not wrong,” Father replies. A new emotion lights his features: curiosity? Amazement? I’m not sure. “And her hair…is flaming.”

I self-consciously touch the ends of my curly red hair.

Yes. Flaming. Whatever.

“Tell me, Commander,” Father says, “Do you go into the City of Demons to destroy the evil ones who infect our home?”

I blink. And then,

“Yes.”

I don’t even have to look at Vera to know that her mouth is still hanging open.

“If this is true, and you are of the prophecy, any enemies of Omega are friends of mine,” he replies. “I am called Father Kareem, and these are my men. We are the Monks of the Order of the Arrow.”

“What’s with the robes and the flaming arrows?” Uriah demands, keeping one arm around my waist.

“We are the true monks,” Father Kareem says calmly.

And apparently that’s supposed to explain everything.

“How far are we from the city limits?”

“Not far,” Father Kareem replies. “This is our territory, though. We can take you where you need to go, on the condition that you are discreet and pay proper homage to the Order.”

He smiles slightly.

Father Kareem gestures to the horses. “These are magnificent beasts,” he remarks.

I can’t disagree with that.

“So. Father Kareem,” Manny says, “can we get a move-on here? We’re on a tight schedule. Lives hang in the balance.”

If Father Kareem is annoyed with Manny’s bluntness, he doesn’t show it.

“Lives are always in the balance,” he says.

“We need to get to Toluca Lake,” I tell him. “Do you know the way?”

“I do.” He gestures to his men. They lower their bows and arrows. “We’ll be there by morning.”

I close my eyes for a brief second and thank God.

The monks are not our enemies.

For now.