“… lay down your weapons, the armed resistance has been disbanded. We have lost our ability to fight back. For the sake of all of us, I ask that you surrender and go to the road un-armed. You will be given sanctuary; food and shelter will be provided. Our friends have guaranteed our safety. Please… this is the only way to stop the bloodshed.”
Jacob thought he recognized the voice and whispered, “He sounds familiar.”
“It’s the Vice President,” a soldier in the back uttered. “What does this mean?”
Rogers flipped off the radio. “Don’t mean nothing; we go in tomorrow.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
They stood two deep, partially concealed in the tree lines and overgrown grass. Sunlight reflected off the blued barrels of their rifles. The Darkness had them surrounded, but for some reason still hadn’t moved against them.
Clem stood on a wooden crate, observing them through a hole in the brick wall of the warehouse while the survivors had moved to the rear of the large building. The space, which looked like a loading dock, was filled with vehicles of all make and model, and had two tall overhead doors chained shut at the end of the wall. The women ran about, hurriedly packing their gear and preparing for a hasty withdrawal.
“How many?” Masterson asked. Standing just below Clem, the old soldier was pulling belts of linked ammo from his pack and prepping his machine gun for a fight.
“Got to be over a hundred of ’em.”
“And the uniformed critters?” Masterson asked.
Clem shook his head then leapt off the crate. “None yet.”
Ruth rushed up behind them, followed by a group of girls carrying large duffel bags and boxes of canned goods. She stopped beside them as the other girls continued to load the vehicles. “We’re going to break out,” she said. “If we hurry, we can make the woods before they organize. If their vehicles show up, we won’t have a chance.”
Clem watched as children were loaded into the cabs of vans and pickup trucks parked in long columns just behind the sliding doors of the warehouse. Women with worried expressions stood watch over the vehicles as the precious cargo was loaded.
“No, it won’t work,” Clem said, not taking his eyes from the vehicles.
“What choice do we have? We can’t stand against this many; they’ll have us completely blocked in soon enough.”
Clem looked down, locking eyes with Masterson, who nodded in response. “Get us someplace high; we’ll help you get past them. If you have any of those Molotovs left, we could use them.”
Ruth gazed at them and then back to the overloaded vehicles. “You don’t have to do this. We’d have a chance on the road.”
Clem shrugged. “Like you said, what choice do you have? We can cover you and fight it out on our own. Just get your people someplace safe.”
Ruth frowned and pointed to a wooden crate along the wall. “There… that’s what we have left. At the end of the room you’ll find an iron staircase; it leads to the roof.” She stepped forward and grabbed Clem in a tight-gripped bear hug. “We can’t thank you enough for this,” she whispered to him.
“Just wait for us to open fire then get them out of here. Get as far away from this place as you can,” Clem said.
She let go and gave Masterson the same kind of hug before turning away and barking orders at the girls, rushing them to finish loading. Clem watched her leave before looking over at his friend. “You ready to go to work?”
Masterson dipped his chin and lifted the heavy machine gun to his chest. “Yeah, too much estrogen in this place. Let’s get up top. I need some fresh air.”
Moving past him, Clem slapped his friend on the shoulder. They stopped at the crate, grabbing as many bottles as they could carry, before moving to the staircase. The stairs were old and screeched as they climbed them. The spots where wrought iron brackets met the brick shook and spit crumbled mortar in protest. The stairway ended at a pigeon-feces-covered exit. Clem passed through the doorway and stepped onto the roof. The perimeter of the area was lined with a three-foot-tall, red brick knee wall. In the middle, surrounded by rotting piles of leaves, empty trash cans, and liquor bottles probably left by exploring teens, stood the remains of a crumbled utility building.
Clem heard the truck engines fire up below and knew they were ready. He pointed to a section of the low wall that would be to the right of the overhead doors below. “You post up there; I’ll take the other side.”
Masterson nodded and dropped down, duck-walking to sneak into cover without the Deltas on the ground spotting them. Clem did the same by belly crawling up to the knee wall and letting the barrel of his rifle slowly move into position. He looked across the opening to Masterson and waited for the man to flash him a thumbs up before he crept his head over the ledge.
All along the front the things waited. Still standing shoulder to shoulder in some sort of wall, it would make for easy shooting. From the overhead door, a cracked and broken asphalt drive wended away before vanishing into the thick of the woods, giving the trucks a reasonable chance of escape. When he heard the engines revving below, Clem searched for targets, trying to identify a leader, or an obvious choice to kick off the attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a cluster of the Deltas charging forward. He’d waited too long, maybe it was too late.
Masterson also saw the rushing group; without hesitation, he lit the first of his Molotovs
