The Valley: A Lee Harden Novel, page 38
When Lee said “I have one word for you,” Sam knew exactly what he had to do.
Because there was only one thing to do when Lee shouted “Artichoke!”
Sam dropped. Just ripped his own legs out from under him and dropped hard to the floor.
And then everything was screaming and gunfire.
The second Sam’s chest dropped away from Lee’s reticle, he broke the trigger. The rifle was zeroed for 100 yards, and it was point of aim, point of impact. The bullet struck Horner right in the sternum and sent the man staggering back.
At the same instant, the head of the man behind the machine gun snapped to the right in a puff of pink.
Lee perceived two things: The shape of Marie and Jones whipping around that corner, about to come up on the window; and inside that window, a man in a black hoodie, raising a heavily modified AK.
Porky, Lee recognized him the instant before he pumped three shots into him, hitting him center mass. He pulled his finger off the trigger just as the head of both Jones and Marie rose up and filled the frame of the window.
“Moving to the front door!” Lee shouted, keying his comms as he did and hauling his creaking, aching body off the floor of the stables. He could hear Marie and Jones’s rifles pounding the interior of that room, and he hoped that if they didn’t hear his shout, they’d at least hear it on the comms.
He registered Abe coming around the far side of the empty grain silo with a full head of steam, angling to meet Lee at the front door.
A clatter of unsuppressed gunfire came from inside the house, and Marie dropped out of the window as chunks of wood came flying off the sill and sparking off the M60 that still hung in the window. For a single, terrible stride, Lee thought she’d been hit.
Jones sidestepped to the right of the window, but kept his rifle firing as he moved.
Marie hit the ground on one knee, already swapping magazines.
Relief. Then refocusing.
Abe reached the front porch first, vaulting the steps in a single bound and not even pausing before he rammed the door with a front kick, sending it crashing open on its stoppers.
Lee also took the steps in one jump, but considerably less gracefully. He needed to get to Abe. He needed to cover his back…
Past Abe, a body went toppling into the foyer, and Abe held up right there at the doorstep just long enough to fire three more rounds into the body as it fell, and for Lee to reach his back. His rifle in a high ready, Lee smacked Abe’s shoulder with his support hand and they exploded through the door as one.
Abe hooked right—into the room where Sam was.
Lee hooked left, covering Abe’s back, and was immediately confronted with a gawky kid that couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. That was all Lee really registered about him—those big, scared eyes. Boyish, pink lips parted in a gape, pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing in a twiggy neck.
And the pump shotgun in his hands. Which he then put to his shoulder as his eyes connected with Lee’s.
Lee was already on him. Had been on him well before the kid even realized he was there. He had enough time to consider yelling at him to drop it. But not enough time to actually say it. Just a single microsecond of tired regret. Then two rounds to the chest, and two more to the neck and face as he crumpled.
Lee took two strides into the room, sweeping it from left to right as the kid’s body hit the ground and the shotgun clattered across stone floors. He knew the layout of the house from being in it earlier, knew this was a sitting room with two chairs. He moved to check behind the chairs, registering Marie’s voice shouting, “Coming in the front!”
No one behind the chairs.
Lee stepped to the kid’s body on the way out. The shot to the face had struck the kid’s cheek bone, and wherever it had gone after that hadn’t been enough to offer an instant death. The kid blinked rapidly at the ceiling and issued a long, breathy groan.
Lee moved his muzzle to the kid’s forehead. The eyes didn’t track it. They weren’t even seeing anything. They stopped blinking. The groan ran out of air. The chest didn’t move again.
Lee felt momentarily grateful not to have to put him out of his misery.
He kept moving, back into the foyer, falling in behind Marie and Jones.
Marie went straight into the living room where Abe was standing over Sam, but with his rifle covering the downed bodies. Jones had his rifle oriented down the hall that led from the foyer to the back of the house. “One runner!” he shot over his shoulder at Lee. “I tagged him twice, but he squirted out the back!”
Lee held him up by his drag strap. “Hold that hall. Security!”
Only when Marie and Lee flowed into the living room to begin their security sweep did Abe raise his rifle into a high ready and knelt down over Sam, shaking him by the shoulder. “Sam! You good? You okay?”
There were four dead bodies, if you counted the one that had fallen in the foyer. Lee kicked the rifle out of that one’s grip, then nudged it over so it was on its back. He was gone. Lee stepped over him and went straight to the body in the center of the room.
Colin Horner lay there, curled on his left side, his back to Lee. He spotted the revolver Horner had been holding to Sam’s head, down by the man’s boots.
“Two down,” Marie noted as she swept over the other two bodies.
As Lee reached Horner, he saw the shoulders shake and a thin wheezy noise came out of the man. Lee booted the revolver and sent it spinning over towards Sam, who was saying, “I’m good, I’m good,” in a surprisingly steady voice as Abe ran his hands briskly over Sam’s body, checking him for holes anyway.
“Got a live one,” Lee called out as he stopped over Horner’s form. It figured he’d still be alive. He could see the hole in Horner’s chest. Right through the sternum. And yet, it had apparently missed the man’s heart. Perhaps an abnormally small target?
Horner’s eyes were open. And he was very much awake. Very much seeing everything.
As Lee leaned over him, those pale blue eyes shot up and instantly filled with a hate so venomous that Lee was surprised the dying bastard had the energy to be that pissed.
“You!” Horner managed to wheeze, a spot of blood tinging his lips, staining his teeth.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Lee said. He glanced up at Jones, still holding coverage on that hallway. “Marie, get with Jones. Clear the back and exterior.” As he said it, his eyes ranged across all of the dead bodies and realized that Bran was not among them.
It was Bran that had run.
Horner tried to say something, but it was garbled by too much blood in his throat. Sounded like a phlegmy old man. He choked and spluttered.
Marie met up with Jones and they proceeded down the hall.
Horner kept spluttering until he hacked up a big wad of blood and spat it onto the stones near his face. Then he turned those cold, hateful eyes on Lee again. “Fuck you, you bastard.”
Lee shook his head. “I told you this shit was gonna happen, Horner. I warned you, in no uncertain terms. Remember that? I gave you a chance. And you threw it in my face.”
“Lee.”
He glanced over. Found Sam in a sitting position, rubbing his wrists where raw indents in his skin showed where the restraints had been. Sam’s expression was calm. “Just put him down.”
Lee squinted at his friend, so glad to find him alive and whole that he wasn’t even irritated with being called out. “Sam. I’m allowed to talk to anyone I put a bullet into. It’s my kill to reconcile with.”
Sam gave only the slightest shrug. Abe took him under the arm and helped him to his feet.
Lee looked back at Horner. “Just trying to give you an opportunity to admit you were wrong. Confession, Horner. It’s good for the soul. And you got a lot to confess, and not much time to do it in. But I’m listening, if you want it.”
Horner’s skin, which had turned waxy, suddenly went livid. The cords in his neck stood out as he jutted his face up at Lee, his bloody lips trembling, a vein protruding under one eye.
“Fuck…you…”
And then Horner seemed surprised by some internal sensation, gave a little twitch, and went out like a light.
Lee sighed and shrugged at the body. “Well. I offered.”
“Contact!” Marie suddenly hissed over the comms. “Multiple contacts at the gate!”
Chapter 38
Abe immediately spun towards the window and dropped to a knee, settling the foregrip of his rifle on the sill. Lee moved to his side and snatched up the M60, casting a hasty glance over it to assess its condition. He’d seen a few rounds strike it, but nothing looked busted, and it still had a bit of ammunition belt left.
“Talk to me,” Lee growled as he went down on both knees, his slung rifle and grenade launcher clattering against the floor as he shouldered the M60.
He hadn’t transmitted—had been speaking to Abe, who was peering through his scope in the direction of the gate—but it was Marie that answered.
“I count at least a dozen, maybe more. Not primals. Looks like people with guns.”
What the hell was this about? Lee checked the machine gun’s chamber, then slapped the cover down over it again. Had Horner concealed a backup contingent of fighters from them? And where in the hell had he come up with another dozen guys? Lee hadn’t seen that many when he’d first been to the ranch, and he’d seen nothing during the last hours of recon to make him believe there was another force hiding out here…
Just as Lee shifted the machine gun to point at the gate, and settled his cheek against the buttstock to aim, Abe’s voice came from beside him, as well as over the comms.
“Hold fire! Hold fire!”
“What’ve you got, Abe?” Lee strained out, seeing nothing past the iron sights of the machine gun but shadowy movement, barely illuminated by the glow of firelight from the outbuilding Marie had blown to bits near the gate.
Again, Abe transmitted his answer for Marie and Jones’s benefit: “Everyone hold what you got and stay hidden. But I think…I’m pretty sure they’re from the Redoubt.”
Lee jerked his head to Abe, who glanced at him over his scope and offered a facial shrug.
“You recognize any of them?” Lee demanded.
“Hard to be positive, but I think so,” Abe said, refocusing on his aim.
Lee pulled back from the M60, thinking fast. What did this mean? Just because they might be from the Redoubt—might be—didn’t mean they were gonna be friendly. But then he wasn’t going to just mow them down without knowing.
Which meant someone was going to have to make contact.
“Shit and fuck,” Lee grumbled, lowering the M60 back to the ground. “You got a good bead on ‘em?”
“Yeah, I got you covered if it breaks bad.”
Lee stood up, M32 heavy on his back, rifle heavy on his front. God, he hated hanging his ass out like this, but that was the problem with trying to operate in these strange times, while maintaining some semblance of humanity. You had to take risks. You had to trust your superior training and abilities, and the abilities of your team, and give people a chance.
Would it be easier to shoot first and ask questions later? It certainly would be. And it’d keep you safe. But what would you lose?
Something that was so hard to get back, Lee had long ago decided he’d never risk losing it again.
At some point in time, when you were in the shit for six years straight, you had to make a decision: Risk your life, or risk your soul.
“Sam,” Lee said, pointing himself for the front door. “Get on that M60. Just in case.” Then he transmitted as he stalked through the foyer. “If shit breaks bad, we’re falling back. Regroup at that copse of trees to the east. Y’all copy?”
He got four acknowledgements as he stepped through the front door.
The figures now slinking cautiously through the destruction around the gate must’ve seen him. Someone let out a holler and everyone stopped where they were, rifles training on Lee. Ironically, several must’ve been the rifles that he’d given them.
“Hold fire!” Lee bellowed, raising both of his hands as he stepped to the edge of the porch. “Friendly! Friendly!” Then he discretely touched off his PTT again. “Abe, standard duress.”
Not one of Jones’s crazy scenario games—no, this one they’d trained for since the beginning, because they used it so often. When making contact with an unknown force, they tried to always have someone on overwatch. The visual signal was for the person making contact to rub the back of their head. Then the shooting would start.
“Who is that?” a voice yelled out, more or less in front of Lee. He was pretty sure it was the man standing front and center while his comrades spread out behind him.
“It’s Jackson,” Lee called back, taking the steps slowly. “There’s no hostiles in the area. Only me and my team. Friendlies.”
“Lee,” Jones murmured in his ear, as though to correct him. “We’ve got no idea where Bran went. He might still be in here with us.”
Lee sighed inwardly, but there was nothing to do about it. His boots hit the dirt of the ranch yard and he kept going at a steady, slow pace. So did the leader from the Redoubt. They slowed, each basing their pace off the other, until they came to a natural stop, about fifteen yards apart.
Lee recognized him, but couldn’t remember his name. Just one of the younger guys from the settlement that Lee remembered had a wife and two kids. Which meant it would really suck if Lee had to rub the back of his head.
The guy still had his rifle up, but he wasn’t actively aiming at Lee anymore, just kind of pointing it in his direction. Which Lee still wasn’t a huge fan of. He nodded, still keeping his hands up. “I’m not pointing my gun at you, how about you not point yours at me?”
In the moonlight, Lee saw the man’s eyes jag over Lee’s shoulder. “Oh, I think you got some guns on me,” he noted, spotting the two figures in the window of the ranch house—Abe on the rifle, and Sam on the machine gun.
“Well, I wasn’t real sure what the mood was going to be,” Lee admitted. “Are we going to be cool with each other?”
The man considered Lee for a few beats, then lowered his rifle. “We came for Bea and Ted. Were almost here when we heard the shooting start. Ran here as fast as we could.” Something wrenched his face. “What…what happened? Are they okay?”
Rather than answer, Lee cast his gaze around to the other figures now inching closer. They’d lowered their rifles too, and relaxed their postures. The worst of the tension had gone out of the moment. Everyone was still cautious, but no one was actively waiting for a gunfight to start.
Back to the man in front of him. “I apologize,” Lee said. “Can you refresh me on your name?”
“Gary,” the man said, cautiously.
Lee nodded. “Gary, I’ve got bad news.”
Gary’s shoulders drooped. “Shit.”
“They killed Ted.”
Gary glanced away. In the glimmer of firelight on the side of the man’s face, Lee could see his jaw muscles pulsing. “Who killed him?”
“Kat.”
Gary made a harsh, scoffing noise. “You mean Horner, then.”
Lee shook his head. “No, Kat did it all on her own. It’s…complicated. And Horner’s dead.”
Gary’s eyes snapped back to Lee. “You killed him?”
Lee nodded.
“What about Bea?”
“Lander Hollis took her.”
Gary’s shoulders tensed up again. “She’s still alive? Where’d they take her?”
“I don’t know where they took her. Wherever Lander Hollis and his primals make their home.”
“The Town,” Gary said, with confidence. Then repeated, “Is she still alive?”
Lee gave a minimal shrug. “I can’t say for certain she is, Gary. But given what I know about what Lander wants her for, I’d assume she is.”
“Christ,” Gary seethed, looking away again. “He’s gonna try to…?”
Lee just nodded again.
“Shit.” Gary stood there for a long moment, Lee watching him, and wondering what was going through his head. Then: “What are you gonna do about it?”
A small part of Lee wanted to be incredulous with this question—What am I going to do about it? When did it become my problem? But that initial instinct proved itself to be false, and Lee knew it. It’d become his problem when he’d offered these people help. He’d linked his fate to theirs.
And what of the question itself? What was Lee going to do about this?
Nothing. Cut your losses. This entire valley is a deathtrap. You got Sam. Count your blessings and get gone. Move on to some other area that’s maybe just a little less fucked up.
That was the smart thing to do. The tactical thing. Because you don’t risk an entire team for one, low-value hostage.
But who gets to decide a person’s value? What metric do you employ to figure that one out? And here were a dozen people who clearly saw Bea as valuable enough to risk their lives for.
Lee gave a long, grating sigh, then turned and looked behind him. Abe, now watching over his scope. And Sam beside him, with the machine gun tilted back so the barrel pointed at the sky.
“Goddammit,” Lee muttered. Glanced back at Gary. “Hold that thought.” Then he started walking back towards the ranch house, keying his comms as he went. “Alright, y’all. Bring it in. Team meeting.”
The other four met him on the front porch. Marie and Jones gave the gaggle of armed civilians a good looking over, then focused themselves on Lee. Something in the set of their faces told Lee that they already knew what this was about.
But really, Lee didn’t need to speak to anyone but Sam. So he looked straight at the young man and lowered his chin. “Sam, these folks are here for Bea. The guy I was talking to, Gary, says Lander and his so-called family hole up in the Town. That’s probably where Bea’s at. Surrounded by a whole helluva lot of primals.” Lee paused for a slow breath. “And they wanna know what we’re planning to do.”
There must’ve been something in the air that night, because any other time there would have been a big discussion, and everyone would have laid out their opinions, liberally sprinkled with their grievances. Lee’d been through it so many times, he almost didn’t even need to talk to them to know what they were going to say.
