Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller) Read online

  “We’re almost out of water again,” Harris said quietly.

  “This is worse than I thought,” Charlize said. She looked back to the woman and her child, noting the red blotches on the boy’s head. The baby was sick, and as Charlize looked around the room, she saw nurses and doctors dabbing the fevered foreheads of other sick people.

  Charlize realized that this wasn’t merely civilian housing as she’d originally thought. “This isn’t the barracks, is it?”

  “No, this is our medical wing,” Harris replied. “I thought I’d show you the worst place first.”

  A young nurse hurried past them, her eyes glassy and hard as though she’d seen too many horrors to process. Someone nearby was vomiting, and the sound of it nearly made Charlize retch.

  “This is…dear God. I had no idea things were this bad.”

  Harris clasped his hands behind his back and jerked his head at the other soldiers. They began to work their way back toward the first hangar, where Albert was checking with the FEMA staff.

  “Frankly, I’m just glad you had the guts to come out here and see for yourself. Most politicians would be hiding in their bunkers instead of‌—‌”

  Before he could finish his sentence, an air raid siren wailed. Unlike the gunfire earlier, the siren got Harris’s attention. His eyes flitted to the balding lieutenant that had been shadowing them.

  “Get me a SITREP, Washington,” Harris said.

  The lieutenant took off running for the hangar just as Albert jogged over with a hand on the grip of his holstered pistol. “What’s going on?” he shouted.

  “Not sure,” Harris said. “But my team won’t sound the alarm unless it’s a level 2 threat or higher. My guess is someone made it through the barricades or cut through a fence. They won’t get far.”

  The captain led them back to the EOC, standing in the open doorway to look out over the room. The staff and soldiers were scrambling. Lieutenant Washington conferred with a woman wearing a headset, and then ran back over to them a moment later. Charlize felt the tingle of adrenaline, wondering if she had made a major mistake coming here and leaving Ty.

  “Sir, we have a riot at gates nineteen and twenty,” Washington said. “This one looks coordinated.”

  Harris cursed. “Stay here, Secretary Montgomery. I’m going to have a look from the rooftop.”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlize replied. “I’m coming with you.”

  Albert snorted, but the man knew better to argue with her.

  “Suit yourself,” Harris said.

  Albert and Charlize followed Harris toward a door across the room. Harris opened it and began jogging up a spiral staircase to the top of the building. Several snipers were already set up, their eyes pressed to their scopes and their barrels angled out over the survival center. Smoke from multiple fires rose across the Charlotte skyline.

  “You wanted to see things firsthand,” Harris said. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and handed them to Charlize. “Welcome to the front lines of the second Civil War, ma’am.”

  General Dan Fenix slammed down his empty beer can. They were down to their last case, but at least the snow kept it cold. There wasn’t much more that he hated in life than a warm brew. Well, besides that bitch Montgomery and the redskin that had murdered a dozen of his men at the Castle.

  “Carson, get me another one,” Fenix snapped. He tossed the can at the soldier’s boots, frustrated, tired, and bored.

  Carson put on a stocking cap over his shaved head and then opened the door of the small cabin, letting in a flood of light and chilled air. Fenix squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes.

  The Sons of Liberty, or what was left of them, were camped out on the border of Rocky Mountain National Park. The abandoned cabins were in good shape, considering their age. The Civilian Conservation Corps had built them ninety years ago. Fenix appreciated the craftsmanship those men had put into their work. Once his army was back on their feet, he’d follow in President Roosevelt’s footsteps and put together his own New Deal to rebuild Colorado. It was part of his long-term plan‌—‌a plan that was currently derailed because of a damn redskin asshole.

  Son of a bitch. I still can’t believe that fucker killed so many of my men.

  Fenix rose up from his chair and walked across the creaky floorboards to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he looked out over the camp. Several soldiers stood guard in white coats, disguised against the snowy landscape. A single pickup truck was parked under a metal shed along with several motorcycles. They’d lost most of the heavy vehicles during the assault.

  The camp was isolated, easily defended, and remote. The nearby pines provided plenty of cover from the sky. It was the perfect fallback point for the Sons of Liberty to regroup and plan their next move. For now, Fenix was lying low and waiting for his scouts to come back with intel. For their sakes, they’d better get back with good news before the beer ran out.

  Montgomery would come for him, and when she did, he would be ready. Anger seethed just below his skin. The attack on the Castle had set him back considerably. They’d lost two-thirds of their working vehicles, half of their supplies, and fifty men. They were running out of food, and they couldn’t risk fires for fear of giving their location away.

  Fortunately, Fenix had other camps throughout Colorado and allies across state lines that would come to his aid. That was the benefit of being part of a brotherhood of like-minded patriots. As long as his heart continued to pump blood through his veins, he would fight for the America he believed in‌—‌one that aligned with the values of the Aryan Nation.

  First, he needed a win‌—‌a major victory for morale. His men were hungry and cold. If they sat around here much longer, they might start getting ideas. The worst thing was when men had too much time to think. They needed something to do‌—‌something fun‌—‌while they waited for the scouts to return.

  The door to the cabin opened, and Carson ducked inside with the cold beer. He held it out, but Fenix shook his head.

  “Save it for later,” he said reluctantly. He ran a hand through his thick hair and then put on his baseball cap. He squeezed past Carson and walked out into the crisp mountain air. Every soldier turned to look at him.

  Spreading his arms wide, Fenix yelled, “You boys ready for a hunt?”

  “Yes sir!” chanted his men.

  A grin spread across Fenix’s face. “Whoever brings me the Injun Spears gets all the beer they can drink!”

  RAVEN PUSHED THE binoculars to his eyes. A tide of refugees slowly advanced toward the barricades on Mary’s Lake Road. Colton had arrived on his black horse, and several other newly-minted officers were running toward the refugees, including Dale Jackson.

  “That’s a lot of mouths to feed,” Raven muttered. He counted two dozen people on his first pass, and another group was rounding the corner near the junkyard on the southern edge of town.

  How the hell did they get past the roadblocks on Highway 7?

  Raven answered his own question with a quick glance. The roadblocks were meant to stop vehicles, not foot traffic. It also explained why it had taken them so long to get here. He moved positions on the concrete landing to look for more refugees. For several days the town had been waiting in anticipation for these people, but now that they were at the doorsteps of Estes Park, Raven found himself surprisingly calm. Zooming in with his binos, he watched from above.

  “Scouts would have caught these people,” Raven grumbled. “Guess I got to do everything myself.”

  He cursed when he saw another small group emerge to the south. Colton didn’t have enough spotters to keep everyone from getting through the security net, and this time an entire crowd had slipped through. At least the Crow’s Nest had an aerial view of most of the valley. If Raven hadn’t seen them and sent up a flare, these people would have walked right into town.

  He centered his binoculars on the throng of civilians, zooming in on their weapons. Some of the men had rifles slung over their s
houlders, while others carried pistols. There were children and women in the group, which told him these weren’t raiders. Still, he kept the flare gun at his side, just in case.

  Creek looked up and licked a snowflake off his black muzzle. He wagged his tail, anxious to know what was going on.

  “Stay put, boy,” Raven whispered.

  Colton walked over to talk to the group as the rest of the Estes Park police directed their rifles at the newcomers. The refugees kept their weapons lowered or holstered. Raven could imagine what was being said below. These people would have to be vetted, and most of them would be turned away and told to go to the FEMA camp outside of Loveland. Colton had already planned to send armed and mounted escorts down Highway 34 with any refugees they turned away.

  It was a good plan, but most of these people weren’t going to like it. Chances were they’d already been to the FEMA camp, especially if they were coming from the south like the couple Raven and Lindsey had met on Highway 7 last week.

  He lowered his binos. Colton appeared to have the situation under control. Creek followed him toward the railing overlooking Lake Estes and the eastern edge of town. Highways 34 and 36 ran parallel to the lake. There were roadblocks set up in multiple locations along both of them, but Raven could only see the one on the southern side of Lake Estes. Several officers and volunteers manned the post. The rest had all taken off to meet the refugees on Mary’s Lake Road.

  A single vehicle was chugging along the street. He zoomed in on The Swag Wagon. Behind the wheel of the VW van sat Don Aragon, everyone’s favorite police officer. Raven still wasn’t sure why Colton hadn’t stripped the man of his badge. He was a liability‌—‌and an asshole.

  Strength in numbers, Raven reminded himself. Still, something felt off. Don suddenly slowed and parked the van. Someone else jumped inside, and Don pushed back down on the gas. Raven couldn’t see who Don had picked up, but he could see they weren’t in any race to get to the refugees. The van drove slowly, like Don wasn’t in any hurry, or was perhaps trying to kill time...but why?

  Raven began to cross back to the landing overlooking the south when a distant gunshot halted him mid-stride. He whirled back to the eastern railing. The echo quickly faded away as Raven searched the terrain for any sign of the shooter. He looked toward Lake Estes and glimpsed motion on Highway 36. Bringing his binos back up, he focused on a Toyota pickup truck racing toward the barrier Don had abandoned ten minutes earlier.

  A man in the bed of the truck directed a rifle at the roadblock. Raven zoomed in just as the gun cracked to life. Bullets lanced into the car and RV positioned behind the concrete blocks set up at the barrier. Raven flinched as an Estes Park officer was caught in the fire, a round punching through his neck. The man slumped to the ground, dead.

  He reached for the strap of his own rifle, but stopped. There was no way he could get a shot from this far out. Instead, he could only watch in horror as the man in the back of the pickup truck continued firing on the roadblock.

  A second Estes Park officer popped up to fire. His body slumped a moment later. The third defender fired a shotgun blast that hit the grill of the pickup truck. The driver stopped, but the shooter in the back kept firing. The bullets hit the third Estes Park police officer in the arm, spinning him around. He crashed to the ground and crawled to safety just as another volley of bullets punched into the concrete.

  The refugees had been a distraction, Raven realized, just like the burning of the Stanley Hotel. He had to get down there and help fight the raiders.

  He put the binos back in their pouch and whistled at Creek. He couldn’t just stand by and watch as officers and volunteers were gunned down. After firing off two flares into the sky, Raven grabbed his gear and ran toward his horse. He quickly untied the tether, jumped on the saddle, and gave Willow a nudge.

  “Time to fly, girl,” he said.

  Colton craned his neck to the east. The blood pulsing through his veins seemed to ice at the sound of gunshots. He unclipped the walkie-talkie on his ballistic vest and brought it to his lips.

  “Margaret, this is Marcus, do you copy, over.”

  A scratchy response came from the speakers. “Roger, Chief.”

  “I’ve got gunfire coming from somewhere near Lake Estes,” he replied as calmly as possible. “You hear anything about what’s going on out there?”

  “Negative, sir, but I’ll check. Stand by.”

  “Where the hell is Don? He should be here by now,” Colton said.

  “On his way, should be to your location shortly.”

  Colton looked at the refugees waiting on the other side of the roadblock. There were fourteen of them, dressed in filthy clothing, faces smudged with dirt and ash. Kids, adults, even a couple of elderly folks. None of them said a word. Their hopeful eyes were all focused on Colton.

  Detective Lindsey Plymouth looked over at him, waiting for orders. There were a dozen other officers and volunteers already here, including Dale, all of them with their guns pointed at the refugees. A single flinch could start a firefight neither side could afford. Quick decisions were the only thing that was going to keep the people of Estes Park alive now.

  “Drop your weapons, all of you,” Colton said to the refugees. He nodded at Plymouth. “No one leaves. I’m heading east to see what the hell is going on.”

  He slung his AR-15 over his back and jogged away from the barricade toward the approaching Volkswagen van. Lindsey disarmed the men and women on the other side of the roadblock with Dale’s help. The other volunteer Estes Park officers kept their rifles shouldered.

  Colton waved at the van, and Don brought the ancient rust bucket to a stop, sticking his head out the open driver’s window. Officer Sam Hines and Detective Tim Ryburn were in the back of the van, their hands resting on their weapons.

  “Where you going in such a hurry, Marcus?”

  Colton pointed toward Lake Estes. “You didn’t hear the gunfire?”

  “Gunfire?” Don looked over his shoulder as Colton jumped into the passenger seat.

  “There’s some sort of an attack on the east side of town,” Colton said. “Punch it!”

  Don twisted the wheel to perform a U-turn.

  The van screeched back to the north and Colton turned back to the front. Townsfolk were already running down the streets, away from the gunfire.

  “We’re not ready for this,” Colton said. All he could think was how stupid he’d been. He should have listened to Raven and sent out scouts. At least they would have had a warning.

  Colton could only pray this wasn’t a coordinated attack from the raiders who’d been hitting towns along the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. He would know in a few minutes. In the meantime he pulled out his Colt .45 and thumbed back the hammer. He already knew the weapon was loaded. The AR-15 next to him was also charged with a full magazine of 5.56 mm rounds. If it came down to it, he would use his bare hands to protect his wife and daughter.

  “Chief, you got any idea what’s going on?” asked Hines.

  “Are we under attack?” Ryburn asked.

  Colton spat out the open window and then said, “Get ready for a fight.” He looked up at the Crow’s Nest as they passed Prospect Mountain. Raven was nowhere in sight‌—‌another bad sign. If he’d abandoned his post, then they were really in trouble.

  “Don, who’d you leave on 36?” Colton asked.

  The patrol sergeant stroked his mustache nervously. “John Palmer, Mike Evans, and Alex Stokes.” He put his other hand back on the wheel. “You think those refugees on Mary’s Lake Road were a distraction to get us to take men off that barricade?”

  “My gut says yes.” Colton dragged his sleeve across his mouth.

  Hines palmed a magazine into his rifle. “That barricade is the last defense before town.”

  Don’s eyes flitted from the road to the rear review mirror, sweat dripping down his forehead.

  “You told me to pull everyone else and send ’em to Mary’s Lake Road,” Don said. After
a beat, he added, “Just like you said to send everyone to the Stanley when it was on fire.”

  Colton could feel Hines and Ryburn looking at him from the back seat, but he didn’t reply. Despite counting to ten in his head, and employing every other trick to remain calm, Colton felt like his heart was going to break through his ribcage.

  Had he been tricked again?

  He cursed under his breath as the van sped through town toward Lake Estes. Another flurry of gunshots rang out in the distance.

  “That’s automatic fire,” Don said.

  Rayburn pumped a shell into his shotgun. “Holy shit. Who the hell has automatic weapons?”

  Colton waved out the window at a group of civilians standing on the streets, looking east.

  “Get inside!” he shouted.

  They passed several more groups of people clustered in the middle of Elkhorn Avenue. A crowd had formed in Bond Park, where Mayor Gail Andrews had set up a soup kitchen. She was standing outside town hall with Tom Feagen, both of them looking toward the lake.

  Colton grabbed his AR-15 as they sped toward St. Vrain Avenue on the south side of Lake Estes. The roadblock was just ahead. Colton spotted a hand, palm up, lying beyond the barricade. There were casualties, but he couldn’t tell yet if it was his men or the raiders.

  “Get the medical pack ready,” he said. As they rounded the barricade, his heart sank. Evans, Stokes, and Palmer were all sprawled on the road, none of them moving, a river of blood flowing freely from their bullet-riddled bodies.

  Colton brought his rifle up and scanned the roads and terrain for any sign of the raiders, but they were long gone. Don eased off the gas and rolled to a stop behind the barriers. The police officers all jumped out and bolted for the fallen officers.

  “Oh shit, oh God, oh...” Don was muttering as he knelt beside Evans. Ryburn and Hines rolled Stokes over, revealing four red spots on his chest. A few feet away, Palmer lay on his stomach halfway under one of the cars making up the barricade. The volunteer firefighter jerked as Colton approached.