Overrun Page 24

  He tried to focus on what would be required of him next. Entering the armory. Wiring his next target with the explosives. Getting out alive. He went through every aspect of it. And then tried to swallow again.

  Brandon sat still on the rock next to him. He glanced up from time to time at the heightened activity they had caused within the city. For the most part, he stared past Kirken and tried to avoid his gaze.

  He held an assault weapon he had taken from a dead soldier loosely in his hand. He ran a smooth piece of cloth through the small parts of its interior. With a gentle breath, he blew away the sand that the cloth wouldn’t take away.

  There was no expression across his face. Only his slow determined strokes across the weapon reflected his rage. It was rage on the verge of being unrestrained, pressed up against a closed door waiting to be unleashed Kirken thought.

  The person in front of him was not his son, the boy he had come to know and the stepson he had grown to love. That person was gone. A victim fallen in this godforsaken war. Fierce anger, the fury they all felt, was the only thing breathing life through his body now.

  Kirken turned away trying to keep the tears threatening to fall from his eyes hidden from him within the night.

  Raindrops began to fall again from the sky. They left tiny wisps of steam that looked like small explosions when they came in contact with their metal gear. Kirken rotated his body around one last time and stared towards the armory trying to get a safe handle on his thoughts.

  Before turning back, he closed his eyes and tried to will away the rage and fear that ate away like caustic acid at what little sanity he had left in his brain. Only when his daughter was safe would he allow himself to succumb. And accept the fact that all was absolutely lost.

  "Brandon, I'm going to the armory alone," Kirken broke the silence in a determined tone. "I want you to help me transfer the rest of what you’ve got to my gear."

  Brandon lowered the rag he had been holding to the ground and without looking up began to reassemble his weapon. It made soft clicking sounds as the small parts attached themselves firmly into place.

  "There isn't much of a chance of both of us getting in there alone. Not with what we have left."

  "We’ll take from the dead anything else we’ll need," Brandon's tone sent a chill along Kirken's back.

  Brandon continued to carefully assemble his weapon and did not look up when Kirken moved to stand over him.

  "We have enough explosives for the demolition,” Brandon whispered so softly he could barely be heard. “And we can get in to do it.”

  "No. I want you to go back through the tunnels. Get your sister. We've weakened their troop placements enough. Our own will enter the city soon if they're not here already. I want you to get her and get out of town. I'll meet you when I'm through."

  Brandon still did not speak. His hands stopped moving along his weapon, and his head remained down.

  "That's not up to you to choose," Brandon spoke softly again his words becoming lost in the falling rain.

  Kirken bent over him and leaned his face in close.

  "It sure as goddamn is,” he whispered into Brandon’s ear. He could feel the muscles lining the inside of his throat shake. “It is up to me to choose. Do you got that? I want you to load up that rifle, take the supplies you can, and head out."

  Brandon stared ahead into the darkness towards the city. Flames licked occasionally across the outer rooftops from the damage they had already done. Kirken did not stand back up. He stayed crouched at Brandon’s side with his face next to his cheek.

  "She's dead you know," Brandon breathed out silently.

  "What did you say?"

  "She's dead. How can you not know that?"

  "She's not dead," Kirken stood and stepped away not entirely confident himself in what he had just said. ”She's there with the rest…"

  "No, she's dead," Brandon said. Kirken turned to face him. "Like the others you left."

  It was then Kirken felt it. Something in the back of his head. Something little just at the base of his neck. There was no noise. No pain. Just the slight sensation of whatever it was finally breaking free.

  All the rage Kirken had been struggling to hold off and keep at bay exploded through every pore and muscle of his body like a blazing fireball. In two giant strides, he covered the short distance back to Brandon and threw the full weight of his shoulders hard into the soft part of his chest.

  Their tangled bodies tumbled violently over the side of the rock. Brandon fell across his back in the dirt. His assault rifle dropped to his side. Kirken stretched his body across him and pinned his arms across his stomach.

  "You goddamn son of a bitch!" Kirken screamed at him. "You're lucky I don't do the same to you right here!"

  Brandon squirmed under him trying to throw Kirken to the side and stand up.

  Kirken tightened his grip and with every aching muscle of his body managed to maintain his hold. Brandon squirmed over onto his stomach and coughed violently at the sand entering his mouth and nose. Kirken grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pressed his face down hard into the dirt.

  "Don't you ever say that!" Kirken panted. He leaned to the side of Brandon's face until the sides of their noses almost touched. Brandon kicked up his legs still trying to throw him off. "Not ever in your goddamn life! She is not dead, because you are going to find her. You are going to find her alive! That is what you are going to do! Do you got that?!"

  Brandon's body lurched violently side to side while Kirken pressed his neck harder against the warm sandy ground. His arms and legs thrashed a few more times and became still.

  Kirken relaxed his grip slightly and slid backward. Even though Brandon’s body no longer moved, Kirken still could feel it shake slightly from the fury raging through his limbs. Kirken rolled away and finally released his hold. When he did, Brandon didn’t move immediately to get up. He remained where he was stretched across the ground.

  "Don't you ever say that," Kirken said again while he raised himself back to his feet. His voice shook when he spoke, and he fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to burst from his eyes. "Don't you ever. Goddamn you."

  Brandon rolled over and glared up at his father through the falling sting of rain. Faint crimson splotches and long broad marks appeared across his face from the searing dirt and the sizzling water dropping from the sky. His ears burned a brilliant red as he glared coldly back into Kirken’s eyes.

  Brandon stood slowly and moved away from him. Neither of them spoke. The rain started to fall harder. Brandon moved back to the rock where he had been sitting and began to gather up his gear.

  "You'll never be able to set it all up in there," Brandon said to him. "Not alone."

  Kirken didn't answer and kept his back turned while Brandon spoke.

  "I'll bring her back here," the intensity of Brandon's tone dropped somewhat. "We'll go through the tunnels until we reach the outside of town. I’ll get her settled somewhere safe, and then I'll come and…"

  "No," Kirken said facing him. "Get away from town when you get her. Don't wait. Not for anything. Get out of town and settle yourselves in a place you can stay safe and away from the troops. I'll find you when I’m through.

  “If I don't come within the week, then pack it up and move on. Get her away from this place. Get her away and don't ever look back. If I don’t come back, it is up to you to protect her. I beg you to get her out…and make her safe."

  Brandon knotted the straps around his bag and threw it across his back. He walked to the small fire they had built and ground it out with the heel of his boot. The flames rushed up and across the tip of his toes and finally fell in defeat. He kicked dirt over the ashes until their remnants were indistinguishable from the sand.

  When he was through, he turned and walked away to the side of the hill.

  Kirken picked up his glasses again and pointed them towards the armory. The air between them was quiet and still. Through the corner of his eyes, Kirke
n watched Brandon's head disappear down the side of the hill. In a moment, he was gone. The sound of rocks shifting beneath his feet also quickly faded away.

  When Kirken was left alone with his thoughts in the dark, he set his glasses down across the rock and rummaged through his own pack.

  Even with the explosives Brandon had left, there still wasn’t going to be enough. At least not enough to destroy the whole armory. There were only five complete sets of charges in all, and none of them were powerful enough to cripple the structure on its own.

  He would have to set all five. And have to live five times as long to get this impossible task done.

  Kirken gathered the rest of his weapons and gear and hauled the load across his back. He took a last look across the ruined land towards the armory and walked to the edge of the hill. Trying not to let the weight of his gear topple him from the crumbling rocks down its side, he carefully slid his way down.

  When he had reached the bottom, Brandon was already gone.

  * * *

  The rain beat itself down harder across the occupied land of Beuford. Its searing droplets splashed against her hands and legs while she ran.

  She had become less cautious and more reckless in her quest to escape the nightmare world she now lived within. She no longer feared the soldiers or gave thought to a war. She ran only to flee the visions that chased her through the streets.

  Her personal safety was no longer a concern. Leaving the city alive was not even a thought. Mel just wanted to leave everything behind and be gone…forever.

  Her mind was exhausted and her body spent from running to escape the boy she wasn’t able to protect or save. She felt his breath chase at her back and whisper accusingly in her ear.

  “I am so sorry, please forgive me,” a desperate continuous voice pleaded from somewhere deep inside her head.

  She no longer restricted her movements to dusk and the deep hours of the night. She traveled during the brightest points of the day and did not even stop when she encountered soldiers either by themselves or in larger amounts.

  She avoided the tunnels and ran openly through the streets for longer amounts of time. Her stops to hide and rest in dumpsters and deep alleys were not as frequent. And she no longer ran for cover when aircraft or vehicles approached.

  Mel's once fearful flight was now brazen and defiant.

  The J.G.U. patrols were less frequent and less concentrated the further she made her way from the center of town. She no longer saw soldiers wandering every street or lurking across every rooftop. The few that she had accidentally allowed to see her, at least up until now, had left her unharmed.

  After more than three days of less and less interrupted travel, Mel reached the J.G.U. blockade that controlled the only entrance to the city. She stopped and slid behind a parked jeep. She gazed across the battered soldier outpost disintegrating beneath the blazing sun and searched for a way to slip through.

  After more than four hours and the sun had started to set, her lips had withered and turned dry. The top of her head felt like it was on fire. Her back seared with pain every time she leaned back and accidentally touched the metal of the jeep she hid behind.

  She stared longingly at the escape the hills offered on the other side of the blockade. She prayed it was a place that her visions and spiritual tormentors would not go.

  She ducked her head when the engine of a large aircraft roared its fury overhead. Its intense sound suddenly made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Being careful not to touch its baking metal again, Mel crawled beneath the jeep and breathlessly waited for the darkness to finally come.

  Chapter 24

  It took more than six hours for Kirken to travel the two miles into town unnoticed. Like his daughter, he hid behind a sun-battered jeep and observed the J.G.U. guard stations and patrols.

  More than twenty trucks and jeeps as well as almost thirty men surrounded the entrance to the armory. Barbed wire stretched from long poles around its entire perimeter and well into the street.

  The armory, which was the central bank of Beuford up until the beginning of the war, stood alone at the center of the block. Rubble from the buildings on both its sides laid in ugly destroyed heaps in the nearby lots, structures recently obliterated to prevent access from someone jumping from a nearby rooftop.

  Sentries holding strained leashes of large attack dogs walked menacingly about the block.

  Kirken sat for hours behind the jeep and observed the building. The soldiers traveled its perimeter and manned the stilted overhead lookout towers in pairs. As they did, supply trucks drove continuous routes to the front of the building where they parked briefly while other soldiers stepped from the shadows and quickly hauled in their loads.

  Kirken strained his neck further around the end of the jeep to see that the ancient window wells to the basement were recently filled with cement. The front central entrance was the only way into the building.

  He leaned back against the jeep and waited for the sun's burning glow to leave the sky and darkness to again cover the besieged land.

  Three hours later, Kirken crammed his large frame into the stinging dirt beneath the jeep and crawled carefully to its other side. Blinking away the heated dust that tried to settle in his eyes, he stared across the street to the armory. The troop patrols had become less frequent as well as the truck routes to the front entrance.

  He dropped across the hot sand and dragged himself on his stomach to the other side of the jeep. Crawling out and leaning up against it, he dropped his pack from his shoulders and dug hurriedly through its contents.

  Methodically, he set out his remaining supplies on the ground in front of him. After running through the only plan he had in his head and matching it with the explosives lying before him, he carefully repacked everything back inside. Everything except for the five grenades he left in the sand next to him.

  With a soft click, he stuffed the last ammunition clip into his Sunszk and balanced his weight across his knees. He picked the grenades up one by one and slowly lowered them into the passenger seat. When he had set the last one down, he hauled himself quickly into the jeep's frame being careful to keep his head and shoulders down and out of sight.

  Moving awkwardly about the jeep's small interior, he pulled wires from the dashboard and used stuffing from the seat to hold the grenades along the door. He leaned over and pressed thick tape across two of them securing them along the outside frame across the fuel tank. Satisfied they were all in place, he dropped back over the side and slid away along the ground.

  Kirken crawled through the darkness and heated dirt more than four hundred feet to a nearby storefront and threw his pack inside an open doorway. He slung his rifle across his shoulder and pulled his Sunszk hand weapon from its strap. Crouching low, he ran back quickly to the grenade-wired jeep.

  By now there were even fewer soldiers guarding the entrance. Keeping his eyes centered alertly on the front of the armory and the traffic along the road, Kirken cautiously reached inside and pulled the transmission out of gear.

  With a deep nervous breath, he pushed the vehicle gently across the ground until it was less than a hundred feet from the building’s entrance. Now only two soldiers stood near its front.

  The bell tower at the top of the ancient bank moved closer to striking the hour.

  Kirken held his breath and waited.

  When the clock finally began its long gong-like cry, he inhaled again deeply and fumbled his hands inside the jeep. He jerked away the pins of the two grenades taped to the dashboard and scurried to yank the ones set in the rear.

  One came loose from the wires holding it in place and fell with a loud rattling “thunk” across the metallic floor. But Kirken was too far away to hear. He sprinted back towards the storefront window where he threw his pack.

  Before he was completely there, two soldiers appeared from around the corner of a building across the street on the other side of the jeep. Seeing Kirken, one swung his weapon from his hip and
ran after him yelling excitedly for the other to follow.

  The second soldier raised his hand to his face and spoke hurriedly into a transmitter while also giving pursuit.

  Kirken sprinted towards the storefronts away from the soldiers and jeep and hurled his body through the air towards the nearest window. His shoulder jammed hard into its thick glass obliterating it from its frame as he crashed inside. A barrage of weapons fire chased after him nipping at his feet.

  The first soldier chasing him made it to the passenger side of the jeep when the grenades transformed it into a ferocious blaze of fire. Flying debris and a sudden roaring spit of flame swallowed him in an instant making him one with the sandy terrain.

  Shrapnel ripped into the second soldier's face and chest and drenched his clothes in raging fire. Its massive force knocked him grotesquely sprawled face down across the ground. Smoking pieces of metal and wreckage protruded from beneath his shredded uniform and every area of his exposed skin.

  Kirken picked himself from the shattered glass, grabbed his pack and darted away from the storefront towards two supply trucks that had come up the street heading for the armory. Both swerved to the side of the road to avoid the flaming wreckage.

  The trucks stopped in front of the large metal gates that separated the building from the street. Their drivers glanced nervously about the flaming world around them while waiting for the soldier to open the gates ahead.

  Additional men poured from the compound towards the explosion. A squad of troops broke out through the gates past the supply trucks in an extended search formation. They yelled excitedly into transmitters in their hands and chest gear. Large searchlights were aimed out into the streets from the decks of the flatbed trucks.

  A rescue truck pulled quickly up. Two men inside doused the jeep with thick white foam. Three others jumped out and ran to what was left of the soldiers caught in the blast.

  Kirken found himself able to slip through the confusion and flames all the way to the rear of the second supply truck. Darting hands had just begun to pull open the gates, and the lead truck jerked slightly as the driver dropped it into gear.