Backlash: Prequel to The Wildblood Series (6 page)

“It's going to be damn dark by the time we walk in,” Shan pointed out.

“There are some new houses about a mile over there,” Mac told her.  “We push this dead beast off the road in to cover, get our gear and camp there until they can send someone around in the morning.”

“Good enough,” she said, gathering her belongings.  Being situated between the Ranchlands and The Vista, they were fairly safe, but certainly stranded.

“Central Dispatch, we're going to get in cover on Aspen Park Drive until daybreak.  Put us in for a Code Fifteen then, if you would,” Mac informed Dispatch.

“First thing after curfew,” Dispatch replied.

“Let our families know we're just stuck out here, please.”

“Will do.”

It took them half an hour to get the car into the trees and hike over the hill to the line of houses being built.  A few were nearly finished and they picked one in the middle of the block.  After a quick perimeter check, they hauled their gear inside and began setting up for the night.

“Pick a room and get the windows covered,” Mac directed, finding a corner to prop an AK in.  He locked the outside door and started arranging their gear.  It would get cold overnight, but not dangerously so.  The solar disc heater would stave off the chill. 

“This one is as good as any,” she said, dropping her pack and setting her AK down while she tacked up the heavy curtains folded neatly beneath the window.  He came in behind her and closed the door.  “Did you bring anything to read?”

“Always,” he said.  They never knew when they'd need temporary entertainment.  Books were the preferred choice.  The heater would give off enough light, as well.  The radio, considering the blackout, was likely pointless but if anything happened, they needed to know.  “Hungry?” he wondered, unrolling his sleeping bag.

“I'm not.” She wasn't and wouldn't get that way until they were back in The Vista.  Wound up and ready, with no place to go.

“Don't pace, Shan.  Sit down, relax, use the few hours you get of free time.”

“Okay, Mom.  I don't like being stuck out here.”

“No shit.  I might never have known that if you didn't say so.”

“Smart ass.”  She arranged her bedroll next to his, tucking a blanket in the bottom and fluffing the small, flat pillow by beating on it.  Then she settled in, digging a book out of her pack.

“Herbert,” Mac said, revealing the author without telling her which book.

“Asimov,” she countered.

“I'll raise you a Bradbury.”

“I've got . . .” she went through the various items carefully packed away for such an emergency.  “A pack of dice, some sugar cubes.”  Shan pulled a stray book out.  “Ah-ha!  Zane Gray.”

“
Really?” Mac asked.  “Trade me.”

She passed him the paperback.  “I'm good for now.  I think this is Wade's pack, because I know I didn't pack a western.”

He smiled, getting comfortable.  “Imagine how annoyed he'll be when he starts going through your stuff.”

“Not my fault.”  She scooted down into the sleeping bag, taking off her handguns and setting them aside.  Then her boots went, followed by body armor.

“Good idea,” Mac said, discarding his.  “You can't sleep in body armor.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“No, and I'm not trying tonight.”   

“Chicken,” she said after a few moments.

“Tomorrow's going to be a damned long day.”

She smiled, setting the book aside and closing her eyes, just for a few minutes. 

When Mac woke, the room was empty.  Taking his sidearm, he quietly made his way through the house, to the porch.  He knew she wouldn't sleep well but her stealth surprised him.  “Everything all right?”

“Sure,” she answered, gazing out in to the night.  The sky, mostly clear, glittered with stars.  Shan was leaning against the porch timber, keeping under the awning, in the shadows.

“Nothing going on with Wade?”  He joined her stargazing.

“Not that I'm aware of.  Just awake.”

“You should try to get some rest.”

“We've already discussed this,” she pointed out, a bit terse.

“What aren't you telling me?”

It wasn't anger.  “Nothing.  We've had this conversation a lot the past year.  Every time we do, you forget it three days later.”  When he started to shake his head, she reached up to catch a handful of unruly hair and kissed him.  Mac leaned in, hands on her hips and drew her against him.  The kiss lingered.

“Do you think now is a good time for this?” he asked finally, out of breath.

“We have twelve hours of dark, twelve hours of curfew,” she said, knowing they'd just passed the autumn equinox.  “When are we ever going to have this much privacy again, Alex?”  Not wanting to hear an answer and not waiting for one, she kissed him again, swaying her hips against his.

“If you think I don't want you, you're wrong,” he said, voice rough.

“Don't say no, then.  Say yes and mean it.”

'This is a bad idea,” he said.  “I could name a dozen reasons.”

“Don't you dare,” she warned.  “I'm not waiting for that 'perfect time' because it's not real.  You know it, I know it, and we've both just been making excuses.”

He nodded.  “Some of them were damned good excuses.  Shannon, are you sure?”  He couldn't think of a single one.

“I've been sure for quite awhile.  I'm sure now, I'll be sure tomorrow.” 

They ended up on his bedroll, quickly discarding weapons but stripping clothes off slowly.  “This is crazy,” Mac whispered to her.

“This is the only thing the past week that isn't crazy.”

“I don't want to hurt you . . .”

“Oh, Alex,” she said, touching her fingers to his lips.  “I got thrown off a horse last winter during training and broke my wrist and cracked two ribs.  Do you really think this will bother me for more than a moment?”  Slipping her hands up under his thermal shirt distracted him enough he didn't have a coherent answer.

“Shan . . .” was all he managed.

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” she whispered in his ear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You two get the second floor dayroom,” Cmdr. Niles said, tossing a skeleton key to Mac.  “Get some sleep, you're on-call now and on-duty at 2pm.  Capt. Wade wants you at Depot South by dark.”  He was gone before either could respond.

“We are a well-traded commodity,” Shan observed.

“I think, right now, all Security Teams are.  Don't take it personal.”  Mac headed upstairs, wondering if the kitchen had anything edible.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Exactly.  Don't take it personal.”  They dropped their gear in the center of the dayroom.  Half a dozen sofas lined the walls, as Station Two had been bivouacking officers for a week.  Various pieces of equipment were scattered about, from backpacks to sidearms to a fold-up tent.  There was even a saddle in the corner, left by some unlucky rookie that got stuck on mounted patrol in the city overnight.

“Set that beeping alarm-thing-from-hell that you wear for noon,” Shan shook a blanket out.  His watch had woke them an hour before daybreak.  There were pine needles in her blanket and she had no idea how they'd gotten there.  “I want a shower, I want a decent meal.  Depot South isn't going to have either.”

“They're getting supplies, but don't expect great accommodations.”  He set the alarm, crawling onto the nearest couch.  “We will talk, Shan, when this is over.”

“I know.”

“If it needs to be said . . .”

“Yes, Alex, I'd like that.”  She curled up in her blanket, smiling.

“I love you.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I told you the depot was going to look like something the caravans had dumped out the back of a semi,” Shan acknowledged, surveying the lobby.  Same problem as the day room at Station Two, multiplied.

“We find Wade first and worry about where we sit later.”

She rolled her eyes at him and Mac smiled.  “Keep it simple,” she recited.  There was a damned good chance Wade would know what they'd been up to, the night before.  He wouldn't say anything, not right away.  He'd carefully formulate a lecture and catch them separately, off-guard.  Shan knew why and understood; it didn't mean she agreed with him.  For all the talk of being careful with their enhanced genetics, he hadn't been so careful.  Wade's son was only a few months old and she hadn't sensed anything remotely close to Gen En in him.  If they would pass their abilities on was still a mystery.

“I'll have whoever is on radio let him know we made it.”

Picking an uncluttered area not far from the side entryway,  she arranged the pile in as neat a circle as she could.  Mac popped right back out of the radio room a few moments later.  “Come on.”

“What's the plan?”  Shan followed him out through the garage.

“We're going to find out in about a minute,” Mac told her.  “From the looks of it,” he indicated a number of cars parked.  “We all get to drive tomorrow.”

“Alone?” she speculated. 

“I'd give the order.  More of us out there, trying to draw their attention away from The Vista.”

“Do we really want to challenge an attack helicopter in a car?”

Wade pulled into the drive before he could answer.  “Ask him,” Mac told her.

“Are we going to go play chicken with a helicopter tomorrow?” Shan asked, alarmed, arms crossed over her chest.

Knowing her, Wade considered how to answer that before he did.  “It's going to work for the second one just like it did the first.  We lure them out and get a clean shot.”

“Lure them out,” she repeated slowly.  “Meaning all of us.”

He nodded.

“Do I get an RPG?”

“Have you ever fired one?”  He didn't have to ask if she was qualified; he knew she wasn't.  Neither were a good half of the officers at the depot.

“Never.”

“No, you don't get one.  We can't afford a miss.”

“So if it gets on our tail, we try to out-run it?  Out-maneuver it?  I read the specs on those things and it's not going to happen.”

“I understand that,” Wade said.  “The groups running together will have at least one qualified officer with them.  All we need is a few seconds for the tracking to lock in and it's all over.”

She still looked skeptical.

“Do you trust me?”  Wade gave her the standard challenge when she was on-edge.

“Of course,” she sighed.  “You're the one that told me to question everything.  Including you.”

“Mac, you going to go out there, towards Sheridan, and help flush this thing out?”

“Hell yes.”

“Are you in, Officer Allen, or do I send you home in the morning?”

Uncrossing her arms, she put her hands on her hips.  “I thought this was a volunteer operation.”

“It is,” Wade confirmed.

“If you didn't want me out here, you'd have left me at Station Two.  You know I'm in.  Try to send me home.”  It wasn't so much of a challenge as a simple statement.

“Everyone is in debriefing as soon as curfew is called.  Then we go to work.”

“Against the curfew?” Mac asked.  “I'd get set up overnight and be ready for them at first light.  It's not as good a sneak attack as the first one, but it could work.”

“Exactly,” Wade agreed.  “Just like we already did once this week.  The bad news,” he directed at her.  “You're sitting in the radio room the first few hours.  Before daylight, we'll switch off and have Team Three out there, prowling.”

“I can do that.”

“Good.  If something happens out there, in the dark, I want you on the radio.”

“Let's do this,” Mac said, tapping his ear bud.  “Dispatch just called curfew.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Where did they go?” Lambert asked.  The road was clear.  He could see miles down the mountain and it was empty of human activity.

“Do you see any movement?” Wade asked, getting genuinely concerned about the erratic  pattern they were traveling.  The Nomads were running in circles.  They were moving on horseback cross-country, at least eight, probably more.  He was becoming convinced they knew Security was looking for them.  After all, they'd lost an entire helicopter.

“Not here,” Lambert said.  “You?”

“No, and that's a problem.  We had them fifteen minutes ago.”

“Heading west because they can't go north.”

West, Wade thought, trying to get a sense of things around him and for a moment, he had perfect control.  He could see across the valley; he could hear sounds miles away.  With all the unmarked roads and doubling back they'd done, he knew one thing for certain – the Nomads were heading towards Depot South.  They were close, if they weren't there already.  “Allen and Green,” he said.  “Respond.”  The static on his radio seemed to stretch on for a great deal of time as he waited for an answer.

“Go ahead,” Green answered, finally, after a few moments.

“You've got Nomads on your doorstep.  Get out of the depot.”  Wade knew he'd understand the order.  “Evac now, repeat, evac immediately.  Do not attempt to engage.”  There would be no response.  “All teams return to Dillon, Code Seven.”  In ten minutes, he'd know if he realized what was happening soon enough.

“Shannon!” Green yelled down the hall.  “We have company of the hostile kind.  Evac orders.” 

She met him in the main lobby.  “Evac?”

“He said 'Nomads on your doorstep'.  You know how much he doesn't exaggerate.”

“If we run and they just waltz in here, is there anything that can point them to The Vista?” she wondered, concerned about something she'd never thought of before.

“Nothing,” Green said, grabbing a pack.  “Not in any of the depots.”

There was the sound of breaking glass and a muffled thump as something broke through the window opposite the fireplace and clattered to the floor, flames spewing out.

“Fire bomb.  Basement,” he spun her around and shoved her towards the rear of the depot, knowing the other doors were likely covered by hostiles.  The sub-level had been connected to another section of the old hotel that burned years ago.   It was a hidden  exit, now.

Shan eased the outside door open, 9mm in hand, knowing he was still hurting from his rollover.  Green stood to the side, weapon drawn.  “Looks clear,” he motioned.  They both moved, low and silent, out into the shadows, fifty feet from the drive. 

It wasn't as clear as they thought.  Several riders on horseback were coming down the main road, less than a quarter mile away.  Green pointed to the tree line, just off the driveway across a short open field they cut four times a year as a firebreak.  “Do we run for it?” she whispered.