Strain Page 10

  They’d walked into a trap.

  “What is it? Why are they shooting?” Rhys rubbed his shoulder, and Darius slid a glance further down the wall to where Houtman had hit the ground at the first shot. He wasn’t sure which was worse: Houtman’s cowardice or Rhys’s brave but ill-advised attempt to find a better vantage point from which to aim his assault rifle against the surprise attackers.

  Xolani cut off the question with a gesture, closing her eyes. Darius watched her lips move as she counted the number of different weapons pinning them down by sound. Darius did likewise.

  “Six,” she said. Darius nodded, his own count matching. “Maybe eight. No less than five. The way they’re burning through ammo, unless they’re exceptionally well provisioned, they can’t keep up this rate of fire for long.”

  “Idiots.” Darius could tell by his tone that Kaleo was rolling his eyes. “They’d be better off handing those munitions over to us.”

  “We’ll try to get their attention again once they stop playing cowboy.” Darius peered around the corner again, trying to avoid making a target of his head, to get a fix on which windows the shots were coming from. “Have some rations. We could be sitting here a while, might as well eat lunch. After that, we’ll give them two chances to surrender. If they don’t, there’s nothing we can do for them.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Rhys dug through his pack. Darius was pleased to see he was finally nibbling on some jerky and not just handfuls of nuts and hard bread.

  “It’s a colony,” Toby answered, passing out some of the apples they’d found the day before. Darius bit into his, savoring its tartness as he listened to his people explain the situation to Rhys. That they were bothering to help the boy understand was a good sign about how they felt regarding his addition to the team. “That’s what we call it when enough survivors band together with sufficient firepower to effectively defend themselves in a secure and well-provisioned position. Unfortunately, a lot of them are survivalist types. Anarchists. Doomsday preppers. Religious zealots. Paranoid fanatics. They’ve been entrenched so long they think they’re the only ones left. Anyone else who comes along must be hostile or dangerous. They don’t want rescue.”

  “Explains why we’ve found no revs in this town.” Jamie examined a hole in his sleeve where the first bullet had come way too close. Fortunately, there was no blood. Darius would hate to have to sideline him. “They’ve been patrolling.”

  “Can’t we just leave them?” Rhys asked.

  Bailey shook his head. “Not while they’re shooting at us. Unfortunately, we may just have to kill them to get them to stop.”

  Xolani grimaced, mirroring Darius’s annoyance. “Fucking waste.”

  The gunfire tapered to an occasional smatter as they ate and eventually halted altogether. Gripping his weapon, Darius crept as close to the corner as he dared.

  After drawing a deep breath, he began to shout. “Attention, survivors, this is Sergeant First Class Darius Murrell, commanding a squadron from Delta Company, 1st Juggernaut Battalion, formerly of the US Army. We are not infected. Repeat: we are not infected. Surrender and lay down your arms so we may approach to discuss your reintegration into the general population—”

  Gunfire began again with renewed fury. Chips of brick erupted from the corner of the building that sheltered him, thanks to a bullet that came uncomfortably close to his head.

  “Shit!” Darius wiped at a wet sting half an inch below his eye, nerves all over the rest of his face complaining about the scouring hail of brick residue. His fingers came away smeared with blood. “Idiots could’ve blinded me.”

  Xolani dug in her pack and crab-walked forward. She glued the edges of the cut together and slapped a bandage over it with little fanfare while Darius hissed from the sting. She met Darius’s eyes, and he gave a grim nod, assenting without words to the requisite change in command.

  Xolani raised her voice so they could hear her at the far end of the line. “Okay, people, you know the drill. This is my operation now. Darius will hang back with the recruits and maintain a distance of no less than twenty yards from any survivors we recover.”

  Darius glared at a divot a shotgun blast had torn in the sod, disgusted with the entire fucking debacle. Beached for a fucking little scrape. Sucking it up, he gestured Rhys and Houtman back with a jerk of his head. “Into the corner. Go.”

  Rhys looked surprised at this development and Houtman derisive. Darius could see the question sprouting on Rhys’s lips and answered before it could form. “Standard procedure when one of us is wounded, no matter how minor. We don’t want to take a chance that the wound will open or begin bleeding in proximity to a civilian and infect them with Beta.”

  A moment later the gunfire tapered off again, though this time Darius had no hope that it was due to a lack of ammunition. This colony was too well outfitted for that.

  “Clear out from under the second-story windows,” Xolani ordered, and everyone backed away from the wall, retreating further down the barricaded alley while trying to remain out of the line of sight of the hostiles. The first-story windows had all been sealed long ago or they would have already sought shelter inside the building. “Here’s the plan, people. First priority: find a path of egress out of this alley for the rest of us that doesn’t include crossing that lawn. Failing that, find a way to subdue those shooters. Lethal force only if we’re out of other options. This is still a recovery mission if we can make it one. Go.”

  Kaleo stepped forward with a cheeky grin, drawing something out of his pack. “Allow me.”

  He hurled a can of peas, long past their expiration date, at a second-floor window, sending shards of glass raining down into the alley. Rhys cringed, ducking and covering his head like the rest of them, and it was only after the tinkling of falling slivers had stopped that Darius realized he’d moved in and covered the boy. He drew away before Rhys could realize what he’d done.

  Xolani looked up at the window and nodded in satisfaction. “All right. Toby, you’re up first. Clear away the glass. Try not to get cut. If you do, come back down once Gina and Jamie are up.”

  Toby handed his rifle off to Joe and slipped his rucksack off his shoulders, digging into an outer pocket, probably for a pair of tight leather gloves. Darius saw Rhys frown in confusion, and then his eyes widened as Toby, the smallest man in their squad after Jamie, sprinted two strides and launched himself the seemingly impossible distance. Toby caught the window ledge by a finger-grip and began sweeping glass away with his gloved hand, reaching through the broken pane to find the latch and push the window open. He swung his legs over the ledge and reappeared a moment later, peering down at them and holding out his hands.

  “No cuts. All clear.”

  Joe tossed Toby’s rifle to him, and then Gina and Jamie went up the same way Toby had, each receiving their guns in turn from someone on the ground.

  “Those three are our best jumpers,” Darius heard Kaleo murmur to Rhys. “That’s why Xolani tagged them to go. Darius isn’t nimble enough to make the jump or she would have sent him, since he’s already wounded. Of the three, Toby’s the least accurate marksman, which is why he got tagged to go first and chance getting cut. We couldn’t risk Gina’s hands when she’s our best shot.”

  Houtman made a disgruntled sound. “If she’s such a good shot, why doesn’t she just take out the shooters from here?”

  Xolani favored him with a narrow look, her lips thinning. “Because our primary mission is search and recovery of survivors.”

  “Even if they’re trying to kill us?”

  “They pose no immediate threat as long as we’re pinned down in here. The gene pool isn’t as big as it once was, Houtman. We need every survivor we can get helping to rebuild in Colorado Springs. If it comes down to them or us, we’ll kill them, but not unless we’ve exhausted all other options.”

  “Seems if they’re too stupid to listen to reason, the gene pool is better off without them.” That won Houtman se
veral guarded looks, which from his smile he apparently took as agreement. Darius restrained himself from snorting in disgust. Houtman had no clue just how quickly he was spending the limited currency of goodwill he’d been fronted by Darius’s squad.

  Xolani’s eyes hardened. “If that was the extent of the mercy we exercised, Houtman, you’d be dead. Now shut it.”

  His expression grew tight and resentful at that, but Xolani ignored him, looking up at the window. A moment later they heard the creaking of old hinges as a window opened on the other side of the barricade, which had been welded together from rusted desks and lecture-hall chairs so that it blocked the walkway between ivy-covered buildings. The colonists must have been raiding the college classrooms for years, dragging out furniture to build their fortress. Here in the alley where the sunlight was never direct, the rusted metal had acquired a silver-green overlay of lichen and moss. Unfortunately, the structure was far too rickety to scale, and all that jagged, rusty metal was a case of lockjaw waiting to happen. Otherwise, Darius and his people could have saved themselves a lot of trouble.

  Toby reappeared above them. “The doors and first-floor windows are all welded, but we can climb down from the second-story window past the barricade. Toss me a rope.”

  Darius met Xolani’s eyes, which flicked sideways at Rhys. Darius didn’t need to be told that even a fifteen-foot climb might be a challenge for him, depleted as his condition was. Darius wasn’t sure why Rhys was so malnourished and Houtman wasn’t, but six days in the Jugs’ company hadn’t been enough for him to build up the sort of strength he needed. He ended each day’s march at the point of collapse, endured the attentions of two or three men a night and every morning with silent but palpable misery, and tossed on his bedroll almost until second watch began their shift, waking with dark circles under his eyes.

  But despite all that, he kept his head down and tried to pose as little inconvenience as he could, calling into doubt all Houtman’s assertions that the boy was a troublemaker. Everyone was beginning to genuinely like the kid. Despite his weariness, he made every effort to pitch in without being asked, and his questions—when he couldn’t sit on them any longer—were pertinent and thoughtful.

  It would sting that quiet dignity of his to fail in front of them all.

  Xolani’s mouth pursed. “Houtman, you go up first. Darius, you’ll go last, after Rhys. The rest of you, get up and get Houtman down the other side pronto. Then we’ll decide on our approach for trying to talk to these assholes again.”

  Darius nodded his agreement, suppressing a smile. Houtman no doubt thought he was being given precedence over Rhys, rather than realizing that Xolani had just arranged it so that no one else would be present when Rhys tried to struggle up that rope. Darius hung back with the boy, who watched in trepidation as Houtman clumsily worked his way up to the window.

  The rest of the squad went after him, only the bulkiest of them, like Joe, needing the rope at all. Xolani was alone at the window when it was Rhys’s turn. He grabbed the rope and began trying to haul himself up, his thin arms shaking after just the first couple of pulls. Darius put a hand under his scrawny ass and hoisted him.

  Xolani’s soothing murmur floated down from the window. “It’s okay. Just hold the rope, Rhys. I’ll pull.”

  “I can do it,” Darius heard him mutter mulishly. He was willing to bet that sunburned face was blazing with embarrassment.

  “Let us help you, boy. You’re still building up your strength. No one but us three will ever know.”

  Rhys groaned, and Xolani hauled the rope up as if it—and the boy clinging to it—weighed nothing. She helped Rhys over the windowsill before tossing the rope back down to Darius. A moment later, he joined them in a cobweb-filled classroom, where calculus formulae were still faintly visible on a dust-coated whiteboard.

  Rhys glanced at Darius and Xolani self-consciously from under his brows. “Thanks.”

  Xolani gave him a tight smile of encouragement and turned to follow the footprints in the dust to the other broken window. Rhys trailed after Darius, forcing him to stop and turn.

  “Keep ahead of me. Always stay where we can see what’s coming at you.” Rhys’s mouth tightened, and Darius snorted at the suspicious look the boy threw him as he passed by to take the middle position. “Relax. If I wanted my hands all over that skinny butt of yours, boy, I’d only have to wait until we made camp tonight. Or help you up another rope.”

  Rhys’s footsteps stuttered, but he continued on his way without response. It was too dark to see if the boy was blushing again, but Darius imagined he could feel the heat radiating off his face. He hadn’t touched Rhys since that second night at the monastery, five days ago. Not since he’d begun to feel inappropriately possessive about his men fucking Rhys. He hadn’t even taken the time in the evening to force Rhys to wear his butt plug. The last thing he needed was for the boy to become attached to or reliant on him. But he often felt Rhys’s eyes on him as Kaleo or Bailey or one of the others led him away to a private corner or stepped over to his bedroll as they settled into camp for the night. As if he were waiting for Darius to do something.

  It was an appeal that was getting harder to resist.

  Kaleo caught Rhys by the waist as he slid carefully down the rope on the other side, and Rhys broke contact and shrank away as soon as his feet were on the ground. But his gaze sought out Darius’s once he’d landed. Darius felt the eye contact tighten things south of his gut. There was no denying the fear in Rhys’s eyes, but there was something else, too. Something that wasn’t there when Rhys looked at Kaleo or the others, something only for Darius. Darius wasn’t sure he could call it lust, but it sure as hell wasn’t a lack of interest.

  Damn, but he wanted that boy again.

  “All right.” Xolani gathered them into a huddle. “Do we have a way into that dorm they’re in over there?”

  Toby shook his head. “Not unless we expose ourselves long enough to figure out which of the doors they didn’t weld shut. They have to have a way in and out. There’s an ash heap over past the fifth building that suggests they’ve been hunting and burning the carcasses, and clearly they’ve exterminated most, if not all, of the revs in the area. Whoever these people are, they’re good. They planned well. They blocked off every approach to that lawn there, where they planted their crops, so that anyone entering would be running a gauntlet. I’m betting the only entrance to their building is through there, too.”

  “Do we have rooftop access on this building so Gina can take out the shooters in the windows if we have to?”

  Gina nodded. “First thing I checked. They didn’t weld that door. They were guarding against ground attacks by revs. The roof wasn’t a consideration, unless revs have learned to fly.”

  “Bite your tongue. What about a basement? Any underground corridors connecting this cluster of buildings?”

  Jamie pursed his lips thoughtfully. “There was one door with basement access, but it was welded shut. We could break it down, but we’d make a lot of noise doing it. My money says if there’s any approach that way, they have it barricaded as well. Maybe even booby-trapped. Otherwise, they’d be shooting at us from the building we just came through, too.”

  “Any estimate on how many civvies we’ve got in there?”

  “Hard to say with all the movement but I’m picking up eighteen or more heat signatures.” Titus glanced at Kaleo—who had the other scanner—for confirmation.

  Kaleo nodded. “Maybe as many as twenty-five.”

  “All right.” Xolani considered for a moment, then pushed briskly to her feet. “Gina, Jamie, up on the roof. Darius, they already know your voice so you’re going to call out that second warning they’ve got coming to them. We’ll take position at the mouth of their ‘gauntlet’ while we try to negotiate, but we won’t enter again unless they throw down their arms, or Gina and Jamie have taken out the shooters. Houtman, Rhys, you stay back, but not so far that you’re uncovered if something manages to come up behind
us. Titus, hand your scanner off to Darius so he can monitor the rear, since he’s going to be hanging back there anyway.”

  Darius nodded his approval of the plan, not that it was necessary. This was Xolani’s show, and she’d kick his ass if he even considered having anything less than absolute confidence in her. Gina and Jamie went back up the rope into the building, and Darius brought up the rear as the rest of the squad crept around to the one open approach, well out of range of the colonists’ weapons. He could see Xolani ticking off seconds silently as she waited for Gina and Jamie to get into position, and then she gestured him forward.

  “Attention, survivors! This is Sergeant First Class Darius Murrell again. I will repeat: We are not infected with the Rot. Lay down your arms so we may approach to ascertain your status and discuss whether there are any of your party who wish to relocate to the clean zone in Colorado Springs. We have a medic with us if anyone needs treatment. We just want to make sure everyone is okay. Once we’ve done that, we’ll be on our way if none of you want to go with us.”

  There was no answering hail of gunfire, not even aimed toward the alley where the colonists must assume they were still pinned.

  “Looks like they’re congregating in one area now,” Kaleo reported, looking at his scanner, where the heat signatures were converging in the middle of the building.

  Xolani nodded. “Hopefully they’re having a conference to decide if they want to let us in or not.”

  Silent minutes dragged out as Darius fell back to wait with Rhys and Houtman. He watched Xolani as she watched the dormitory where the colonists were entrenched. When the first gunshot came, they all hit the ground, but the shot was muffled. Indistinct. Followed by others. Darius watched a horror that mirrored his own dawn on his people’s faces.