Storm Horizon Read online

  A row of black Suburbans sat parked bumper-to-bumper on the quarry floor, and the tunnel he occupied looked straight out at the middle of the line of SUVs. Half the gunmen behind the trucks fired to their left into Will’s team’s tunnel. The other half shot to their right, at the Judge’s people. Terrence didn't have the firepower to take on the intruders on the quarry floor. He counted four SUVs and thirteen men- too many to battle with his handgun and the Bullpup. He turned back toward his Humvee.

  The intruder's behavior puzzled him; they seemed to be firing for effect, instead of to kill. They fired blindly into the tunnels and blazed through their magazines much faster than a man did when he took the time to get a bead on a target. Over the racket of gunfire from outside, he heard at least two gunshots from above, somewhere on top of the bluff. So the invaders were taking fire from three different directions, and firing back without seeing their opponents. Interesting.

  He made it back to the Humvee and climbed in through the rear passenger door. He examined the ammunition boxes, found what he is looking for, and smiled. Hoisting one of the heavy boxes, he stepped up on a small platform and pushed open the turret. It was quick work to unsnap and throw aside the cover on the .50 caliber Browning. He placed the ammo box in the empty tray, lifted the lid to the receiver, and threaded the ammo loop into the feed tray. A smile played on Terrence’s lips as he worked; Riley would have loved this. He pulled the slide handle toward him twice to load the fearsome weapon, set the selector to single fire, and ducked back down into the truck.

  He climbed into the driver seat and started the Humvee, grimacing as the beast roared to life. His part in this little drama needed to be a surprise and he hoped the gunfire and commotion outside would drown out his engine noise.

  The truck inched its way to the entrance and stopped when he had a view of all four of the Suburbans. He double-checked his body armor front and back and pulled an old army helmet over his head. He’d drawn the shooter’s attention- bullets clinked against the Humvee’s exterior. The truck taking fire didn’t worry him; its customization included bullet-proof glass and three-inch-thick steel plates under the sheet metal. The intruder’s ammo couldn’t hurt it. But he wasn't bulletproof- it could hurt him plenty, and for a moment he needed to put himself at risk.

  He left the driver's seat and stepped back up on the platform and into the turret. He winced as the amount of fire trained on him increased- wherever these guys came from, they recognized a mortal threat when they saw it. The turret had thick metal shields to protect its occupant from gunfire, but Terrence was always nervous up there. He worried about the openings cut into the shields to make room for the Browning's barrel. Ricochets. Grenades and other devices that could be fired over the shields and into the turret. It was a dangerous place to be.

  The turret had always been Riley's domain, God bless him. But someone sneaked into a tunnel and cut Riley's throat. Maybe one of these guys out here. If so, Terrence aimed to get his friend some payback.

  A pair of intruders readied an RPG behind the second Suburban from the right. "That's as good a place to start as any," Terrence muttered. He swiveled the Browning's long barrel to the right, placed his hands on the twin grips, and fired.

  Twenty-Seven

  * * *

  The cartridges in the belt Terrence fed into the Browning were custom threaded. Riley had strung the belt together last year. Terrence laughed, watching Riley work with wide-eyed fascination. “If we ever need that much firepower we're at war with an enemy I don't want to fight.”

  "You know me, buddy," Riley replied. "If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing."

  Each cartridge in the belt was an armor-piercing round. Every third was a tracer round and every fifth incendiary. Terrence fired, heard the familiar chug-chug-chug of the machine gun firing five-inch long shells packed with 709 grains of gunpowder at a rate of 3,000 feet per second. The effects were catastrophic.

  The shells destroyed everything they hit. Armor-piercing rounds punched holes in the Suburban’s sheet metal and blew out their windows, destroyed their engines and punctured their gas tanks.

  The tracer rounds were for guidance and effect. They showed Terrence where his shots tracked and looked scary as hell from the other side. They did their damage too, putting dents the size of a man's fist and punching quarter-sized holes in the SUVs.

  But the incendiary rounds did the most damage. If a normal 50 caliber cartridge is a soft breeze, then an incendiary round is an F5 tornado. The initial collision between the cartridge and its target ignites incendiary material in the cartridge's tip. That ignition triggers a munitions charge, along with a second incendiary charge. The resulting fire burns at a blazing-hot temperature, is not easily extinguished, and can last up to fifteen minutes. Exploding near gasoline or other fuel can increase the force of the munitions charge by up to three times its original power.

  One by one, the Suburbans caught fire. Two of them exploded; the shells reduced the other two to rubble before they could erupt.

  The damage to the vehicles was small potatoes compared to what the shells did to the intruders. A human being can't survive the impact of a fifty caliber cartridge-it isn't built to tolerate that kind of abuse. The lucky ones died fast in the explosions. The unlucky suffered grisly deaths. A shell took one man's leg off at mid-thigh; another man lost his arm at the shoulder. Two of the invaders had saucer-sized holes punched through their midsections. An exploding Suburban rocketed an alternator at a third invader, beheading him.

  The last three intruders still alive turned tail and ran before Terrence had worked a third of the way through the belt. Two of them supported the third, who limped badly, for about ten yards, then dropped him on the concrete and ran on without him. He trailed them with the Browning's barrel as they dashed across the quarry, but didn't pull the trigger. Will would want to have a conversation with at least one survivor.

  Twenty-Eight

  * * *

  Two minutes passed by with no explosions gunfire from outside. The team came out from behind pillars and beneath tables with caution, keeping away from the entrance and their weapons at the ready. Destruction had rained down on the two Suburbans they could see from inside the tunnel, leaving mangled and twisted heaps of metal behind. A brisk fire burned, crackling and popping, sending smoke and cinders into the sky. The mutilated corpses of three intruders laid near the ruined SUVs. An acrid and oily odor of burning rubber and plastic filled the air.

  A voice called to them from outside. "It's Terrence! Everybody out here is dead or running off. I'm coming in- do not shoot at me!"

  At first, he was a tall and lithe silhouette in the entryway; after a few more steps, Will could make out Terrance’s features. The peace officer’s lips turned up in a big Cheshire cat grin and his eyes sparkled. He looked quite pleased with himself.

  Will pointed past Terrence at the bottom. “There’s nobody alive out there?”

  "Come outside and take a look." Without waiting for an answer, Terrence turned and left.

  Will followed him, with most of his group close behind.

  Outside it looked as if a powerful but very contained bomb had exploded. The other two Suburbans were like the pair they saw from inside the tunnel; one had exploded and the other was smashed and crumpled. Broken bodies bled onto the concrete from terrible injuries- missing limbs, misshapen bodies, burns that left them barely recognizable as human.

  Will's team walked around and surveyed the devastation in amazement. The Original’s streamed out of their tunnel; they too, marveled at the destruction.

  Danny kicked a tire laying on the dusty marble. "Got-damn, we need about ten more .50 cals. Got-damn!"

  Jiri nodded at Terrence. "Were there any survivors? I count only fourteen bodies here. Well, thirteen here and one over there." He pointed at the injured invader left behind.

  Terrence pointed at the far side of the pit. "Two, headed that way. I'm fixin’ to draft a couple of guys to hunt them down with me."<
br />
  Will walked over with Cassandro at his side. "Take Andro here, and Clark from the Judge's people. Use the Ford. And Terrence…"

  “What's up?”

  "Bring one of them back alive."

  Terrence's eyes narrowed. "Do you think these guys might have had something to do with Riley?"

  "We’ll know if you bring one or both of them back alive."

  Twenty-Nine

  * * *

  A small group of tunnel-dwellers met in an empty shaft, away from and unknown to the rest of both groups. Will, Danny, Doc Joseph and Jiri came from Will's group. The Judge, his number two, Mark Hampton, and a man named Stan Burbach stood for The Originals. It was the first time since the attack the leaders of the two groups had a chance to compare notes.

  Will got right to the point. "How many casualties?"

  Mark spoke for The Originals since the Judge was in Will's tunnel during the attack. "Three dead and three injured.

  Will blanched. "They hit six of you down there?"

  Mark nodded his head, a bitter expression on his face. "Yeah. Two of them caught ricochets, but the guy with the Uzi on our end? That son of a bitch was deadly."

  "Damn. We had the one guy take a bullet, but that was it." He turned to the Doc. "And the wounded? Will they all pull through?"

  "They'd have a better chance of pulling through if I was in my office providing them care rather than wasting time here," the Doc said in an icy tone.

  Will and Dr. Joseph had a strained relationship dating back to the day that the Doc first rescued Danny and Jiri, then held a pistol on them. It was a misunderstanding, but Will threatened to cut the Doc’s head off if he ever pulled a gun on one of Will's guys again. The Doc avoided him after that unless meetings forced them to interact.

  "You'll get back to your patients soon enough. Are any of them going to die because you're here?"

  Doc Joseph crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "That's not something you can predict, William. They are all stabilized and responding to treatment. But that can change at a moment's notice."

  "This will just take a minute," Will assured him. He turned his attention to the entire group. "Sometime this afternoon, Terrence will wheel in here with one or two of the guys that attacked us."

  Several people spoke at once and Will waited for the commotion to die down. "I thought everybody knew; two of them ran, and Terrence let them go rather than shoot them. Now him, Andro, and Clark have gone after them. They're on foot, and our guys are driving. So we expect that they'll be able to find them."

  The Judge’s eyebrows squished together. I don't understand what is so important about finding them. Just so we can punish them for attacking us?"

  "No, Jody." Will's tone was gentle. "To find out if these guys know anything about the other attacks- the herd of creepers and Riley’s murder. If they do, we can find out who’s behind it and what they’re after."

  "Oh, I see. How will we get them to tell us?"

  Jiri sounded exasperated. "That's what this meeting is about, your honor." He turned his back to the Judge and rolled his eyes at Will.

  "We have a plan for getting the truth out of these assholes,” Will said. "But there’s a bigger problem to deal with first.”

  "The noise," Mark interrupted.

  Will nodded. "All that gunfire, the explosions, the screams. Every creeper within five miles is headed this way, and we don't have a main watchtower anymore.” He turned to Jiri. "Do you want to relay your plans?"

  Jiri gave him a confident nod, turned to the small group, and spoke.

  Thirty

  * * *

  Jiri hurried through the inky darkness of an unused tunnel. He held a lantern aloft in his left hand, but its batteries seemed to be on the wane. The blackness swallowed up its sickly yellow light barely five feet in front of him. At times like this, he found it difficult not to dwell on the fact that he was 400 feet underground with nothing but limestone pillars to keep the earth from crashing down and swallowing him like a blue whale's sucking in a piece of plankton.

  Under his other arm, he cradled a small leather satchel. It was a work of art. Made of high-grain leather with a felt interior, it was thin and delicate, with intricate patterns engraved in the leather and a mother-of-pearl snap that fastened the two sides together.

  He took a left turn and stepped into a cavern as big as a high school auditorium. The vast space used to be home to a company that warehoused chemicals. The room he sought sat on the warehouse’s far side; a pool of light shined above the door to guide him.

  As he got closer, he could make out the shadowy images of three men outside the door. A figure called out to him. "Jiri, my friend, is that you?" asked Cassandro.

  "The one and only. Don't shoot- I'm coming in."

  When he drew near enough to identify them he saw one of the Originals, Jody, and a man whose name he couldn’t remember standing shoulder to shoulder with Andro. He looked at the muscular Latino with surprise. "Why do they have you doing a pud job like guarding a tied-up man?"

  "I volunteered," Cassandro spoke with a heavy Mexican accent. "Will called off all the scavenger runs until we find out if these guys were working alone. They asked for volunteers for extra guard duty so I stepped forward. I thought I would be out in a tower, not down here in the dark."

  "If it makes you feel any better, it says a lot about your people's work ethic that you can't stand not being at work, even after the end of the world. Salud." He gave Cassandro a half-assed salute, exchanged a few words with Jody, and nodded hello to the third man.

  "I'm going in," he said, once the greetings were over. "First, there are just two rules. If I yell ‘Andro’ that means get in there double-time. Otherwise, nobody comes through this door. I don't care what you hear, do not step into this office. Got it?" The three guards each indicated they understood and Jiri continued. "Excellent. Have you got the lights?"

  "Right here." Jody picked up a box that was sitting on the floor next to the brick wall that separated the office space from the warehouse.

  Jiri looked inside and counted three more of the battery powered lanterns. They had been fitted with special fifty-watt LED bulbs that shined as bright as a 500-watt halogen light. "Here," he said, thrusting his dying lantern in Andro's direction. "Trade me this lamp for one of yours that works better."

  They swapped. He took the lantern, placed it in the box with the others, and prepared to step inside.

  "Hey," said the third guy-he introduced himself moments ago and Jiri had forgotten his name again. "That’s good workmanship on your carryall." The guy pointed at the satchel. "What do you keep inside it?"

  “What, this?" Jiri asked, his voice both surprised and innocent. "Oh, you don't ever want to see what's in here," he said, giving it a pat. "This is where I keep the doom."

  He stuck the satchel in the box with the lanterns and carried it through the doorway.

  Thirty-One

  * * *

  He stepped into a conference room and closed the door behind him. The room was rectangle-shaped with red-brick walls and a fireplace. Expensive looking chairs lined the walls, and a table that seated eight took up most of the remaining space.

  Three candles lined the fireplace mantel and burnished the room with a soft, flickering light. The survivor of the firefight sat at the head of the table. A dozen strands of yellow nylon rope bound him to a chair and duct tape covered his eyes and mouth. He heard Jiri enter; he shrank down in his chair and turned his head away. His breathing, already laborious behind the tape, quickened.

  Jiri busied himself with preparations without speaking to the intruder. He placed one of the ultra-bright lanterns on the mantle and the other two in opposite corners. He set the regular lantern on the tabletop, close to the invader but out of arms reach. Bright, white light flooded the room when he clicked them on. The intruder tried to speak, but his words came out muffled and unintelligible.

  The satchel sat opposite the lantern, positioned so it was in the
intruder’s line of sight.

  He gave the scene the once-over. Everything was in place, and it was time to begin.

  He stood behind the prisoner, not speaking but making occasional noises so the man knew he was there. Every fifteen or twenty seconds he cleared his throat, or hummed, or slapped his palms together. After ten minutes, he trembled and mumbled into his gag each time Jiri made a sound. His breathing increased to where he sounded like he might hyperventilate.

  Jiri patted the top of his head with affection. "I'm going to take your gag and blindfold off now. It will hurt, and I want you prepared for it." The prisoner mumbled something through the tape. "I know exactly what you mean. Here we go now."

  He ripped the gag off first, pulling it with a hard, fast snap of his wrist. The man cried out in pain, his voice scratchy and harsh. He drew several great breaths of air and exhaled loudly.

  "Are you ready for the blindfold?" The man nodded and said nothing. “Okay, I’m going to pull on three. One… Two…” Jiri tore the tape way just as the prisoner braced himself for three. He sobbed and tried to rub his eyes against his shoulders, but missed by several inches.

  "Sorry about that," Jiri said in an insincere voice. He looked at the back of the strip of tape and raised his eyebrows. "No shit, it looks like we got a few of your eyelashes here." He pretended to pluck at eyelashes on the sticky side of the tape.

  "By the way, my name is Jiri Horsky. What's yours?"

  The prisoner didn't reply. Jiri observed his deep-set eyes, skeletal head, and sallow skin. "Wow, you're a strikingly unattractive man. But you already know that, right?" Jiri gave him a broad smile, but he still didn't respond. He sat in his chair, gaping at his tormentor and blinking often.