“We can’t let them roll in here. On the other hand, they’re American soldiers operating on orders from their superiors. I have zero desire to cause harm, let alone open fire.”
Bishop ran his free hand through his afro, his expression laced with apprehension. “How do you fight enemies you don’t want to kill?”
“Sounds like a bad joke,” Quinn muttered.
Liam keyed the mic. “Where are they now?”
“I-94 at—” The scout’s voice broke off, the radio full of static.
If the General was coming from Lansing, he could have headed north to avoid the mid-sized cities of Battle Creek and Kalamazoo and then moved southwest, hugging Lake Michigan and coming down through Saugatuck and South Haven.
If they remained on I-94, they’d pass through Benton Harbor and St. Joe before taking exit 15 onto M-139, aka Old 31, which would lead them straight through the center of town from the north.
But if the General’s men took exit 41 to M-140 South, they’d follow it southwest and hit Dean’s Hill Road, entering Fall Creek from the bridge at the south end.
Either path took about the same time.
Urgency crackled through him. He needed to know which direction. And he needed to know twenty minutes ago.
“Which way?” he hollered at the radio.
Static hissed back at him.
He nearly hurled the useless thing at the closest tree. “Damn it! Which way?”
“We can’t cover both,” Bishop said. “We don’t have the manpower.”
Bishop was right. He didn’t have the soldiers or comms or a quick reaction force, the area he needed to defend far too spread out. He wished he could set up a perimeter defense covering 360-degrees like the FOBs—Forward Operating Bases—in Afghanistan.
The radio belched.
Liam shoved it against his ear. “Echo Two, come in! Where the hell are they?”
“…Old 31…just past…Trailer World…”
North. They were headed toward the north blockade.
Liam sprinted toward the four-wheeler, Bishop right behind him, barking orders into his radio. Adrenaline surged through him, icing his veins.
The Humvees were twelve minutes from the north blockade. If they took the ATV full throttle, Liam and Bishop were eight minutes away.
“I want to come!” Quinn shouted after them.
“Start the alarm tree!” Bishop said. “Alert Reynoso.”
There wasn’t room on the two-seater ATV, and she couldn’t bike as fast as they could drive. Disappointment crossed her face, but she lifted her chin and gave a resolute nod.
She’d learned her lesson: follow orders, be part of the team, keep everyone alive. She turned toward her bike, pulling a radio from her pocket with her bandaged hand.
“Done!”
“Find Hannah!” Liam called after her.
He wanted them together. Quinn and Hannah made a formidable force.
Fear pushed his heart into his throat. Fear for Hannah and the children. His worry for Hannah was constant. It had nothing to do with her capabilities. It was innate, a part of him. He thought of her with every breath he took.
With every fiber of his being, he longed to run toward her. To protect her with his life. Instead, he headed in the opposite direction.
Defending the town should safeguard Hannah, too.
He prayed it would be true.
The ATV’s engine growled to life. They shoved on their helmets. As usual, Bishop drove and Liam took the rear, M4 in hand, ready to fire.
The ATV jolted across uneven ground, vibrating Liam’s teeth. Pain shot through his ribs and spine like electric shocks.
The ice-damaged roads were pitted and crumbling. With no workers or equipment to patch the asphalt, they would soon become undrivable.
Another problem for another day.
The four-wheeler roared through town, passing shuttered buildings in a blur. Quinn had sounded the alarm—the townspeople vanished into houses and businesses. Downtown was deserted.
Pulse thudding in his ears, Liam scanned the trees and lawns, windows and rooftops, searching for danger.
They arrived at the blockade with three minutes to spare.
Several vehicles faced each other, positioned across the highway to form the barricade. Behind each vehicle stood a row of large dirt-filled barrels to provide cover.
They’d created concertina wire obstacles after stripping barbed wire fencing. They had dragged felled trees across the road to create a Z so vehicles would have to zigzag through it before reaching the barricade.
The defenses weren’t finished. They needed more able bodies, more supplies, more time.
Four guards crouched behind the barricade itself. Eight of their best shooters took up overwatch positions in the two-story buildings along either side of the road.
The rest hid in fortified sniper hides in nearby buildings or crouched in the four newly-dug foxholes.
Without a word, Bishop sprinted across the street to take up a previously scouted sniper position within a large steel building with a green metal roof. In bold yellow lettering, the awning out front offered “Creative Landscaping.”
Liam turned toward the Add-A-Space mini-storage, situated north of the blockade and facing the highway, set fifty yards off the road.
He entered the building using the rear exit, slipping through a steel door they’d pried open last week. He moved at a halting jog, slower than he wanted.
Teeth clenched, he hastened through the shadowed interior, passing hunched desks and office furniture until he reached the stairwell and jogged to the second floor.
He bypassed the CEO’s corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and selected the break room next door. Cabinets lined one wall, a teal Keurig on the counter, coffee mugs stacked beside it.
His stomach lurched. The reek of stale coffee grounds mixed with something rancid assaulted his nostrils. Someone’s lunch left in a cabinet to rot for three months.
He slid between a couple of round tables with plastic chairs and hurried to the window.