They nodded.
“Okay, we’re going to move toward them at ten o’clock and two o’clock, keeping as low as you can. I want you both to lift a hand when you’ve locked onto your target. After that, you’re going to listen for my shot. When I take a shot, you both take shots. Got it?”
“Got it,” they whispered in unison.
“Let’s go.”
The three of them spread out, bodies crawling forward in slow motion. At roughly fifty yards away, Hatfield could tell the enemies weren’t ready. They sat there, smoking cigarettes, checking their watches. The two of them passed a pair of binoculars back and forth briefly.
At twenty yards away, Hatfield could read the confusion on their faces. They didn’t know why they couldn’t see any guards. Nor did they seem to have a clue that they were being advanced upon.
He was close enough to lock on both of them, rifle a little uneasy on his left shoulder, but he was fine with it. He took unhurried breaths, ignored any sounds slipping into his aural field. It was time to execute.
Looking to his left, he saw a hand briefly go up, then back down again. On the right, he saw the same. From this distance, he heard his targets gasp and point. He fired, once at the target to his left, missing. But another shot followed, tagging him on the crown of his head.
More shots echoed through the morning sky. The targets didn’t have a chance. They grunted and groaned, taking a few more desperate shots but hitting nothing.
Hatfield gestured for the homesteaders to move on them. They did, getting there just in time to see two bodies soaking in blood and sucking in frenzied gasps.
Without a word, the two at his side rose to their feet, but Hatfield knew better. Fifty feet off to the side, he spotted a rifle poking through a bale of hay and shouted, “Get back down!”
The homesteaders obeyed, but it was too late. One of them caught a glancing blow to his shoulder and dropped to the ground. With the other homesteader, Hatfield crept forward, gun raised, but everything else hidden in the grass. He fired several shots at the bale, only stopping when he saw the rifle fall and heard a guttural grunt.
He looked back to the fallen homesteader. “You okay?”
“Yeah, he just nicked my shoulder.”
“Cool.” He slowly lifted a hand in the air, checking to see if that drew more gunshots. He heard and saw nothing. “All right, guys. Let’s get back to the compound, but don’t let down your guard. Guns up and eyes open, got that?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
It took about five minutes to return to the homestead. Once there, Hatfield helped the wounded homesteader hobble inside. Gasps filled the hallway as they ushered him into the dorm room.
Inside the makeshift hospital, Cecil lifted himself off the bed and moved out of the way. He gave Hatfield sharp eyes and gestured him to the side. “Gentlemen, I need to see this man out here for a second.”
In the hallway, they found a quiet corner. “Mr. Hatfield—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Cecil, and I assure you, you have every reason to be concerned.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, but trust me. We took out three of their guys. The only trade-off was a flesh wound that should be easy to treat.”
Cecil turned, stole a glance at the young man in the dorm room, then returned his gaze to Hatfield. His face slowly eased back to calm. “That’s good to hear. Look, it took a lot of guts to challenge me out there, but in the end, it may be a good thing that you did. You were right; we need to change things up.”
“Glad you feel that way.”
The big man released a smile. “Yeah, sometimes even a grouchy old captain needs to be challenged from time to time. Just don’t make it a habit.” He turned and lumbered down the hallway.
Hatfield got the feeling the captain was joking with his last line. But he couldn’t be sure. Clearly he didn’t like having his authority undermined—even if it was necessary.
22
Nathan crouched in the tall grass, staring at the two bodies, their uniforms soaked with red and their faces twisted into horrifying masks. He and Zan both gazed toward the compound, eyes on fire. “The guys at the barn still hungry?” the leader asked.
“They sure are. What’s the next move, boss?”
“First, we need to find out how this happened,” he answered, nodding toward the dead bodies. “I’m beginning to think we can’t trust our three friends.”
“You think they sent us into a trap?”
As he pulled a pistol from his pocket and loaded it, a devious grin landed on Nathan’s face. “Only one way to find out.”
The two men headed back to the barn. Zan kept his distance, knowing that whenever he saw that demonic look on his boss’s face, things would soon become very unpleasant for somebody.
The two men said nothing as they marched to the barn. Once there, they heard the structure echo with shouts and howls. Stepping closer, the reason for the ruckus became clear: A fight had broken out with three gangbangers beating a fourth with a thick steel rod.
The hollering continued even as their leader stepped closer to the fight, arms angrily crossed, gun out.
“What’s going on?” Zan asked somebody in the crowd.
“Dude was holding out! Hiding a sandwich while the rest of us were sharing our tiny rations.”
Hearing this, Nathan shook his head, watching the sandwich smuggler get his final breaths stomped and struck out of him. He casually lifted his gun to the ceiling and fired two shots. The screams stopped immediately. All eyes came to him. “Guys, this is a bad, bad idea! It’s bad enough we have guys getting shot approaching the compound. But now we’re losing more men in some stupid fight.”
“Well,” a gangbanger said, “the guy was holding out on us, hiding food while the rest of us are starving!”
Nathan nodded. “Look, guys, here’s the thing. Right now, we’ve got those guys in the compound outnumbered—at least two to one. But you keep beating each other to death and we’re going to lose that advantage!”
One of them stood up, addressed his boss. “What good is an advantage if you have no food?” A chorus of “yeah” followed.
“You’re right,” Nathan said. “We have a problem. And you know who’s going to get us out of it?”
No answer. Their boss lifted his pistol and pointed to the three former homesteaders.
Hands shaky with fear, Andy asked, “I don’t understand.”
“I do!” Zan said. “You got us into this mess by giving us bad information on how to take out the guards! I say you don’t get any food for the next week—even better, no more food at all!”
Excited “yeah” came next, but Nathan lifted a hand and shook his head. “No, no. Like them or not, we need those sons-of-bitches.”
“Or maybe we don’t,” Zan said, leaning back, half-grin on his face.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe that bad information was given to us on purpose!”
Nathan’s face sharpened. He leaned closer to Andy. “Is that right? Were you three trying to sabotage our mission?”
“No, not at all!” the redhead shrieked.
“I bet he’s lying!” Zan said.
“He might be, but I can tell you one thing: if they blow their chance at redemption, they’re dead—all three of them.” With sadistic glee, Nathan watched the three of their faces buckle with twitches.
“Look, sir,” Grace said, “We’ve been totally honest with you, I swear!”
“Shut up!”
“Um… Nathan,” Gary said, “What chance at redemption are we getting?”
“Your last one,” he said. “You are going to tell us how we’re going to get access to their food.”
“We told you, all you have to do is get inside the compound and… you know, defeat them.”