Weeds littered the ground between the rails, though none of them were green in color—more of a brownish-gray. Sticks mostly, but there may have been some struggling to push out a new crop of leaves.
The building must have been part of an old train depot, possibly the last stop for vacationers heading to the big city up north. Its walls used to be white, though there wasn’t much of the paint still holding onto the wood, most of it peeling in streaks of chunky flakes.
What stuck out the most were the windows. They were intact. At least those she could see from her position. An oddity for sure. Only the door facing the tracks was missing.
Krista pointed at the orchard. “Looks promising over there. Let’s move out.”
A few minutes later, Wicks walked six rows deep into the tree line before running a quick security check. When he was done, he waved her ahead.
Krista joined him, then leaned her rifle against the closest tree to free her hands in preparation for taking care of business.
Wicks moved to the south, selecting a position two rows away with his back to her.
When she was finished, she closed her pants and laced the camo belt back into place, then adjusted her tactical vest, making sure everything was in its proper place and secure.
She picked up her rifle and put two fingers into her mouth, whistling at Wicks.
He spun his head.
She waved for him to proceed.
He nodded, keeping his back to her. It only took seconds for his hands to find their way down to his fly, then his spine arched, indicating he was enjoying his relief. Even a man of his size could only hold it so long, leaving no choice but to stop and empty the tank.
If Krista remembered right, Wicks preferred to call it splashing the trash, though she didn’t understand the meaning behind those words. It must have been a man thing, she decided.
She kept the sights on her weapon active, sweeping the area from one side to the other, looking for movement as her mind slipped into analytical mode.
Over the years, she’d passed through this area countless times, but she didn’t remember there ever being an encounter with Frost’s men or the Scabs. In fact, this might have been the most peaceful stretch of the entire highway, if she had to classify it into one category or another.
Sure, it was dozens of miles from Frost’s territory, so that explained part of it. However, the Scabs didn’t claim a specific zone, roaming to eat wherever they could find accessible meat.
Those facts told her there was something unique about this segment of roadway—something that was keeping them away. Assuming, of course, it wasn’t a random happenstance to begin with.
Perhaps it was a unique feature of the terrain?
Or the smell of the decaying vegetation?
Maybe it had something to do with the Earth’s magnetic lines and how they may have been charging the steel tracks?
Or some other natural repellant?
When her mind focused on the word “repellant,” a vision flashed in her head, taking her back in time to the Trading Post ambush.
The scene showed her Fletcher using his unknown compound to keep them safe. Everyone except Frost and Edison, of course, or a list of others from all sides. Fletcher had acted as if it were a new invention, possibly experimental in nature.
Just then, Wicks finished splashing the trash before bouncing on his heels twice, then assembling his pants. He spun and marched in her direction, joining her position with his rifle in hand. “Damn, that might have been a new world record.”
She laughed, nodding for him to follow her back to the truck. “When we get back to camp, I want you to assemble a team and get ready to go meet with Fletcher.”
“Is that today already?”
“No, but I think we missed something.”
When he gave her a curious look, she remembered he wasn’t part of their team during that meet. “Oh, that’s right, you were on suspension.”
“My mistake, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”
“Not what I meant,” Krista said. “He had some kind of repellent that kept the Scabs off us.”
“Like bug spray?”
She nodded. “Except it didn’t have that weird smell. But it worked. For most of us, anyway. I should have asked him more about it, but I was distracted with everything going on.”
“It happens, boss.”
“That’s no excuse, Wicks. Situational awareness is key to keeping everyone safe. That can never be compromised, no matter how bad things get.”
“Roger that,” Wicks said, taking a few more steps in tandem with her. “I guess everyone is working on new tech these days. Even Frost.”
She nodded. “Probably thanks to that Lipton guy in the brig.”
“Maybe an interrogation is in order? See what else they might be making over there.”
“I agree. Good idea.”
“Now that Edison’s no longer in charge, will we be able to use more effective measures? Or will they still keep us in check, making us hug everyone to death?”
“Well, soldier, that’ll be up to Summer. She’s in charge now.”
“Excuse me for saying so, boss, but that’s fucked. You earned that post.”
The man was right, even though she could never agree out loud. “I appreciate the support, Wicks, but the rules are the rules.”
“I’m not sure everyone realizes that Summer is not what she appears to be. I know firsthand. She totally jacked me and everyone bought it.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but we both know there was plenty of blame to go around.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s a terrible choice. Especially if we have to continue all the diplomatic, wishy-washy crap. We need to get tough before it’s too late.”
Krista couldn’t argue his point because he was right. But regardless, it was time to rein in her man, while still supporting him and his feedback. “We’ll see how it goes, but for now, Summer is the boss and we follow her orders. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before their next step, a string of gunshots rang out.
POP! POP! POP!
Krista stopped in her tracks and took a defensive posture in a low-profile crouch. Wicks did the same, both of them listening for direction and distance.
When another barrage ripped through the air, Krista realized it was coming from dead ahead—on the highway—up by the transport. There weren’t any indications that the rounds were being fired in their direction, but then again, they were well below grade.
“They must have escaped again,” Wicks said in a whisper, his rifle high and tight against his shoulder.
“Shit,” Krista snapped, getting to her feet as she broke into a sprint, keeping low. She could hear the clatter of Wicks’ equipment only a few steps behind.
When her ears rang with more bursts of gunfire, she figured all of her men were now engaged, firing at will, attempting to take down Horton and the Scab Girl. “I can’t believe they let them escape. Again.”
The rise in terrain came quickly to her feet, causing her to slow and creep forward, in case her assumptions were wrong about what was happening ahead.
The crest of the hill brought not only the highway into view, but a scene of carnage she never expected. Scabs were everywhere, maybe fifty of them, their teeth showing and mouths snarling. Her men had dug in by the transport under the overpass, emptying their magazines at the targets moving in a circle around them.
A number of Scabs had been hit, their bodies lying motionless on the cement. A few were twisted into a heap, with limbs missing and heads exploded, their parts scattered like castoffs on a butcher shop’s floor.
“We need to help them,” Wicks said, bringing his rifle up after arriving in a plop next to her on the left.
“Stand down, Wicks,” she said. “We’ll hit our own if we fire now.”