Chapter Twenty Five - Shots Fired

 Having placed the small, iron key in a modestly jeweled box, the Colonel plopped heavily into his favorite chair. The interior of the wagon, while not exactly spacious, was well decorated and somewhat cozy, especially when considering what the outside held. The only real downside was the heat. When the caravan wasn’t moving, the air hung stale and heavy within. Otherwise, though, the cross-breeze that the opposing windows offered was often a pleasant respite.

 He poured himself a small glass of brandy from a carafe on his chair’s side table and blotted at his runny eye with his handkerchief. “You obviously have something to say. So, go on then,” he told Joe without even looking at him.

 Joe stood tall and powerful near the door of the wagon with a humongous sniper rifle strapped across his back. His face was marred by a jagged scar that ran from his left temple to his opposite jaw, an old injury that he had sustained in the same attack that burned and deformed the Colonel. He scratched his scraggly beard uncomfortably before replying, “Couple things, actually. We’ll start with that new guy. Something stinks about him.”

 The Colonel waved him off casually and jabbed back facetiously, “Have you smelled yourself lately? Not exactly ‘Spring Fresh’, soldier.”

 Frowning and unimpressed, Joe told him, “Cut the shit, Jerry… I’m serious. Guy shows up on his own horse outta nowhere, carrying a rifle like ours, and no one thinks to interrogate the ever-loving fuck outta this asshole?”

 “He was questioned,” the Colonel began. “Sarge saw to that before he got himself chewed up. Granted, they were slightly interrupted by the attack that evening, but the man… his name is Seth, by the way… was found to be satisfactory. In fact, Doughboy spoke highly of his role in defending us that night against the dead. It has been told to me that Seth came to the aid of Sarge and the other newish one, Nash, directly after taking his obligatory beating. The boy is solid and until I have reason to believe otherwise this discussion is through.”

 He downed his brandy in one gulp and poured himself a second glass. He then silently offered Joe a drink, gesturing to the carafe, but Joe held up a hand to politely decline. “Is there more?” the Colonel asked, moving the discussion forward.

 Joe stepped further into the wagon and took the seat opposite the Colonel, but not before removing his rifle and standing it against the arm of his chair. “And what about 17 then?” he asked. “The guys out there are telling me you’re showing him off to recruits like some kind of prize winning pet. I mean, I’m gone for, like, a week and a half and I come back to this?”

 The Colonel’s grip on his brandy glass tightened as he allowed Joe to vent.

 Continuing, Joe told him, “Sarge is gone, the slave train is decimated to a point where we’re just feeding the men on what’s left, we got strangers walking around unchecked, and everyone and their mother knows about what we got hiding in that wagon back there. And I’m not convinced one of these psychos won’t get the balls to make a move on you for control. It’s Goddamn sloppy is what it is!”

 Having heard enough, the Colonel threw his glass across the wagon’s interior shattering it into a thousand pieces with a loud crash. Unexpectedly spry considering his appearance, the Colonel leapt to his feet and stood over Joe pointing his crooked finger accusingly. “That is enough!” he shouted angrily. “Let me remind you that you are not in command here. You do not make the decisions, you ungrateful little shit. I do!”

 Joe held his hands up defensively. “Whoa, whoa, Jerry, take it easy, man. Come on,” he pleaded sincerely.

 The Colonel, still seething, told him, “Our friendship is never going to change the fact that I run the show. Always have, always will. Are we fucking clear?”

 Silently searching for the words to ease the tension in the room, Joe hung his mouth open for a moment too long. The Colonel asked again more firmly, “Are we fucking clear?”

 Finally giving in, Joe told him, “Yeah. Yeah, Jerry, we’re fucking clear. I know you run shit, man, Goddamn… but I’m here to help. I’ve always been here to help.”

 Blotting his eye as he stalked around the room, the Colonel fired at him saying, “Then just do your fucking job!”

 Joe stood up and defended himself firmly. “I am doing my fucking job!” he shot back angrily. “Who took Vegas, Jerry? Me! That’s who! Who got the majority of the men to the forest’s edge alive? Me! Who has stuck by your Goddamn side since day fucking one, Jerry? Huh? Who?”

 Joe didn’t wait for the Colonel to respond because he already knew the answer. Instead, he sat back down and made a conscious effort to diffuse the anger between them. He lowered his tone and finished saying, “Look. All I’m saying is that you got a lot on your plate right now; maybe a little too much. Without Sarge to keep the men in line, your safety and that of 17 are at risk, plain and simple. I’m just calling it like I see it because you’ve always trusted me to do it that way. We’ve never sugarcoated shit.”

 The Colonel finally turned and looked Joe straight in the face. He sighed heavily and plopped once again in his chair listening intently.

 Joe continued, “Vegas is gone and we’re finally ready to move on the Foresters for real this time! Shit, man, I got groups all over those woods scouting for the medicine man and they got no back up anymore without Vegas to lean on. The savages in the Badlands have either joined up with us or fucked off to California and New Mexico because we stomped a mud hole in their asses. It’s close! Ten years of work… the fighting… the chasing… it’s almost over now. We get Seven Doves, or whatever the fuck those redskins call him, to find a way to get 17’s blood in our veins and we got it fuckin’ made in the shade.”

 The Colonel folded his hands, slightly inspired by the passion with which Joe delivered his speech.

 “But…” Joe said nearing a close. “Just because we’re in a fairly good spot right now, strategically, doesn’t mean we can get cocky or relaxed. In fact, now is the time to pay attention to every single fucking detail. No loose cannons. No chances. No uncalculated risks. If we fuck up now, it’s nobody’s fault but our own.”

 Admitting his wrongdoing with both body language and tone, the Colonel calmly told Joe, “Fine. You’re right, you salty old bastard. Is that what you want to hear?” He smiled at Joe sincerely and then blotted his eye. “Alright, listen up. I want you here with me until we’re through with the Foresters. No more supply runs for you, no more raids, none of it. From here on out, you delegate that shit. I want you here on my caravan as my right hand.” He held up his burn scarred hand as if to jokingly illustrate his point. “Take command of these men and keep me posted on anything out of line. If you don’t like that Seth kid, then test him… kill him… Whatever, I don’t care. They’re yours now. Meantime, I’ll tend to 17 and lay out the strategy for the Forester raid.”

 Joe nodded, satisfied. “Works for me.”

 They both shared a tightlipped look of determination.

 Standing to leave and swinging the rifle over his shoulder, Joe added, “One more thing. You might want to keep that key on your person until I get a handle on things. You know… just in case the shit hits the proverbial fan.”

 The Colonel nodded at Joe and told him. “Maybe. Let’s see how it goes today.”

 As Joe opened the door allowing the sunlight to spill inside, the Colonel caught his attention one final time. “I’m lucky to have you, Joe. Don’t think for a second that I don’t appreciate that fact.”

 Joe smiled back and nodded his agreement. “You’re Goddamn right you’re lucky to have me.” He chuckled at his own joke before sobering himself and looking the Colonel in the eye. “I trust you, Jerry. I trust you with my life. This is gonna work.”

*****

 Lilly finally opened her eyes as the gunfire ceased and the smoke cleared. She quickly surveyed the carnage that surrounded her before checking herself for bullet holes. She was clear.

 Chak, Kylee, and the others stood there incredulously staring at the bodies of their assaulters, seven men and one woman, laid out on the ground bloodied and still. Chief asked around, “Can someone tell me exactly what the hell just happened? Lilly, you okay? Kylee, you good?”

 Alyse stepped out of the brush from behind them with Wyatt, Jonas, and Troy by her side. They were armed with weapons from the wagon, still smoking. “We heard the gunshots,” she told them as she spotted Dante lying motionless on the ground. She frowned deeply, disappointed and saddened. “Is everyone else okay?”

 Kylee ran to Wyatt and took the rifle from his hands before hugging him tightly. She wiped his face and stood to meet Alyse face to face. “Thank you, Alyse… again.”

 Alyse brushed a stray hair from her face and said to Kylee, “I told you. I refuse be a victim anymore. It’s time to end it.” Troy and Jonas passed off their weapons without ever having fired a shot as Alyse reloaded her own.

 Chak spoke up as he stepped over the body of a dead man, “We’re going to need more people. Even with the rest of our Foresters we’re still horribly outnumbered. There’s no way we can win this fight if what this lady said is true. One hundred is almost double what we got.”

 Jonas cleared his throat and raised his hand as if to ask permission to speak. At Kylee’s nod, he told them all, “I know where we can get more people. A lot more.”

 Troy barked at him in their language but was silenced by Kylee immediately with a swift smack to the back of his head. “Shush. Go on Jonas. More people?”

 Jonas nodded and said, “I need to get back to Vegas. There are people there.”

 Alyse scoffed and told him impatiently, “You were there, Jonas. It’s gone. Everyone there is dead.”

 Shaking his head, Jonas continued, “No. You’re wrong. How do you think we were able to survive this whole time? How do you think we got away with stealing your food and clothes?”

 Chief snorted. “Because you’re all a bunch of slippery little urchins, that’s how. Sneaking in and out of the walls in the middle of the night…”

 “No, no… You’re wrong, Chief,” Jonas explained. “We were there the whole time. We never left. Troy and me, along with thirty or forty more… We were right underneath your feet… in the sewers. They’re still there, guys. I can get them to help.”

 Kylee did the math in her head. “Damn, that would put our numbers just about even. But how are we gonna get word to them?”

 Chak spoke up. “Give me the fastest horse. I’ll take Jonas with me. We can make the trip there and back in less than a day if it’s just us. I’ll push the horse as hard as I can.”

 Ten agreed. “He’s right. Chak is the best bet. He can get Jonas there and let him do his thing. But what about getting them all back here?”

 There was silence for a moment while everyone’s gears turned. Lilly would be the first one with an idea. “I got it! The dropboxes!”

 Those who had never been on a road crew stared at her blankly, so she clarified, “Nick’s dropboxes are scattered all over. I know them better than anyone. There’s some two way radios and batteries, medical gear, all that. I’ll draw you a map to one that’s on the way back to Vegas. I have another one in mind that I can get to from here in an hour or two. Get to the box, fire up the radio and contact us that way. You’re still gonna have to march those boys back this way if you can’t get hold of some horses, but at least we can coordinate effectively if we can talk to each other.”

 Kylee exhaled as she thought it through. “I don’t like it, but I can’t think of anything better right now. It’ll have to do.”

 Lilly nodded. “Fine. Let’s get back to the wagons then.”

 Wyatt interrupted. “We have to bury Dante first. And we can’t let him turn.”

 Chief stepped forward along with Ten. “The boy’s right.  We’ll handle it. We’ll lay him out near the river where the ground is softer. You guys grab these guns and ammo, too. No sense leaving it here with the shit we’re about to get into.”

 Lilly placed a hand on Alyse’s shoulder as she passed and added. “Thank you, Alyse. You saved us.”

 Through an accepting smile, Alyse told her, “About 27 more times and we’ll be even, Lil’. Until then, don’t mention it.”

 In the quiet that they left behind, the bodies of their attackers grew cold, except one. When she was sure that Lilly’s group was gone, the woman who ambushed them opened her eyes and slowly got to her feet. She looked herself over for wounds and, finding none, she knelt and said a silent prayer, thanking her God for sparing her life.

 She was oblivious to the inflamed bumps that lined her cheek from the insects that bit into her while she was on the ground playing dead for what seemed like hours, waiting for the others to leave. She was alone now, but she was alive. That was enough to be thankful for.

 “Poor Lilly,” she said quietly to herself as she stripped the bodies of her comrades for anything useful, jabbing her knife into their skulls to spare them from turning as she went. She ran her fingernail along the edge of her combat knife before stowing it away once again in her sheath. “Now I have to kill you slowly.”

 She knelt and smeared her fingers into the moist ground before wiping the mud over her face for camouflage. With the moans of the dead approaching ever closer due to the gunfire, she disappeared quietly into the brush.