Chapter 116: Diogo

Wolfe sits beside me in the jeep and Stryker is in the back. Silence fills the miles as we make our way from Sanctuary out to the last working nuclear power plant in the region. A monumental and dangerous task faces us. Several other cars follow the wake of our dusty trail. Other soldiers, men who will hold off the Primitives once we arrive.
In one of the cars, buried in the middle of the pack is the most important member of our team. An eighty-one-year-old historian who worked as a nuclear physicist before the Great Fall. I've never set a lot of stock in hanging onto history and haven't offered many resources to city historians. I'm thankful this one somehow managed to stay alive as long as he has.
Silence rules our travels. In part because we're scanning the horizon for our enemy, watching for obstacles and conserving energy for an upcoming battle. But mostly we are a silent vehicle because Wolfe doesn't speak unless spoken to, and sometimes not even then. And Stryker is pissed that he was forced to leave Sanctuary for this mission.
His preoccupation with my wife is colouring his decisions and will soon make him a powerful enemy he is not ready to face. I've given him time, weeks of time, to come round. To do his job, which yes, sometimes includes protecting the Warlord's wife. But his constant need to keep her in sight is unnatural and causing friction between him and everyone around him. Even if I hadn't needed his sharp eyes and reflexes on this mission, I would've ordered him along just to give Taran a reprieve from his constant supervision.
"You ever done anything like this before?" I direct the question toward Wolfe.
He remains silent for a moment then, without looking at me, says, "The Santa Fe water supply was overrun with Primitives a few years back. We went in and cleared them out, stationed better patrols and Primitive traps."
I'd been fairly certain this man would have some expertise in driving the enemy out of key points. His quiet demeanour is a mask for the deadly, violent man lurking beneath. I recognize his true characteristics because they are a close match to mine. The biggest difference is he has no desire to seize power. Something that could have made us enemies if he'd pitted himself against me. I get no sense of deception from the man though. He is exactly as he seems. Quiet, deadly and protective of a woman he has yet to claim.
"If yer done jabbering up there, might want to check the road." Stryker's sharp assertion has me squinting into the distance. For an older man, his eyes are infallible.
It takes me a moment but I see it, a section of road missing leading into a ravine. We stop and get out of the car, the three of us gazing down into the impassible section of road. A big, dusty crack in the earth with no road for miles in either direction.
"We're not getting through this with the vehicles," Wolfe grunts, and moves to lean back against the car, arms crossed, casually bored as he awaits a decision. I've no doubt the man can come up with a plan of his own, but he's not offering shit.
The other vehicles stop behind ours and I turn to point at the middle one. The one holding our resident historian. He obediently, if a little stiffly, emerges from the car and approaches the ravine, his gaze on the distance.
"How far?" I demand.
He sighs heavily as though expecting this question. I get it. We're relatively young, most of us are soldiers, all fit for duty. He's an old man. Anyone with eyes can see that the road has become impassible by vehicle. We'll have to walk the rest of the way.
"About twelve or so miles in that direction," he says dismally, pointing.
I slap him on the back. "Good, not far then. We'll arrive before sunset."
He nods unhappily, his shoulders drooping a little. I'm not a needlessly cruel man, but I am a practical one. I've never had a use for a historian until now. And I don't anticipate having a use for one after we're finished. It makes no difference to me if this old man survives past what I need him to do. A callous perspective perhaps, but a valid one.
"Gather your supplies," I shout to my men. "We're walking." I turn to the historian. "Keep up."
He nods his head dismally and turns back to his car to gather supplies. I reach into the back of mine and heft my bag filled with water, food, an extra set of clothes and weapons. Any smart traveller knows to pack the essentials when leaving Sanctuary. You never know how long you'll be stuck on the road.
I head toward the ravine, not bothering to wait for my men. Wolfe and Stryker fall in beside me, packs strapped to their backs and weapons within easy reach. The going is rough since the ravine used to be an old riverbed that cuts deep into the valley. Climbing up the other side isn't an easy prospect. Many of us have to scramble for foot and hand holds while others remain on guard for any predators coming in for an attack. A group this large is going to attract Primitives.
Once we reach the other side, I don't grant my people a reprieve but start walking across the desert with our goal in mind. The faster we finish the sooner we get back to our families. Exposure in a Primitive-ridden landscape is asking for death.
Unfortunately, moving this many people is a slow prospect. The historian can only walk so fast and we need his expertise for the survival of our Sanctuary and all the people in and around it. Otherwise I'd leave him in the dust to fend for himself.
I grow more frustrated with each slow step. At the pace we're going, it'll be well after dark before we make it into the power plant. We've probably gone just over half the distance we need and some of my less fit men are falling behind. I'd leave them to the Primitives, but I need them once we get there.
Then the moment I've been expecting arrives. Stryker growls, "Heads up," which can mean only one thing. I pull my rifle from the holster across my back and check the ammo. Wolfe does the same, pulling his own gun and a knife from the leather sheath strapped to his thigh. I call a warning back to my men in case they didn't see the dust cloud headed straight for us on the horizon, essentially cutting off our path to the power plant. I'm not surprised by their presence, was expecting an attack since we know they're after the nuclear plants. Still, the sight of at least a hundred Primitives bearing down on our position is a daunting one.
"Let's dance," Stryker growls and starts shooting as he walks toward them, each bullet finding its mark deep in the skulls of our enemies.
I follow suit, lifting my own weapon and taking out the Primitives that pull out front of the horde, the strong ones. The survivors. The ones most likely to put up a decent fight and take some of my men down with them. Between the three of us up front we must take down fifty of them before the horde even reaches us. I'm impressed with Wolfe's extreme speed and accuracy with a weapon. He proves he's even better at hand-to-hand combat when the horde finally falls on us, running so recklessly hard they cut a swath into my forces.
Wolfe wraps an arm around the neck of the first to reach us, taking him down to the ground and stabbing him through the eye with his knife. He barely glances up as he shoots another in the head before it can even lay a finger on him.
I don't have time to further admire his combat skills as I'm set upon by a mini horde of three. I marvel at their organization, their predator-like behaviour as they circle me. The intent of the trio is to distract me long enough for one to sink his teeth into the back of my neck while the other two attack from the front. I duck the swinging arms, hitting the ground hard and rolling beneath my attackers, taking their legs out with well placed kicks. The first falls next to me and gets a bullet to the brain. The next falls on top of his compatriot and meets the edge of my blade across his throat. I roll as the third lunges at my back, swing around and shoot him through the heart. As he falls, I put another bullet in his head.
I leap back to my feet and swing around making sure my people are doing what I told them, falling into formation, taking out the Primitives with quick, concise maneuvers.
"Move out!" I shout.
We have no choice but to fight and walk. We will be attacked every step of the way. Our options are either dig in and fight every damn Primitive that shows up, which could be endless, or keep walking, keep making our way toward the threatened power plant facility.
I can't tell how many men are still with me or even if I'm losing people. The fray is too thick. I'm hoping my soldiers keep enough presence of mind to protect the damn historian or we're done before we even get started. The urge to fall back and check on him is strong, but I'm best positioned at the front where I can take out the threat before it reaches him. With that thought in mind I kill as many zombies as I can, taking them out before they can make it back to my men. Stryker and Wolfe follow suit.
Between the three of us we probably kill more Primitives than my entire military combined. There's no way to keep track of time as we move through the horde, but we finally make it to the facility, the bloody evidence of our journey littered across the desert behind us.
I swipe a hand across my forehead, slick with sweat and blood. Not my blood. I look around at the men who've made it to the power plant, doing a quick head count. We lost two. Not bad considering the numbers we were fighting. I search the exhausted, bloody and bruised faces of my men until they land on the historian who is hunched over, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.
I make my way toward him and take his arm, helping him straighten. "Rest later. Right now we have to finish our job and get out of here."
He nods and uses my strength as a crutch as we make our way through the massive metal gates of the nuclear facility. Wolfe stops and turns to scan the horizon, his sharp gaze picking up several advancing Primitives. "This'll make a good choke point. I'll take out anything that approaches."
I nod toward a couple of my guys. "Keep him company."