Chapter Thirteen: Hunters and Prey

We hadn't gotten far into our thoughts, when the scanner hit pay dirt on channel three.

First Voice, "Hey, Pete. I'm down on Twenty. Looks like a couple more days before the snow melts enough that we'll see many travelers. I don't see any tracks, not even snowmobiles."

Second Voice, "Well, move on east a few miles and keep an eye out for tracks or smoke. Some of these farms and houses are sitting back a ways in valleys. Remember, with the snow and ice, you might not recognize a drive when you pass it."

First Voice, "No shit Sherlock, I know what I'm doing. You and Mikie just stay away from my pussy. I don't want her all upset and crying again when I get back."

Second Voice, "Asshole."

The scanner went dead.

Hannah's eyes were wide. "I knew a fire was dangerous, but now I know how lucky I was that it was you and not them."

"Well," I said reaching over to hug her, "Now we know they are still around and hunting. Likely they are within two, maybe three miles. Hand held CBs usually don't reach much farther than that, and even allowing that our antenna might pickup fainter signals, we'll start planning for them to be holed up somewhere within a mile north or south of Twenty."

"Agreed," said Rachel. "And we began seeing burned outbuildings about ten miles west of here. That suggests they are moving east and maybe leapfrogging victims."

"I wonder what they are using up so fast." Hannah again. "Most farms are pretty well stocked at this time of year. You'd think they wouldn't need to keep raiding."

"You have to figure that there are just plain vandals, thugs, and assholes in this world. They don't need a reason, just opportunity," interjected Cathleen. "I just hope it isn't women and girls they are using up. Sounds like it might be," and she shuddered.

"That tears it though. We have a mission." I said.

"We have a mission!" declared Cathleen, the others nodded emphatically, and we resumed our planning.

By Sunday, the snow had melted in large patches, and we were walking east on Highway 20, each of us about twenty feet from the other. Where there was snow, we occasionally saw boot prints but failed to find where they had joined the highway.

Our Pixie was in the lead, bareheaded, and her bow slung over her shoulder. We hoped that the sight of the tiny blonde would lessen the thugs' caution, and that they would underestimate her. To further this deception, her new sisters followed, also bareheaded with long braids hanging down.

We knew pretty well where the four ambushers were and even how they were positioned. They had chattered continually on their CB's as they moved down the road. Evidently, they had used this location successfully before.

Pete, of the earlier broadcast, was in the blocking position for their ambush. The others were spread out on the south side of the road, maybe a total of thirty feet from Pete. Their tactic was for Pete to draw attention so the others could either fire from the side or surround their victims.

We were in a slanted formation. I think the infantry squad tactics called it 'echelon right.' The idea was to be able to fire without hitting each other or presenting a simple target to our foes. In this case, our lead person would be farthest away from the ambushers who we knew to be on the south side of the road. I was bringing up the rear, with Cathleen immediately to my front, and Rachel followed behind Hannah.

Not knowing for sure if the ambushers wore Kevlar vests, we planned to target extremities, starting with throats and heads. We hoped for one prisoner to interrogate, but that was a secondary objective.

The plan worked to perfection. As Hannah neared the place Pete was hiding, he stepped out into the road and planted his feet. His rifle hung loosely in his left hand, and he held a large wicked hunting knife in his right. "Hello, chickie-babe. What's with the bow? I thought Robin Hood carried the bow, not Maid Marion!" He laughed at his wit. "Need a man? That wimp hanging back ain't no Robin Hood. He can't be enough for three babes. Me and the boys are really experienced at satisfying honeys like you."

Two more ambushers stood to see better, the third remained crouching. Maybe he had better sense than the others, but none of them appeared to have any hunting skills, much less military training.

Pete waved the knife menacingly and stepped towards Hannah. Like magic, a throwing knife drove through his open mouth and pierced his spine. Our Pixie hadn't exaggerated her skill with a knife.

She spun, dropped, and pulled Bucky from her coat pocket. Her shot at Rachel's target was only a heartbeat behind, taking him in the ear while Rachel's took off the top of his head. Hannah shifted back and put a round through the top of Pete's head as he toppled forward.

Cathleen, not at all squeamish in the heat of a firefight, put three rounds into her man, starting at his Adam's apple and moving upwards.

My target, momentarily frozen by the sudden violence, started to rise. Mindful of the desire for a prisoner, I put a round through his elbow as he raise his rifle. His scream was awful, even more so because it was the only sound uttered by the four ambushers once shooting began.

I quickly moved over to my man and kicked his rifle away. I placed my Glock between his eyes and told him, "Strip naked. One false move, and you die, one piece at a time."

He nodded and awkwardly began to strip. I told him to hurry so we could fix his arm before he bled to death. Moaning with every move, he began to move faster. Once he was naked, I called Cathleen over to bandage his arm.

"She's a nurse," I told him. "That means you get to live a little longer, but only if you tell us what we want to know."

He was clearly in shock, but he had the energy to whine. "You knew we were here. You set a trap for us. How did you know?"

"That's your one and only question," I told him. "Other people have CBs too, you idiot!" I continued, "Okay, from now on we ask, and you answer. That is - if you want a painless death or maybe even to live to stand trial."

After searching his clothes for weapons, I allowed him to struggle into his pants and boots, even helping with the latter. I had him stand with his wounded arm in a makeshift sling and the other to his side. Placing his coat around his shoulders, I zipped it tight, effectively trapping his arms from moving. Then, I had him sit with his back against a silo, out of the wind.

My ladies spent the time assuring the others were truly dead, hauling them to a nearby outbuilding, and gathering their weapons and equipment. "Not a lot here that we would want to keep," stated Rachel. "The weapons aren't in good shape and neither is their gear. I suggest we stash it, and if townspeople want any of it, we can tell them what and where it is."

Cathleen gave our prisoner hot chocolate from her thermos, and then our questions started.

Rudy, that was his name, was a petty thief from St. Louis who was hiding from a warrant. He had come here to stay with a former cellmate whose family lived in the area. When the Swarm landed, Pete had gathered like minded thugs, and offered a proposition. They would knock out the power and the cell towers, then stage raids on the locals for food, weapons, and valuables. With no cell phones, their victims couldn't call for help, and smoke from fireplace and stoves would help the gang find them.

Pete had asserted that by burning the places that they looted, locals would blame their activities on the Swarm and not look for humans. Then Pete and company would take the money and valuables, move to a city far from the Swarm and live comfortably.

Rudy told us that there were three others in his gang. They were back at their hideout watching their prisoners and 'entertaining' themselves. I informed Rudy that he would be tied up somewhere while we scouted the hideout. If what we found didn't match what he had told us, we wouldn't have any further use for him and wouldn't bother to return for him.

"Wait. I forgot about Sam and Dutch," he suddenly remembered. "That's all. I promise."

We learned that there were ten women and girls held prisoners by the gang. They were sex slaves, forced to cook, serve, and service their captors. Several others had resisted and been killed. Their bodies were stashed away from the house in an abandoned silo. With freezing temperatures, there would be no smell until after the gang moved on.

One reason for the current ambush was to gather more women. Their present captives were more and more despondent, and the men wanted replacements.

My ladies listened with increasing horror and anger. "We have to save them, now!"

I agreed. We needed to act before the lack of CB chatter or the failure to return put the remaining thugs on alert.

Alternating threats with food and hot chocolate, we pried the hideout's general description and location from our reluctant captive. Our Pixie immediately identified the farm as belonging to the Parsons, whom she knew well.

My estimate that the hideout would be within a mile of Highway 20 proved accurate. The Parson's farm was about a mile to the west of the ambush site and a half mile south of the highway.

We made our plans, including using Rudy as a decoy, and set out cross country in case any of the other thugs were out and about on the roads.