Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Everybody, listen up!” yelled Connor. His entire team, children included, edged closer to hear. Some kept an eye to the approaching enemy and the determined push onward in the distance. They saw a mass of horses, trucks, and men, grim determination evident in their frenzied movement and pursuit.

Sensing their lack of focus, Connor yelled louder. “Eyes on me! I said listen up!” Every face turned to him, some surprised by his anger. “That piss-ass army’s nothing in comparison to you guys. Nothing! You got that? We have experience and training on our side, expertise on our side, intelligence on our side! We will shut that bastard down! You can count on it!”

“Hoorah,” said Marty and Mickey, grinning in anticipation of the fight to come.

“We need to tuck in half way up that mountain,” continued Connor. “There’s a place called Lick Hollow. It’s a little picnic place that’s a great defensible position. That’s right, boys and girls, we’re gonna have ourselves a picnic. It’s a spot that will provide us with an easily defended position that is a natural funnel and can’t be flanked. We’re gonna show those shitheads that they can’t play this game like we can.”

Rhonda glanced quickly at the approaching army and was skeptical. “But, Mac, that’s a lot of men and firepower. What’s gonna happen if we can’t hold ’em?”

“Good question, Rhonda. I think you’ll understand it better once we get there. I’m sure there’s some of you that might doubt what I say, but when we arrive at the spot I’m talking about, we can wipe out Phoenix’s army. In fact, the spot will provide us with an optimal downfield killing zone, Rhonda. And, most of our guys are trained fighting men—trained specifically for this type of confrontation. When we reach Lick Hollow, I’m sure it will become clear.”

“Okay, Mac,” she said, still unconvinced.

“Listen, Rhonda, we have hope, trust, training, experience, supplies, demographics, logistics, tactical knowledge, geographic familiarity, command experience, and a boat load of combat skills. It all comes into play. We have it and they don’t. Plain and simple.” He studied the men, seeing some give him a confident nod. He had never used the word “hope” in a pep talk, but hope was a strong factor in his calculations. He had made preparations long ago in these mountains, preparations for just such a post-apocalyptic scenario. After talking with Commander Del Re in Perryopolis, he knew that Mark Harmon was still in play and he was certain Mark had set up a defense paramilitary system in the mountains. His hope was that Mark would respond quickly and intuitively to the onslaught coming his way.

“Are we winging it, Mac?” asked Marty as he approached. He had spent enough time with Connor MacMillen and he thought he recognized some doubt in the man’s words. “Is that what you’re saying—we’re winging it?”

“C’mon, Marty, have a little faith.”

“I’m not worried about faith, Mac. I’m worried about bullets.”

Connor raised his eyebrows at Marty, but said nothing. He turned his attention back to the group. “I know we don’t have a lotta time here, but I’m gonna tell you a short story. A long time ago, when I was a young pup full of piss and vinegar, I lived on that mountain. I set up shop there—I know it like the back of my hand. And, during that time, I set contingency plans in motion for an end-of-the-world scenario like what we’re experiencing right now. It started out innocent enough—it was more like an exercise in ‘what if’. Mostly, it was for fun and I did it with a very close friend who lives up here. I’m told he’s alive. After awhile, we agreed to real-time prep—we signed off on the shit we were discussing. We made plans and promises. Now, wouldn’t you agree that what we’re facing is end-of-the-world shit?”

“Yeah,” said quite a few in the group. Others simply nodded their agreement.

“The friend I planned this with was named Mark Harmon. He owns some strategic properties in those mountains. And, I found out from the people in Perryopolis that he’s known as General Harmon now. He was a good friend, the best, and he became invested in the idea of prepping for the worst despite the fact he never spent a day in the military.”

The team waited, wondering what Connor’s point would be. Connor noticed that no one risked a glance at the approaching enemy.

“From what Commander Del Re told me, Mark is very much alive and well. At the top of this road is a hotel. We always called it the Summit Hotel, but I’m not sure that’s its actual name now. That hotel is in the best defensive position to keep turds like Phoenix Justice off this mountain. If you hold the road in front of the Summit Hotel, you control this end of the mountain. Period. It’s so easy to defend at that point that Phoenix’s army will be nothing more than a minor inconvenience there.”

“Are you sure the hotel’s still there?” asked McLeod.

“It’s there. If it’s not there, something’s there that makes it equally difficult to pass. Mark would never leave that section of road vulnerable to a breach. That’s where faith comes into play. Mark would set up something there to control who came into his neck of the woods. It’s time to go—let’s move now!”

They hoisted their gear and were on the move in seconds.

Renaldo caught up with Gabby who was walking near Rhonda. He put his arm around his little sister in a protective half-embrace.

“Is that mean man gonna catch us, Nully?” she asked.

“No way! Not if Connor Mac has anything to say about it.”

“I like Mr. Mac, Nully.”

“Me, too, Gabby.

“He’s strong and smart like Daddy.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot like Daddy.” He risked another glance behind him at the enemy. They were edging closer.

“Can we stay with these people, Nully? I want to.”

Renaldo clasped a firm arm around her shoulders. “I like them, too, Gabby. Now grab your stuff, we gotta run real hard and real fast right now.”

“Okay, Nully.”

“Keep up with me.”

“I will, Nully.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, Nully.”

“Let’s go.”

“I’m down to fifty sniper rounds, Mac and I’ll plow through those pretty quick when Phoenix fully engages.”

“Make every one of ’em count, Surf Boy. How much you have left for the M-4?”

“Only 156 rounds. Plus, sixty-two for the Colt. Thirty-two left for the Beretta.”

“Okay. We’re gonna need ’em all.”

“Copy that.”

“Stick with BB.”

“Yeah, Mac, I will. He’s sitting ’bout the same on the M-4. He only has a box and full mag left for his Glock. We’re settin’ up on the picnic bench over there. There’s a nice angle to the curve down the highway—I should be able to kill a bunch of those scumbags when they start their climb.”

“Agreed.”

“From here on out, the shooting won’t be more than five hundred yards—that’s child’s play, Mac.”

“Okay, Surf Boy, just don’t waste your ammo.”

They had left Hopwood, the small town at the base of the mountain, and climbed the rising road hoping to make it to the Summit Hotel and the reported tollgate and stellar defenses, but were also counting on Connor’s Lick Hollow picnic area as a secondary engagement point, if necessary. Route 119 veered off to the south prior to the start of the climb. Route 40 headed east and led them up the winding mountain road. Gathering three thousand feet in elevation over a three-mile stretch of twists and turns, the road hugged the mountainside—north was a sheer cliff rising into the sky and south was a ravine that couldn’t be negotiated without the proper gear. There was no real possibility of being out flanked by Phoenix’s larger force. When the attack came, it would only come from the road and it wasn’t likely they’d receive any enemy fire from the uphill side.