Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(16)
She beamed. “Done.”
He handed her the empty water bottle, which she’d sanitize and refill with clean water for the next work crew. After scanning both sides of the road, he turned back toward the chainsaw.
“What are you doing? And why?”
“What do you want to know?”
She spread both arms wide. “Everything.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but he was Wolverine, so he had to maintain his grim, fierce persona at all times.
“Travel—including military transportation—depends on roads, assuming the General doesn’t have Chinooks at his disposal. We have ATVs, bikes, a few motorcycles, horses, and snowmobiles. They don’t. They need roads. We’re creating as many obstacles along the roads as we can.”
He pointed. “We blocked off all four roads leading in and out of town—Snow, Lemon, and Hummingbird Lane. Except for M139—Old 31. I suspect the General will roll in via the highway, since it’s cleared. That way, we can concentrate the bulk of our forces on a few defensive positions instead of spreading ourselves thin defending a dozen or more locations.”
Quinn nodded.
“If he’s coming in, we want him to come in where it benefits us most. The north blockade, where we have the most defenses and fighters.”
“That makes sense.”
“And then, of course, we have our goodies.”
Her eyes went big. “Show me.”
Liam grabbed his carbine leaning against a nearby log and led her along the road to the first felled tree. Lowering the M4, he crouched and pointed.
A clear fishing line about ankle high stretched across the road, tied between two trees on either side. The wire was affixed to a tin can—inside it lay a grenade.
It was the size of an apple. Death in a little green globe.
“This M67 grenade is attached where the line meets the tree, so the blast is directed to the kill zone. It’s also tougher to spot.” He pointed to the fishing line. “Ankle-high is fine, as the grenade will explode up and out.”
Her adrenaline spiked. “How do you know it won’t take out a friendly?”
“Good question. We’ll have OPs—listening and observation posts—scattered around the perimeter to monitor for intrusions by foot. Our forward observers will alert us to anyone heading our way—friendlies or hostiles. Snipers positioned up the tree line have eyes on the road. We can stop any friendlies before they reach this point.”
“One reason we’re under orders not to leave Fall Creek.”
“Correct.” He rose and strode back toward the chainsaw, his neck on a swivel.
She hurried to catch up with him; every step was painful.
“How are the foxholes coming?” he asked.
“Got out of digging duty.” She waggled her bandaged hand at him and made a face, then grimaced at the pain. “We used the backhoe. The rest is by hand.”
For the last two days, they’d been digging holes. Each foxhole was armpit-deep and wide enough for a two-man fighting team. The dug-in fighting positions provided concealment from enemy scouts or drones and protection from enemy fire.
For overhead cover, they’d chopped tree limbs and larger logs, stacked them across the opening like a roof, then shoveled dirt on top and covered it with shrubbery, leaves, and chunks of grassy turf.
“Everyone has blisters, even with gloves, but it’s almost done. The gun ports are pretty cool.”
Yesterday, Liam had the teenagers hammer nails into long two-by-fours, placing the tire-puncturing strips across the road in strategic spots. In addition to filling sandbags, they scavenged for barbed wire and concrete barriers.
On top of that, she’d done her chores for Gran and helped Jamal and Tina install a windmill to the Sanderson’s well. They’d delivered a big diesel generator to the McPherson family on Pine Lane, who had four kids and had taken in three more orphans.
“Keep it up,” Liam said. “Report to Reynoso when you’re finished. When you feel up to it, he’ll put you into watch rotation.”
She could have two broken legs and she still wouldn’t say no. “Oh, I’m up to it!”
“I need to check the status of—”
Static spit from the radio at Liam’s belt. “This is Echo Two for Alpha One!” a frantic voice cried. “We’ve got company!”
10
Liam
Day One Hundred and Four
“SITREP!” Liam barked into the radio, asking for a situational report.
Alarmed, Quinn stilled.
Bishop sprinted toward them, weapon in hand.
Static filled the radio. Frustrated, Liam shook it. As if that would help. “Echo Two, do you read me? Come in!”
Jamal had helped them set up repeaters to extend their range. An engineering major, he was a genius with electronics. He and his friend Tina Gundy had a magical touch with anything mechanical.
Together, their tinkering had brought dozens of radios and generators back online. But even with the repeaters, the forward observers were out of range.
Liam had sent out twelve forward observers to cover the major roads within thirty miles north, northwest, and northeast of Fall Creek, with extra attention on the most likely avenue of approach via I-69 South and I-94 West.