Sarah Burks's Arc

Chapter 8 of 8

Nine days still hung over the vault road. Sarah couldn't just wait them out. Brad's team was striking St Alphonse's that night, far to the north. If the raiders there panicked, they might run supplies to their smaller base southwest of the ridge. Sarah took the armored transport and drove to the high ground above that forward base. Donovan rode in the gun seat, headphones on, radio backpack humming at his feet. She parked the armored truck behind a low rise and cut the engine. The mounted cannon sat quiet above them. Donovan tuned his set and leaned close to the speaker. He was the Rangers' communications man, and he read the air like a map. "Oh man, listen to that," he said. He tapped his watch. "2:21. That's artillery. Brad hit the pancake house right on time." The far booms rolled over the hills. Below, the forward base woke up. Sarah lifted her thermal scope and counted heat. Raiders ran between tents. Headlights flared. "They're loading," she said. "Three trucks." She pulled her field pad and wrote it down, time and count, her hand steady. "They're running the panic straight to us," Donovan said. His voice stayed flat, like reading a report. "Three cargo trucks, headed out the south track. Hell if they know we're sitting on it." Sarah keyed the radio to Captain Hills. He commanded the small crew Fredrick had hired for the trade center, an orange tabby in a green beret who never rushed. "Hills, this is Sarah. Three trucks leaving the southwest base, loaded, your direction. Cut the column." "Copy," Hills said. "Holding the track." The first truck crested the rise. Hills's crew opened up from the rocks. Sarah swung the armored transport's cannon onto the lead vehicle. The 20mm tore through its hood. The truck slewed and stopped. The second rammed it from behind. Donovan worked the gun and raked the third as it tried to reverse. It caught fire and spilled raiders into the dark. A ghoul in torn army fatigues climbed from the wreck, backpack strapped tight, moving with grim order instead of madness. It raised a rifle. Hills dropped it with one shot. The firing thinned. Then it stopped. "Column's down," Hills radioed. "No losses here." Donovan pulled his headphones off and grinned. "Three trucks, zero to us. That tends to get around." He switched to the long set and raised HQ. "Base, this is Donovan. Southwest forward base supply run intercepted and destroyed. Three vehicles. Report to follow." Sarah climbed down and crossed to Hills's wounded. One scout had a gashed arm. She cleaned it and closed it with a stimpak. Her gloves came away red, then she wiped them clean. The raiders' southwest base had lost its trucks and its cargo. The road home was emptier now. Sarah pinned the count to her pad and started planning the next drive.