White Wasteland, Jeff Kirkham [ebook reader with highlight function TXT] 📗

between deployments, and he was sure there would be no warlord geniuses kicking around in a gang like the one bunkered up inside the prison.

The kind of men who traded slaves for drugs were not grand masters of chess. Not ever. Buying and selling drugs had always been a game for people very bad at math. A street dealer could easily score a pocket full of cash. But after kicking up to the gang, the cartel and covering the inevitable costs of going to jail, none of those guys ever saw more than a few bucks. They would’ve done better flipping burgers, but the street sluts didn’t know that. All the chicks saw was the fat roll of cash that Mac Daddy flashed around. So street dealers got to play “bad ass gangster” with all the risk and none of the profit.

In any case, if the shit bags didn’t take the bait, Evan would only be risking some trash narcotics they didn’t want around anyway. Other than the oxy, the drugs were tainted trade goods and they had limited use for the Homestead. To be on the safe side, Evan had Tommy find some rat poison and sneak a pinch into half the bags of cocaine. They had no idea what the dose should be, but if everything went as-planned, it wouldn’t matter.

The car they’d prepped—a lowered Mazda MX-5—rolled up to the gate of the prison. Colton hopped out and scampered back to Evan’s crew. Jeff had positioned riflemen and the Ferret within easy shooting range of the Mazda. If the criminals tried to take the stuff without sending out the slaves, it was obvious what would happen—total annihilation.

The shit bags apparently didn’t value the slaves enough to attempt it. By the time Colton made it back to their lines, a raggedy-ass group emerged from the admin building and straggled toward the gate. It was mostly women, a few kids and four men. The men carried assault rifles.

“Stop!” Jeff shouted through a megaphone before they made it halfway across the yard. The group slowed and stopped. “Those aren’t enough! You’re trying to fuck us! Bad idea!”

The group milled around and one of the armed men shouted something. Evan only caught a few words, but it was essentially what they were expecting them to say: that they didn’t have enough slaves to complete the deal. Jeff looked at Evan with his eyebrows raised and a shrug.

“I don’t know what he said,” Evan hissed. “I’m half as deaf as you!” Jeff turned to the adjutant kid.

“He said that they don’t have enough,” the kid said.

Jeff nodded, then yelled through the megaphone. “We need five more or we kill you all!”

The group in the prison yard milled around some more. One of the armed men ran back to the door they’d just come from and ducked inside. Two minutes ticked by, then he burst back out into the yard. He had two more women. The guy yelled something, but he was still too far away, and probably too winded for them to understand. Jeff looked at Evan, and he nodded agreement.

“Okay, fine,” Jeff yelled through the megaphone. “Drop them outside and take the car.”

The man with the last two girls motioned for the group to keep moving toward the gate. When they got there, the armed man shouted. They could hear him now, closer.

“We don’t send the girls until the car’s inside the gate!”

Jeff didn’t reply.

The armed men herded the group of captives around the car to act as human shields. One of the men checked inside the Mazda and the other checked in the trunk. The trunk man pulled out the backpack full of drugs and held it up for the leader to see. The leader grabbed it, pawed through it and waved his men back toward the prison yard. One of them jumped behind the wheel of the car and drove it through the gate.

“Walk toward us,” Jeff shouted. “Get moving if you want to live!” The captives picked up their pace. Anything would probably be better than captivity inside the prison, and they looked too broken and worn out to make a break for freedom.

The captives arrived at Evan’s lines and Jake waved them past. Tommy was ready with some water and MREs. After that, they’d send the hapless refugees off into the cruel world. They simply didn’t have the resources to do more for them.

“Watch this.” Jeff did the creepy smile again at Evan and nodded back toward the prison. He’d set the megaphone down and he was playing with something—it looked like a fat, metal pen, but it had a ring on it like the safety ring of a grenade. He flicked the ring with his finger making a snap-snap-snap sound.

The men from the prison were doing a more thorough search of the car now that they had driven it out from under the guns. There was a guy checking the trunk again, one guy in the back seat and another guy in the front seat.

“I figured they’d have plenty of experience scavenging cars,” Jeff mused. Snap-snap-snap. “I gave it fifty-fifty odds they’ll check the glove box.”

Evan watched the guy in the front seat. The Mazda was five hundred yards away, but it was mid-day, and he could see the guy checking the floorboards, under the seats, then the glove box.

Snap-snap-snap.

“Boom.” Jeff whispered.

Evan saw the explosion before he heard it. A fireball erupted from the trunk and engulfed the car and all four of the men.

Ka-whump! The ground shook and a wave of pressure blew past Evan.

“That’s just the warmup act,” Jeff said to himself. “You’re going to love the Main Event, you sick fuckers.”

“Have you been playing with matches, Master Sergeant?” Evan nudged Jeff in the shoulder. Jeff handed him the fat, metal device.

“It’s a snap-primer tripwire. Ross had a box of them—another prepper fantasy thing. I wired the glove box to a tripwire in the neck of the gas tank. Gas vapor makes for one hell