Isolation by Jones, Nathan (the first e reader .TXT) 📗

It was almost pretty, if you ignored what it was meant for.

There was a distant, muffled crash, Nick guessed from the weighed ball smashing through a vehicle's window. Which was good, assuming it burned the interior and potentially spread to the gas tank.

“Perfect aim,” Denny called back from his position looking over the hilltop. “That truck's going up like a torch . . . definitely got the attention of everyone in both camps.”

Nick wanted to ask for more details as their leader fell silent, but forced himself to wait patiently. When Denny cursed he tensed and motioned to Chet, Ben, and Charlie to be ready, moments before Denny called back, “Statton, you're up!”

Nick's team was already hauling back on the thick rubber cords, while in her perch Val called aiming directions to them. He hurried to grab a rag ball in a pair of tongs and shoved it into the bucket, then snatched up his lighting stick and stood ready.

“I think you're on target!” Val called, voice tense with fear and excitement.

Nick nodded and touched his punk to the rags, flinching back as heat washed over him, then nodded to his team. “Go for it.”

Their fireball soared over the hilltop and out of sight, followed by a sudden chorus of distant screams; he just hoped they weren't screaming because Val's aim had been off and people were on fire.

Denny cursed again. “They're not abandoning their camps yet. My team, Statton, reload and fire again! Brighton, send a few fireballs left of the camps. Lyman, to the right!”

More fireballs whooshed to life along the line, swiftly flying into the air. Nick led his team sending off another volley then waited tensely, tongs held ready for further orders. Fifteen seconds passed like an eternity, then thirty, then a minute.

“Finally, they're evacuating,” Denny said at last, then raised his voice. “All teams, prepare to bombard the camps!”

Nick began stuffing rag balls into the bucket with his tongs, Val calling out aiming directions. Chet, Ben, and Charlie were just starting to pull the slingshot back when Denny abruptly cursed. “Heads up, security teams, a few brave or insane people down there are charging us!” He raised his voice. “Slingshot team leaders, get up here with your spotters, weapons ready! All teams, start bombarding!”

Heart in his throat, Nick left Chet to light their payload and handle further loading and lighting, then unslung his rifle and hurried up to drop down beside Val.

As he settled into position he heard a dozen sharp slapping noises behind him, then the sky overhead was full of fireballs soaring towards the camp below.

They rained among the tents and vehicles like some sort of cataclysm, rolling down rows and starting dozens of fires. In their lurid glow Nick saw the shadowy shapes of people fleeing in the opposite direction.

He didn't see anyone in the burning camp, which was a relief. But he did see shadowy figures ducking from cover to cover on the hillside below, making their way up towards him. He hastily took aim with his rifle, trying to find a target among the wavering shadows below.

“Ready?” he hissed at Val. He saw firelight shimmer on her auburn hair as she nodded grimly, gripping the rifle she'd borrowed from Chet; her shotgun wouldn't be much use at a distance.

Ten feet away Denny spoke up in a voice a bit above a whisper. He sounded tense, obviously striving for calm but showing some nerves. “Remember Starr's instructions . . . they're night blind and they have no idea where we are. So stay still and wait for them to open fire or until you have a clear target, then aim at their muzzle flashes. And most importantly, as soon as you shoot move to a new position or they'll aim at your muzzle flashes.”

Starr's advice was no doubt good. But before any of them had a chance to even fire a shot, or any of Jay's people creeping up the hill did, a voice boomed over a megaphone down below, cussing out the idiots who were trying to attack an enemy position in the dark and harshly ordering them to retreat.

Jay, obviously; if his voice wasn't easily recognizable, his manner of speech was. They'd already heard plenty of it over the radio.

“Hold your fire!” Denny hissed. “Let them go.”

The order was unnecessary as far as Nick was concerned; he was just relieved they wouldn't have to fight, and nobody would need to die. He quickly passed Denny's words on to the next team leader, then settled down to watch as the shadowy figures below retraced their steps back towards the infernos of their camps and parked vehicles.

The slingshot teams' aim hadn't been perfect, but the constant bombardment had managed to ignite most of the tents. They hadn't been as lucky with the vehicles, since some quick thinker down in Jay's camp had made a point of getting as many out of range of the slingshots as possible. No more than a dozen, but that was probably enough for everyone in both camps to cram in and drive away to safety.

In a way Nick didn't mind that, even though Starr had been insistent that they do their best to destroy Jay's mobility by taking out his vehicles.

Nick's reasons were practical as much as merciful. Without vehicles Jay's thugs would be trapped in this area, severely limited in the amount of trouble they could cause. Denny could easily assign a few people to keep an eye on them, and if he was feeling especially merciless could even try to put them in a situation where they were forced to surrender to justice.

But at the same time, the Wensbrook survivors and their refugee allies had been forced to flee their tents in a panic, probably without much more than the clothes on their backs. Without supplies or vehicles they'd be starving in no time, pinned down and desperate.

Nick had seen what a vindictive Jay looked like;