Desolation

At the front corner of Thompson’s beach house, the men all took cover behind the street-side wall, squatting down and awaiting their orders just as they’d rehearsed. Diablo held up three fingers to his nearest three men, indicating they would be the first team, and then waved his forefinger in the same direction they had come to the Kings’ far side. He did the same with the next three, also sending them forward but to the far side yard of the Thompson house, and then he sent another two to hang back for rear support on the far corner of each of the two houses across the street, mostly as lookouts. El Diablo led Giagante, his most trusted man, through this southern side yard, between the King and Thompson homes. They would lead the assault.

As they approached, he heard yelling from the beach side—from the rear of the house—where their two forward advancing teams were headed. The crunching footsteps alerted him of a small white man in a black T-shirt approaching their position with a revolver.

El Diablo signaled his man to return to the house’s front corner, and he intended to hop over the wall separating the two properties. They scrambled nimbly before the small man could look up and see them.

Scott Smith lumbered through the Kings’ side yard, pushed by hunger and growing panic over what Clyde would do with his wife. What Clyde had told him to do was wrong. These people had helped him and his wife days earlier. When he and Kathy broke into an abandoned beach house searching for food, Clyde and Judas were already there. Clyde then made his appeal to Scott to join them. His wife, Kathy, would be held as insurance. Scott never cared for Clyde, and figured he would be used as a pawn to go begging to the Kings since they’d already offered help. He had no idea Clyde was a psycho who would resort to violence. Now, he was supposed to harm these wonderful people all because of Clyde’s threats to his wife? No, I’ve got to help the Kings and find a way to get Kathy out at the same time. Maybe I could tell them wha—

“Hey gringo, where you going?” a casual voice from Thompson’s yard asked, as if inquiring about the time of day. His rifle aimed at Scott and camo uniform affirmed his true purpose. A metal rod punched Scott’s back, racking him with pain. He turned just enough to see a giant hulking Mexican behind him.

“Give him your gun,” commanded El Diablo. Scott supplicated to the giant, who grabbed his arm and squeezed with such force that Scott yelped like a small fawn caught in a hunter’s snare.

“We should go in now and kill them all,” said Gigante in Spanish to El Diablo.

“No,” El Diablo responded calmly. “Let’s see what happens. These gringos may kill each other and do our work for us.”

Gigante nodded. There was a reason El Diablo had been second in command of Rodrigo’s men… Diablo’s men, now. Gigante was glad for this and knew they would prosper as long as Los Diablos Verdes in the sky lasted. El Diablo let Gigante kill many people, an activity that filled him with more pleasure than the women. “If all of them die, can I at least kill this one myself?” he begged his boss.

“Yes, he’s yours.” Then El Diablo scowled, looking toward the yelling from the beach.

Gigante snickered while facing Scott, who still whimpered at the viselike hold on his arm, and wondered if this little man knew what was coming.

29. Preparing for a Fight

Laramie, Wyoming

Frank Patton kept weary watch on the enemy through his binoculars from his position below the steeple of St. Matthew’s. The Episcopal cathedral’s bell tower was the highest point in Fort Laramie. After the first warning, Frank had rushed out of their meeting to the steeple, busting through the trap-door entrance just as Rohrbach was blasting his second warning of the foe’s approach to the northern gate.

It was a group of ten men, all heavily armed. They stood silently in the middle of the road in front of the gate’s entrance, waiting.

“They’re obviously not here to exchange recipes,” Frank said to himself.

“They’re everywhere.” Rohrbach’s voice shook worse than his hands.

“Calm down Jeff, we’re prepared for this.” Frank knew that came out less convincingly than he’d hoped as he continued to scan their walled perimeter, working his way counter-clockwise to see where else their adversary was advancing. He could see his own people on top of the western wall, running back and forth in a frenzy on its new wood walkway. Most of these people had no fighting experience. At least they knew how to use a gun… if they could just keep their cool. Frank frowned hard, lowered the binoculars for a moment to scratch the bridge of his nose, and raised them again. One of his people stopped, looked over the wall at the railroad tracks below, and then spun around on his heel, waving frantically at Frank.