The Survivors
The Devil and His Minions

March 19th

1

Dillan and Dean made it to the filthy slaver camp at dawn, pulling three middle-aged women and a strikingly beautiful teenager on rawhide ropes. The females had all come from Kimball, Nebraska, where the brothers had waited out a dust storm.

Surrounded by a wall of mountains, the slaver camp was a sprawling, unorganized mess of mud-spattered, bullet-ridden vehicles and torn, dusty tents that stretched across Highway 287. They were out of sight and sound of the next town, with trees, charred frames of cars, and ranch homes as a border. One house had been reduced to a blackened frame with antireligious phrases sprayed on its sheds and outbuildings. It had been targeted due to being covered in Christmas decorations. The hundreds of statues and displays were riddled with bullet holes and melted by Molotov cocktails, but there was too much to destroy all of it. Now, it stood as a warning that the old world was gone.

Smoke swirled sharply from dying fires. Hordes of flies buzzed and landed, swarmed, and resettled over the garbage dump behind the camp. Corpses of all ages lay there.

The four females on ropes didn’t react to these horrors as they stumbled by. They just concentrated on moving their feet so they could draw another breath. The rawhide was shrinking, rubbing away the skin on their necks until they were slowly choking all the time.

Dean and Dillan came into the camp openly, not expecting to see guards; they didn’t. Word had spread. Many of the places ahead of the Mexicans had already emptied before they arrived. That would work in the twins’ favor. Empty towns meant no women and that might cost Cesar leadership if it continued long enough. The twins had an offer that would be to the man’s advantage. Or so he would think if they did this right.

They had made over four hundred miles in two weeks. Alternating driving, they had stayed on the move until they stopped near the Nebraska-Colorado state line to pass the storm and ferret out a few females for Cesar. Despite owing Cesar their lives, Dean and Dillan felt no loyalty toward the mean little man. They did respect him for his quick, brutal methods of control, but if not for their failure with the witch, they would have never returned. It was one more thing they hated her for. They had been gone a long time. Cesar was unstable, making it hard to know how they would be received. He might order them killed before they had a chance to make the offer.

Few of the passed out and sleeping slavers noticed their arrival. Those who did acknowledged them while ignoring the bandages. They scanned the women, then averted their gazes. Word had also spread about the brothers. Despite their long absence, now was clearly a bad time to draw their attention. Even the camp mutts, starving, mean mixes of indecipherable origins, shied from them.

Dean and Dillan went to the rear of the dirty area, to the reeking, rusted semis. They shoved the cringing captives into an empty one, locking them in. These were holding pens for slaves. There were no guards here either. The already broken women had no courage left to run, but those who were fresh wouldn’t make it far before every man in camp was on them. A loose slave was fair game.

With their noses full of holding cell decay and the harsh odor of gasoline, the twins went to the center of the muddy, stinking site, certain they would replace the leader there. His tent would be surrounded by his men so if they were attacked, he wouldn’t be hit first. Cesar was smart, ruthless–exactly what they needed.

The grungy green tent was indeed in the middle. It was one of only a few dozen vinyl shelters. Most of the men preferred to see open sky above them after years of not seeing it at all from prison and detention centers. It was also a lot easier to just wrap up in a blanket and roll under a truck.

The twins could see the Loveland, Colorado skyline lit up in flames and lined in thick, black smoke. Their eyes were drawn to the charred frame of a jetliner resting in a thicket of piñon trees to the right of the burning town. Surrounded by a muddy, devastated landscape, and covered in red dust, the crushed plane was more unbelievable than the destroyed city behind it.

Loud snores echoed under dogs yelping, women crying and, the pop of neglected fires, but there was instant silence as the twins slid inside the center lean-to…and then a gun cocked.

“Who is there?”

The smells of sex, blood, and violence mixed badly with the cigar smoke in the dark tent. The cautious brothers stayed in the shadows, so there wasn’t a clear shot.

“Dean, and my brother, Dillan.”

Their gazes lingered on the naked teenager chained to the center pole of Cesar’s filthy tent like a dangerous dog. She was curled into a ball, showing a body they immediately wanted.

Jennifer felt it, tensing. Other than that, she didn’t move. She knew better.

“We have an offer for you.”

“And, an untouched gift.”

Cesar grunted in recognition, putting his weapon under his pillow.

The twins grimaced as Cesar yawned and added bad breath to the other strong odors.

“So, you have returned. I did not think you would.”

A candle flared to life, giving them a better view of the Mexican and the bloody girl at his feet. Her swollen face and crusted thighs said she’d passed a rough night.

“What happened?” The slaver pulled up his cruddy jeans. The material was tacky with dried blood–the girl’s. “Who attacked you?”

“A witch,” the bald brothers answered together.

The bearded slaver puffed on a cigar. Cesar had never been sure about these two; he studied them while pulling on muddy boots. If not for the good work they had done for him in the past, he would kill them here now. “A bruja?”

They nodded at the same time, tones full of hatred.

“Yes, magic.”

“Spells. A witch.”

Cesar tried to figure out what they could hope to gain from such a lie. When he found nothing, he let himself consider what it could do for him. He was no stranger to the occult and its mysteries. If the twins were telling the truth, if they had found what the old world hadn’t, his plans to seed America with his bastards and control it through them would be unstoppable. “You have seen this?”

The twins told him everything that had happened. They offered no excuses for their failure, and they didn’t talk up their actions. It convinced the Mexican. The mercenaries believed what they were saying. Is it possible? A real witch?

All three men looked over as the flap opened to reveal a stocky Mexican in crisscrossed gun belts. An ugly scar stretched across his cheek and ran up his nose, then over his brow. It cut his face in half and gave him the appearance of someone who liked to cause pain. “Everything is okay?”

Cesar waved him in with his deformed hand.

The twins ran scornful leers over the new man’s broken, yellow teeth, baggy shirt, and torn, muddy pants, but they both recognized José for what he was–a possible threat to their plans. “No, but it cannot be helped. Get the men up and ready for tomorrow. Then give Richard the signal. Tres light red y uno green.” Cesar hated the sound of the broken English coming from his mouth. He hated anything American, but many of those here didn’t know their native language. He had little choice if he wanted to be understood.

José swept the hermanos with clear dislike. He had been against Cesar letting these two live, though he had voted to spare Rick.

The mercenaries smirked back at him.

“We have esclavas in truck six.”

“See to them.”

José bared broken teeth at them before ducking back out into the heavy wind and mud. Men who were about to come toward him with questions changed their mind when they saw the fury on his face.

José was a cousin and not as deadly as Cesar, but he had earned a vicious reputation with his temper. He was left alone when he stomped to the trucks, worrying about the twins. They were hardasses. If they decided they wanted control of Cesar’s camp, there was a good chance they would get it. In Mexico, they had been the ones to call when no one else could get the job done.

Wind beat against the tent. In the thick silence after José ducked out, all three men could hear the girl’s nervous breathing.

Jennifer had been with him since the week of the war. Fear for her life was something that never left, even when she was alone.

Cesar stared at the brothers with a hard, calculating expression. “There is no way to explain these things?”

“No.”

“We followed her for almost a month. She was alone until she sent out the wave of power.”

“She conjured a protector.”

They appeared desperate to Cesar, certainly not the same men who had left him after they’d conquered NORAD together. “You know where she goes?”

“She’s traveling northwest, never deviates.”

Cesar scowled. “There is a group near Yellowstone that calls for survivors.”

“You hear them this far away?”

Cesar frowned deeper, pulling a beaten sombrero from the debris littered floor. He slapped it on over his tightly kinked black hair. “Sí. Your bruja is going to them?”

“Maybe. We think she’s hunting for family.”

Cesar’s displeasure grew, scanning the grimy bandana around Dillan’s bandaged wrist. The white of the gauze under it had long since turned brown. “We must get to her before she reaches them. This group is big, organized. A witch would make them a threat to me.” Cesar’s mind raced. “You can take her?”

Dean shook his head, while Dillan shrugged.

Cesar felt a tremor of worry. He had never seen a time when the twins disagreed on anything. The woman’s protector must truly be strong.

Cesar saw Dillan grimace when he flapped his hand to deflect a determined fly. The injury to his arm was obviously bad. It is her man they want, her soldier. Surely he was the one responsible. Then why say a woman? That was worse. Either way, it came down to revenge. “So, this is why you’ve come back.” It wasn’t a question; he glared at them, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to agree for now. “Mine during the day, yours at night?”

They both nodded eagerly.

Cesar grinned, gold front tooth flashing. “It will be good. We will set a trap, kill her soldier, and have her.”

“That’s not enough!”

“She knows things!”

Cesar fingered the handle of his hoja, hating it that they were always so disrespectful.

The injured brothers waited for him to pull the knife and hand over his camp. Either way, they were determined to pit his men against the witch.

“You have a plan?” Anyone else, Cesar would have already challenged, but he wasn’t sure he could win against the two vicious assassins with just the gun under his pillow and a hangover.

Dean’s leer lingered on the chained girl, but he was aware that the Mexican was now an enemy instead of an ally. He would need to be handled as such. “We’ll follow her; figure out where she’s going. If it’s a good place, we can take shelter there for the winter.”

“You are estupido to let her reach familia. Then you face dos brujas, yes?”

The twins were pissed at the insult. They had killed for less.

Cesar kept his hand on the knife. I will at least take one of them with me to hell.

“It’s better to control them both, than to have the missing one ambush us.” Dean didn’t want to kill Cesar and lose half the men outside in the fight for leadership that would ensue. “We can’t replace the other one until she leads us to them.”

“How will you get to them once she reaches the safety of this Haven?”

“You’ll surround the group and demand they hand over both witches. We’ll pick off a few easy targets, use your inside traitor to cause chaos, and then make it clear we followed her. The other people there will hand her over to save themselves.”

The other brother picked up the explanation. “Once they do, we’ll make her use her power against any defenses the group has. You’ll be in control of a safe area, new supplies, a witch, and fresh slaves–all without having to lose men.”

Cesar needed proof to go through so much. Their word wasn’t enough. This has to be a trick. “The men will not believe.”

“They will later, but for now, it doesn’t matter. They don’t even have to know. Just keep going north and give them whores and whiskey.”

Dillan gestured. “Didn’t you tell us you wanted to take Cheyenne and Casper by May?”

Cesar’s face lit up greedily. “Sí, and my men know it.”

“Good. That will put us on an intercept course. Dean and I will track her; we’ll also replace some bait to send in with Rick.”

Cesar considered it. He had used the traitor repeatedly. No one ever suspected him until it was too late because he was white. The Americanos should have remembered their own history. Whites were not more trustworthy than the Russians or even himself, for that matter. They were only a bit more careful to cover their asses.

“Less than a month from now, you’ll own Wyoming, and probably have a good start on Nebraska. We’ll be a day or two from the tank hidden near there. Best of all, you’ll rule the entire western half of this country, from the Nevada wastelands to the Midwest corn belt.”

Dean finished it off. “Plus, this group will know you’re coming and lose courage.”

“America is dead. I will show them!” Cesar clenched his fist, the missing fingers making it a grotesque motion. He didn’t see the looks the twins were giving his young slave. She was his private property; he didn’t share. He wanted to be sure the bastards he left were his and every man in his camp knew he would kill the girl and the man to be sure of it. “It shall be as you say. Drink, smoke, rest. Tomorrow, we take Windsor. Then you shall have the revenge you deserve.”

2

Cesar invaded the untouched town of Windsor under the cover of darkness and a violent thunderstorm; his men blocked escape routes at all four entrances to the city.

They split up, and began moving in at 4am. They gave no mercy to anyone, like they hadn’t in any of the other towns they’d taken along Interstate 25. Moving inward, the gang conquered Windsor over the next six hours, burning as they went through. The few who managed to escape would have nothing to return to.

Doors were kicked in and terrified females were dragged away, floors and bedclothes soaking up the blood of their husbands and fathers. Those found running the radio broadcasting American values were tortured, beheaded, and dismembered, then left with Mexican flags draped over their faces. The rest of the males were killed where they were found, babies were left to die alone, and female after female was raped, beaten, broken.

During the first hours of this hell, the twins were back in Cesar’s tent, taking what was his. They snuck back to join the slaughter after they filled Jennifer with seed.

Cesar never knew they hadn’t been with him the entire time. A few of his sharper men could have told him, but that might mean a confrontation between them. Cesar’s men weren’t sure he would come out on top. The twins were hard, but none of Cesar’s crew wanted them in control. The stocky Mexican was still followed without hesitation when they got to Fort Collins and found it abandoned. Word had spread that the slavers were close.