Chapter XXII: Withdraw
Thirty minutes before Jackson City's victory...
The remnants of the Washington Liberation Front army that had sieged Jackson City... were on the verge of losing.
Owen stared despondently as dozens of his forces stumbled and sprinted out of the walled city in humiliating desperation, abandoning equipment in quickening succession as bullets began to spray from the bloodthirsty Jacksonites chasing them down in every direction. The air reeked of burning bodies and the stench of gunpowder.
"HEY, FUCKERS! YOU KNOW WHAT WLF STANDS FOR? "WE LOST FAST"! HAhAHAHAHAHAA-"
"BREACH OUR SETTLEMENT AND RUN?! FUCK NAH, TASTE THESE BULLETS, YOU FUCKIN' SLUGS!"
"WOLVES? WHAT WOLVES? I SEE ONLY SCARED LITTLE PUPS!"
Owen seethed in silent rage as the Jacksonites chasing down the WLF members began shouting insults, jokes and catcalls. How had this gone so wrong?
"That... fucking... kid...!"
He cursed plentifully and loudly, until he was full-on screaming in rage at his surroundings, kicking the snow and bashing his rifle against the nearest tree in blind anger. He knew exactly what had caused this fuckfest of unprecedented levels.
J.A.C.K.
He couldn't get that fucking name out of his head. Every time he saw a Jacksonite, they were crying out the name "LUCKY JACK!" like it was a blood-soaked prayer to their lunatic god. Half the Wolves Owen had spoken with either over radio or in person wouldn't stop talking about the 'unkillable boy' that was darting around the battlefield like a goddamn ballerina.
"FUUUUUCK!" Owen shouted at the skies futilely. This must have been divine intervention, he thought. How else would a clear overwhelming victory be turned on its head so quickly? One-hundred-eighty fully-trained, fully-equipped winter soldiers versus a bunch of rural simpletons.
Now on the brink of total defeat.
These next few moments for a tactical retreat were absolutely crucial. An army defeated took a majority of their casualties while running from the battlefield, and Owen wanted to do everything in his power to minimize the slaughter as they headed back to Washington. In haste, Owen thumbed the pager for his radio, speaking over general communications to reach every WLF soldier still in the city.
"Code Blue. Rendezvous at the withdrawal point. RENDEZVOUS AT THE WITHDRAWAL POINT. Mortar teams, maintain suppressing fire on the inner-streets of Jackson City and radio the fireteams for their positions to avoid friendly fire."
The hapless and discordant voices of his cohorts came out weakly through the radio, as if fully aware of the overwhelming casualties their forces suffered today. With the issue ordered, Owen dispiritedly sprinted away from the city, settling on a hidden spot in the foliage and using binoculars to try and locate Abby. Despite his clear insistence that she stay near the front gate where the WLF had breached in, she chose to join in the initial push, and now Owen was left in a major state of distress from both this major loss to his faction and Abby being stuck in a warzone with allies dying left and right.
In a split-second, he paged his radio once more, this time directing an order at his lieutenants.
"Harris, Lotte, you have oversight of the retreat. Secure a safe exit for those still in the city!"
After receiving their affirmations, Owen hoofed it back towards the city, this time with a grappling hook procured from his stashed supply/siege pack. And yet, to his utter horror, as he had come up to the western wall and was about to throw the hook over-
Jack emerged at the top of the battlement, gazing viciously down at Owen with weapons in hand. Their distance from one another did nothing to diminish the surging aura of raw violence blasting toward Owen from Jack, like a physical foghorn blaring the sounds of slaughter in all directions. Jack took a look at Owen's figure for a few seconds before hopping off the ramparts and launching towards him, leaving Owen little time to comprehend before he scrambled backwards.
Jack tucked his legs in and rolled almost effortlessly into a stance, glaring vitriolically at the lone Wolf in the open field. Owen, staring back, ran several calculations and recollections of past information through his brain. From the haphazard reports he'd heard over the radio, Jack had taken bullets and carried on with little effect, even engaging in close combat with no seeming impairment.
"Monster."
"Demon."
"Inhuman."
These words were used multiple times by his subordinates over communications to describe this young psychopath. Looking at this from any perspective, and seeing the bullet holes in his chest and arms for himself, Owen had no choice but to accept that this wouldn't even be a fight. He needed to run. How was he going to outpace someone like this? Distractions? Slowing him down? Calling in nearby reinforcements to suppress him?
Before he could even get more than a few thoughts through his head, Owen's quick thinking was interrupted by Jack, who suddenly began vocalizing eerie and distinctly unique sounds from his throat; hitting notes and octaves which sounded almost alien to Owen's ears; and yet vaguely familiar of sounds made by... Infected.
Unsure of what to do, with harrowing moments passing, Owen stood still, thumbing his radio and speaking as quietly as he could; he had no clue what this maniac was doing, but Owen was confident he needed help to subvert this demon so he could get to Abby.
"Jeb, Perry, Diane- any of your fireteams have sight of Abby?"
"She's already been evacuated, it took considerable manpower to get her out of the action."
Owen breathed a sigh of relief. This news had saved him the awful trouble of risking his life looking for her in the mess of the warzone. However, a sense of regret began to creep into his mind as he realized he'd gotten himself into this atrocious situation for no good reason.
Music: "Bramble", by Martin Wave
"What the fuck!"
Owen mumbled curses in bewildered apprehension as Jack's dour noises had begun to draw out Infected animals from the woods like a siren to sailors on the sea. Mountain lions, grizzly bears, deer, moose, elk and wild horses crept towards Jack in a trance-like state, surrounding him in a stupor. The amount of cards this kid had up his sleeve was bordering on nonfiction, and Owen was beginning to lose his sanity from dealing with such a phenomenon unlike anything he'd experienced during all 20 years of his survival in this post-apocalypse.
"I need to get the fuck out of here." Owen muttered fearfully, backing up through the snow while keeping his eyes focused on Jack, who returned that unwavering gaze with hawk-like focus. After around a dozen different Infected animals had grouped up around him, Jack sprang one arm forth, pointing directly at Owen and releasing a guttural growl.
RUN! RUN! RUN!
Owen's instincts screamed at him as the Infected turned their deadened eyes upon him, screeching in tandem as they followed his fleeing presence with hellish pursuit.
He needed to get back to Washington and tell everyone of this monster. A single person able to change the course of an entire siege was someone who needed to be known. He had plans to get revenge; every single Wolf that died and around Jackson City would be avenged. But not now. Not when annihilation faced his remaining forces, and a crazed superhuman lunatic child was running around slaughtering his group in droves.
A lunatic capable of controlling the Infected.
"FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK!" Owen screamed all the way back to the retreat point. Nothing seemed good to him now. He would head back, with Abby in his ear the entire journey, riled and furious beyond sanity in failing to kill Joel and Jack. He would have to bear the terrible news of this unforeseen defeat to the entirety of the Washington Liberation Front, and the cries for blood and his head would need to be managed closely to avoid him being killed by grief-stricken widows and relatives for this massive loss.
After managing to escape the horde of animals sicced on him thanks to nearby allies firing on their walking carcasses, Owen unholstered his pistol and stared down at it for a withering moment. Returning home to be likely crucified for his monumental failure, and knowing he'd be deeply hated for this campaign, especially since he and Abby were the main proponents of it, was a harrowing thought to endure. To Owen, a gunshot to the head and peace from this overwhelming guilt he felt was beginning to look desirable. He'd be able to disguise his death in the still-raging battle as another casualty; and it was likely he'd at least be lauded as a martyr for dying in his attempt to direct his troops away from the warzone.
No. No. NO!
Clenching his face in utter disgrace, he threw the gun to the wayside, clutching his forehead and beating the snowy ground with his fist.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUCK! FUCK IT ALL!"
There were a thousand different things he could have blamed himself for that led to this defeat. His initial interactions with the settlement minutes before the siege; rather than giving them time, he should've just sieged the settlement without alerting them. He should have scoped out the place far more to figure out that such a creature like Jack was residing in it; he should have sent disguised traders in to scope out the place from the inside, or deployed the mortar teams to breach more of the settlement's walls to create more points of entry, thus making for easier infiltration.
A thousand things different ideas which came to him now, only after he'd completely lost the opportunity to gain an upper hand. How viciously ironic fate was. But there was no further point in languishing over what could have been. With the remnants of determination and boiling pot of outraged indignation sitting within his stomach, he picked up his handgun, holstered it and made a dash in the direction of the retreat rendezvous.
The war was not over. Not by a long shot.
Good day, author here. This was a sampler chapter, the next one will be far longer in length. See you soon.
