Free The Zone by RW Krpoun Page B

methodically, planning routes and connections carefully. She was a cop’s wife, too. She would have avoided the major traffic arteries, figuring them to jam first; the side streets were too easy to block and too hard to maneuver-she would take the business districts where there are a lot of parking lots which allow you to bypass the blockage of roads. I traced a route from the north to the housing project-it felt right. I had seen her plan routes before, hell, I had driven them on vacations. She could dodge traffic like nobody else.
    So, head towards the project, cut onto her likely approach path where I could; if they weren’t there, figure her escape route based on local conditions. That would have been her plan, too.
    OK, I had a plan; now logistics.
     
    They had harped on this in the military: your load had to take into account the conditions to be dealt with, the problems likely to be encountered, and the time frame of the operations, cross-referenced with the amount that could be carried. It always boiled down to educated guesswork and compromises.
    I was in decent shape, but I had a bum knee, so I planned to drive, but I might have to walk some. Therefore what I took had to be man-portable. Combat boots, black BDU pants, tight black Tactical sweat top with POLICE in bold white down each arm. Black police ball cap, tactical shades, fingerless tactical gloves, thigh holster with the Glock 21C and a spare mag, black nylon configurable tactical vest. I pondered body armor, then decided to leave it. There wasn’t any shooting to speak of, and it added some weight and a lot of heat.
    Urban area, so food wasn’t an issue; I tucked a bottle of water and a couple candy bars into the left cargo pocket of my pants. Weapons: the Glock, and my M-4LE, a semi-auto version of the Army’s M-4 assault carbine, with holo sight, and combined tactical flashlight/laser sight; two thirty round magazines on the weapon, six more mags on the vest. Tools: Spyderco lock blade, Gerber multi-tool, window punch, lock pick set in a nylon case. Vision: spare batteries for weapon tactical lights, C-cell Maglite with spare batteries, night vision goggles in a case on my left hip, with spare batteries. Mission gear: military bandage in plastic, small first aid kit, two city maps, cell phone and car charger, CB radio, two FRS radios with fresh AA batteries, a roll of duct tape, and some toilet paper in a zip-lock baggie.
    It wasn’t the load-out I wanted, but it was what I could manage given my resources and options.
    Outside on the worn-out sidewalk, the door locked behind me, I felt like an idiot. They were dead or someplace safe by now, and I was literally a day short. I was too old to be playing Ranger. With a bit of discipline I could stay in my place for thirty days without much of a problem, supply-wise. This was stupid.
    Somewhere to the south maybe six blocks away someone hammered out a dozen shots rapid-fire, panic fire, just blazing away. Spine or skull, guy.
    I squeezed the bar and slid the stock on the M-4 to full extension, then twisted the holo sight switch to ‘on’. Screw it, Alan had it right: some people are too stupid to live. 
     
     
    Chapter Four
    I wasn’t going to walk across town, so I swung east, planning to follow the access way until I came to a car lot or a suitable vehicle. I wasn’t moving fast-I didn’t know how far I was going to go on foot, and I didn’t know what the dangers involved were. I stayed close to the curb, far enough to have warning if someone popped out a doorway, close enough that a sniper on the same side of the street couldn’t get a good shot. I didn’t know what everyone was afraid of, so until I learned the rules I was being very careful.
    Shots popped in the distance, mostly singles, once or twice sustained, panicky fire. Crossing an intersection  at a trot I saw a crowd six blocks to the south, maybe sixty people in a close pack moving south at a slow walk, looking purposeless. I