by Hunt, Jack
He’d given a lot of thought to that visit. If they came through, he would be more than willing to have them help continually. Finding good men with military skills was hard, and God knew how badly he needed some assistance to ensure the Stricklands and Rikers didn’t get out of control. The feud between them was a ticking time bomb just waiting to erupt.
Dan’s home was in the neighborhood of Lundbar Hills, a quaint new development situated south of Rosewood, close to a municipal golf course and surrounded by forest. He’d bought it with his wife, Lily, four years ago. They still had no kids, but they preferred it that way. It allowed for travel even though he hadn’t had many vacations lately, but he’d hoped that would change with his position as sheriff. His two-story modest home was on the bend of Patricia Drive.
His neighbors appreciated having a cop nearby, and he’d gotten to know a few of them over his short time there. As he rolled into the driveway, he felt guilty. What if someone saw him? Asked him why he was home? Worse, maybe someone might time how long he was at his house, then turn around and use that data in the next meeting. He was paranoid about stuff like that. He raised the garage door and brought the ATV inside. As he went to close it, he noticed his neighbor Brian Mullen across the street.
While he got along with most of the neighbors, there were a few that didn’t appreciate him because they knew his background. He had to wonder if Hank had been around, spreading lies. He gave a nod but the neighbor simply closed his curtains.
“And good afternoon to you too.”
He shut the garage door and headed into the house.
“Lily. I’m home. Johnson said he would handle things. I’m going to bed.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs, one foot on the first step and a hand on the banister. “Lily?” There was no reply.
She was always in the rear of the house, in the sunroom, painting. Even with all that had happened, she said it kept her calm, at peace. She’d been the first to suggest leaving the city, to get away and buy a place further inland, but he’d been adamant that he wanted to stay in the county, be close to family.
He dashed up the stairs and went into the bedroom, thinking she might be taking a nap. He looked in the bathroom, then gazed outside the window.
“Hey babe, you home?”
He came down and got this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The last few days had been hard even though he’d reassured her that they would be fine. She worried too much.
“Lily? Sweetheart.”
He stepped into the sunroom and cast a sideways glance. “Lily. No. No.”
He dashed to the far end of the sunroom to where she was on the sofa, her arm hanging off, lifeless, an empty bottle of pills nearby. He reached out to take her pulse. It was still beating but slow. “Oh God, no. Don’t you do this! Stay with me.”
He scooped her up, carried her outside, raised the garage door, and then placed her on the ATV. It was all a blur, his world slowing around him. A couple of neighbors made their way over as he rolled out for the hospital, holding on to her arms, her head pressed against his back, tears streaking his cheeks.
TWENTY-ONE
Colby
Merced County
It was a massacre. Bodies were in the street, blood trailing off like tiny streams disappeared into the gutter. A couple of black crows feasted on a man’s eyeball, pecking furiously before bursting skyward. Colby had parked the truck behind Gustine Elementary on the east side then jogged into town, rifle at the ready.
All along Grove Avenue, a long street that cut north through residential neighborhoods, he noticed doors on homes wide open, windows shattered and cars stalled. It looked as if they’d gone house to house looting and taking anything they could. If Hector was correct, they’d waited until the National Guard had moved people out before beginning their reign of terror.
He’d just crossed over Meredith Avenue when he was spotted by a group of three positioned farther down the street. They’d rolled several trucks across the street to create a barricade. One guy was sitting on top of a truck, the others were in the back drinking beer when he was seen. They didn’t shoot at him. The guy on top of the truck slipped off. “Hey. Buddy. Come over here,” he said calmly, beckoning with a wave.
Colby took a few steps to his left, already eyeing his escape route between two homes. A drop of the hat decision and he burst sideways hurrying toward the houses as he heard them yell. “Go. That way. Cut him off.” A vehicle roared. Feet pounded the asphalt as he ran down the side of a home, shoved a gate open, entered the rear yard, went around a pool, and launched himself over a chain-link fence.
He’d expected opposition but if he was going to engage, he’d do it on his terms.
With rear doors open on houses, he darted through one and out the front, entering a cul-de-sac. He headed north through more homes before taking cover in a shed.
Colby dropped down among the garden tools and lawnmower, waiting, listening, ready with the gun. Avoidance was always best versus engaging. Three against one in the street was never a good idea. At least here among the homes he could even the odds. He heard footfalls, then someone ran by the shed. “Where did he go?”
“I didn’t see him come out.”
He smiled. Idiots. Like those back in Santa Nella, these weren’t professionals, they were amateurs, tweakers, unorganized, nothing more than guns for hire.
“Hey, kid.”
Colby shuffled up to the crack in the door and looked out. Oh, no.
Some kid, a boy no older than fourteen, wriggled in the grasp of a string bean with a gaunt face. “You see a guy run through here?”
“Get off me.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
Colby wasn’t sure where his two pals were. He slipped his gun back into its holster and extracted a combat knife that he’d taken from the duffel bag. Moving slowly and quietly, he slid the shed door open and was about to step out when a woman and man came running toward the guy.
“Hey, get your hands off him.”
String bean put a gun to the kid’s head. “What was that?”
The woman stuck out her hand. “Please. Sorry. Just leave my son alone.”
“You’re not meant to be on the streets. It’s dangerous out here,” he replied.
There was a momentary pause. The mother, who was standing at an angle, could see Colby and tried to get the guy’s attention. “Were you looking for someone?”
“Yeah. A guy, dark hair, yay high!” He lifted his hand. “You see him?”
Colby froze, waiting. He didn’t even want to slide the knife back into its sheath just in case the guy heard him. “I did,” she said, turning away from Colby. “He went that way.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
The guy shoved the kid at the parents and took off.
They held on to the boy. The mother looked back at Colby as he stepped out and made his way to the corner of the house. “He’s gone.”
The husband, who wasn’t even aware he was there, turned just as he put away his knife. She muttered something to him and he nodded. “You shouldn’t be out here, friend. There’s a curfew.”
“There’s no town council. Who put that into effect?”
“Who do you think?” A pause then the man continued. “You’re not from here, are you?”
Colby gazed around. “No. I’m looking for someone. A woman and a dog. I was told they might be at the Outpost.”
“The Outpost? Best of luck getting near there.”
“What?”
They looked nervously around before motioning for him to follow. The couple led him into the home they were near. Inside the kitchen, he continued, “My name is Paul. And you are?”
“Colby.” He looked at Paul’s wife. “Thank you for what you did back there.”
She gave a strained smile. “I’m Louise.”
“Thank you, Louise.” He looked at Paul. “You were saying?”
“T
he Outpost is the only place they haven’t taken. You’d be lucky to get two yards in front of that store without getting your skull blown off. The owner is an ex-army guy, who will die before he lets anyone step foot inside. Unless your friend knows them, she won’t be there.”
“Why are you still here?” he asked.
“Because this is our home. I won’t be run out by anyone.”
“Any others?”
“Most left.”
“How come you’re still alive?”
“As long as you do what they say, they don’t hurt you.”
“Is that so? Then what’s the deal with the bodies in the streets?”
“Others who stayed. People who pushed back.”
“And the cops?”
He scoffed. “Long gone.”
“So the National Guard did nothing?” Colby asked.
“Who? I’d heard they were in the area but I haven’t seen them.”
“But Santa Nella was evacuated. People have gone to Los Banos.”
Paul looked at his wife. “That’s what the emergency broadcast was saying. I’ve yet to see any soldiers here.”
“A friend of mine has gone to Los Banos. He plans to tell the cops about what’s happening here. Maybe they can help.”
Paul breathed in deeply. “Yeah. Okay.” He sounded as if he wasn’t holding out hope for them. Colby took a seat at the table.
“How are you coping? Food and whatnot?”
“We do all right. At least for now. People left in a hurry. I guess they figure Los Banos is the land of milk and honey. I’m sure they’ll be back. I go out at night, take what I can from homes in the area. I store it in different locations.”
“Can I get you a drink?” Louise asked. “You look a little out of sorts.”
He nodded, and she returned with a bottle of water. He unscrewed it and downed it in one gulp. “Thank you.”
“Where did you come from?” Paul asked.
“L.A.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
“It’s not home anymore. Garberville is. At least that’s where I was told I was heading.”
His recollection wasn’t fully back. He could recall small things but Garberville wasn’t one of them.
“I know that place,” Paul said. “Before this, I was a trucker. I used to do runs all up the north coast. It’s a pretty town. Small. Heard they have problems with people going missing there.” He waited as if Colby might fill in the gaps, validate what he’d learned, but he couldn’t tell him anything. Garberville was just a name, nothing more.
“Look, how many are there?” Colby asked.
“Assholes? I’m not sure. They keep rotating guys out from where they’re positioned. They’ve set up different roadblocks. I just know if you show any sign of trouble, it’s over. Are you sure you want to go to the Outpost?”
“I have to see.”
“The crossroads there is dangerous. There’s gunfire happening at all times of the day and night. You familiar with the town?”
“No.”
“Unless you know where they’re positioned, you won’t make it two blocks. You’ll find yourself being chased or shot dead.” Paul looked at his wife. “I’ll be back soon. Lock the doors. Don’t answer.”
She nodded and went to be with their young son, Nathan.
Paul put a jacket on and crossed to the stairs, opened a closet door, and reached inside for a hunting rifle that was concealed in a golf club cover and was among his clubs. “They take any weapons you have. Figured I would hold on to this.”
He loaded it.
“You don’t have to go, Paul,” Colby said. “I appreciate the offer but if you just tell me, I’ll take my chances.”
“My wife says you looked as if you were about to help my son. A man who risks his life for a stranger deserves a little help. Besides, I can’t have you telling folks that the people of Gustine are all bad. We’re not. We’re good people. I don’t approve of these unorganized assholes. But what can you do?”
He loaded the Benelli LUPO bolt-action rifle and said, “All right, let’s go.”
It was a five-minute walk from where they were, but they wouldn’t be able to go down any of the main streets due to roadblocks. Paul said they’d done it to prevent the gun store owner from attempting to escape, and so they could be ready if cops from the county showed up.
“How quickly did it happen?” Colby asked.
“Fast enough. It wasn’t in the first five days, I can tell you that. People were a little taken aback by the blackout but we all made do, waiting, expecting the power to turn back on. They held a city hall meeting and told us about Los Banos. It wasn’t a mandatory evacuation but for most it made sense. There was talk about the Red Cross, more food, and assistance. They pumped it up as being some great thing. Not everyone bought into it. I certainly didn’t. After the first cop was shot, it went downhill from there.”
They crossed through a parking lot and came out behind a cell phone store. Paul raised a fist and crouched at the corner. “We need to keep conversation low from here on out. When I signal to move, move fast and quietly.”
“The owner of the Outpost. You know him?”
“I’ve met him a few times. Good guy. His name’s Jackson Hartridge. Rumor had it this Spider fella thought he was going to waltz in there and take over the damn place. Jackson shot four of his guys, right there in his store. After that, he locked it down. As far as I know, he’s still there. Him and his family of four.”
Paul went quiet and focused on a large group farther down the street. They were patrolling with assault rifles like they owned the damned place.
He motioned with two fingers and they darted across South Avenue.
“So why not try and reach him yourself? Work together?”
“I have a wife and child to think about. If I was single, you’re damn right I would be over there. That store is jam-packed with enough arsenal to deal with these bozos.”
He pointed up ahead. “5th Avenue. We’re not far now. Keep your head down. Things are about to get hairy.”
Instead of using the road, they climbed over yard fences, working their way from one property to the next. A few homes were occupied. The residents glanced out their windows at them but said nothing. Paul had no idea how many in the town had remained, but from the response at the city hall meeting, few wanted to stay. Most relied on government, trusted the system, and if it meant living like refugees in another city, they were willing to do that — especially with the promise of food. No power meant no internet, no distractions for the mind. Some had no idea how to live without it.
Colby squinted into the distance.
He heard the warfare long before he saw it.
There was one street between them and the back of a hardware store and an auto shop. Colby could see men ducking on the roof. Rounds were exchanged.
“See. That’s why I told you she wouldn’t be there.” They ducked between two homes, watching it all unfold. “5th Street crosses over 5th Avenue. Diagonally across the street is another gun store. Rumor has it that was taken or the owners left. Either way, that’s why they think they can take the other one. All of them are armed and have more than enough ammo to ride this out.”
It was like something out of the Middle East.
The steady staccato of gunshots was deafening.
Colby began to question the guy who’d told him where Alicia was.
“What if they got out?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the owner of the Outpost. How could you hold up this long without leaving for food, water, medical supplies?”
“Maybe he has it.”
“And maybe he doesn’t,” Colby replied. “That could explain how she ended up there. Maybe she was seen going back with them.”
“She?”
“Sorry. Alicia.” He waved him off. “Is there another way around?”
“If there is, these guys will be there.”
Col
by clenched a fist. There was a chance she’d left town. Why wouldn’t she? She probably thought he was dead. For all he knew, she could be in Los Banos or miles away from here, north, on her way to Garberville.
“All right, Paul. I appreciate you getting me here. You can head out.”
He offered a curious expression. “You’re still going in?”
“I have to know. Look, I remember a lot of things and that woman knows me. If by some small chance she’s in that store, I need to reach her.”
Paul nodded. “Shit.” He lowered his head and looked over his shoulder as if contemplating leaving. “Then you’ll need to gain Jackson’s trust. He knows me.” He lifted his rifle and got one of the men on the roof in his scope. Colby thought he was just scouting out potential threats.
He wasn’t.
Pop.
The guy’s head jerked sideways and he dropped straight off the roof.
Another guy looked over and quickly joined his pal with another squeeze of the trigger. “They’ll figure it out fast. Let’s move.” The two headshots cleared the way for them to dart out from their hiding spot, across the street, and hop over a waist-high chain-link fence. They took cover behind a huge industrial dumpster.
With so many rounds being exchanged, no one batted an eye that two of their own had been taken out. They climbed on top of the dumpster and Paul bent over and interlocked his fingers to give him a boost to the roof. “We replace them. Join the fight. Jackson will see. But until he knows, keep your head down,” Paul said.
On the roof of the hardware store, they had a much better lay of the land. It was a damn war zone. Bodies littered the street, gunmen crouched on top of roofs, all focused on the Outpost.
Colby switched out his AR-15 for an M4 that was among a collection of rifles and boxes of ammo left behind by hostiles.
Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to get their attention. That was soon made clear when he turned to find Paul holding a small mirror and tilting it so the glare of the sun would reflect and catch their eye.
