“The one on Blueball Avenue? The street that the O’Malley brothers constantly joke about?”
“That’s the one. Behind it is a sizeable cemetery. They’ve turned it into a community garden.”
Fred emitted a slight, barely audible scoff, which was his way of laughing uncontrollably.
“They have a cow pasture on the other side of the river on Crown Point Drive, but the problem is, nobody feels safe living over there. If there are any problems, their QRF must cross the river by boat to respond to any threat. They’ve added a few donkeys to protect the herd, but I’m worried they don’t tend to them on a regular basis.”
“Speaking of boats, has anyone seen Boner?” he asked.
I frowned again. “Nope.”
Marcus Hook had ports on the Schuylkill River which emptied into the Delaware Bay. Ensign Lawrence Boner, being a Navy man, moved to Marcus Hook and accepted the mission of getting the port set up for transportation and commerce. One day back in May, he took a luxury yacht out for a spin. Later that afternoon, he radioed in and stated he was anchored at Pierson cove for the evening and would probably return the next day. He hasn’t been seen nor heard from since. Two days went by before Johnny G and a couple of others took a boat down to Pierson cove but there was no sign of the yacht or Boner.
“Did he drown, or did he just leave?” Fred asked.
“They never found the boat, so personally, I think he left,” I said. “He was always rather aloof. You could talk to him, but he avoided forming any friendships. I bet he decided he didn’t like Marcus Hook any better than Mount Weather, so he devised a plan to secretly stock up that yacht with supplies and then sail off.”
“A smart person could live out the rest of their life on that yacht,” Fred remarked.
I agreed. It was a nice sailing yacht; an Oceanis brand. I could picture Boner sailing up and down the coast, maybe even making a trip across the ocean to see how Europe was fairing. I hated to admit it, but I had a tinge of envy at the thought.
Fred lapsed into silence now, which was not uncommon, and I concentrated on driving. The roads to Marcus Hook were in decent shape, all things considered. We had a working asphalt paver and a few dump trucks, but limited asphalt on hand. So, we used work crews to fill in potholes with gravel and tar. It mostly worked. The roads were a little rougher than they were back in the day, but they could still be driven on at decent speeds without the risk of front-end damage to vehicles. We spotted no other zeds and arrived at Marcus Hook in six hours.
Chapter 7 – Team Mad Dog
Melvin and his team made good time and were soon on the Appalachian Highway, heading west. Melvin was in the passenger seat scanning the countryside. Logan and True were on the bunks in the sleeper. Melvin glanced back and saw True reading an Army manual. Logan had his handgun field stripped and was wiping it down with a rag.
“How’s it running?” Melvin asked Liam.
“It feels top heavy.”
“Yeah, I imagine so,” Melvin replied. “Those two extra tanks mounted on the top are adding a considerable amount of weight.”
Lake City Ammunition Plant was a thousand miles from Mount Weather. And that was without any detours. It was a logistical problem. If the mission was successful, they were going to need a tractor-trailer rig to haul everything back. And, they needed to carry their own fuel.
Finally, Josue and Jorge came to the rescue. The truck they chose was a Peterbilt model 579, which averaged six mpg. They mounted two 150-gallon tanks on the truck’s roof behind the cowling. With the two existing 150-gallon tanks, they should have more than enough fuel for the mission.
“According to Jorge, when those tanks are full, that’s twenty-one hundred extra pounds.”
“Is that why they put those square beams across the roof?” True asked.
“Yep. They’re heavily reinforced. Barring any appearance from Murphy’s Law, we’ll be fine.” He glanced over. “Right, True?”
True grunted. “Murphy is always around. Always has been, always will be.” Melvin nodded in agreement. True was right. Missions seldom went by the numbers.
“Zach would have said something profound, like Murphy’s Law is ubiquitous,” Melvin said, which elicited a guffaw from Liam.
“Ubiquitous, I like that,” he said. He then cocked his leg and farted. Melvin cussed and quickly rolled down the window.
“What’d you have to do that for?” he asked.
“Well, I must admit I did not have my morning movement before getting underway. My digestive cycle seems to be out of sync. But that was a good breakfast. I suspect I’ll be needing to make a pit stop within the next 23 minutes.”
Logan groaned. “Why don’t you go ahead and find a spot. None of us want to smell your gas for the next hour.”
“These things cannot be rushed, brother,” he replied.
A few threats from both Logan and Melvin convinced Liam to stop the truck. Putting it in park, he pulled an old rag from his pack and quickstepped over to a hickory tree on the side of the road. The other three men got out and guarded him but stayed several feet away—and upwind. Liam made a few exaggerated grunts and groans before finishing his business and they were back in the truck ten minutes later.
As they rode along, Melvin’s thoughts drifted back to the night before. After the mission briefing, he and Savannah had played with little Prairie until she could not keep her eyes open. After putting her to bed and ensuring she was sound asleep, they engaged in some of their own play time. After, she clung to Melvin tightly.
“Be honest, how long do you think the mission will really take?” she had asked him.
Melvin withheld a sigh. They’d talked about this mission at length. Since adopting Prairie, Savannah did not go on missions anymore. She’d never seemed to mind him going on previous missions, but for some reason, she had misgivings about this one.
“No more than a couple of weeks, if everything goes to plan,” Melvin replied. “It depends on how many survivors we encounter.”
He could feel the tension in her body and absently started stroking her hair.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said softly.
“It’s an important mission. One of our most important missions in the last few years.”
“Why can’t they send someone else?”
“You know they rely on me for the important missions, right?” Melvin asked.
This emitted a sigh from Savannah. “Yeah, but it’s not fair.”
“I know, sweetie,” Melvin said.
Savannah eventually let out another long sigh and threw a leg over Melvin’s lower torso.
“Sometimes I wish you were just a plumber rather than the legendary Mad Dog Melvin Clark.”
Melvin chuckled. “Sometimes, I do too. But if I were a plumber, I would have never found you.”
“I guess not.”
Savannah began stroking him and eventually straddled him. Melvin cast a quick glance to the far end of the room. Prairie was still sound asleep. He smiled in satisfaction, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply.
His thoughts were jostled back to the present when Liam struck a pothole.
“Sorry,” he said. “There’s potholes everywhere. Hard to avoid all of them. Like you said, I can’t make sharp jerks on the steering wheel unless I want to risk breaking those brackets.”
“I understand. Do you want someone else to drive a while?” Melvin asked.
Liam rubbed his face. “Well, now that you mention it, Priss and I had one of our famous marathon sessions last night. I could use an hour or two of shuteye.”
“I’ll drive,” True said. “I’m sure that three minutes was exhausting.”
Liam gave True a withering stare while the other two men laughed. Stopping the truck, True took the driver’s seat and Liam crawled back into the sleeper.
Chapter 8 – Marcus Hook
Marcus Hook looked like a city under siege. A combination of fencing and concrete had been erected along I-95 to the
northwest and then down 322 to where it met the sea. It had been a massive undertaking back in the day and it was completed by only thirty people. And, during all of that, they not only managed to grow crops and vegetables in a heavily urbanized area, they even started producing diesel fuel. It was an amazing achievement. The inhabitants of Marcus Hook were a group of people who were rough around the edges, but they were hard workers, all of them.
The southeast gate was located on Philadelphia Pike at the 495 bypass. It was a marvel to look at. They’d dug deep trenches on the side of 495 to prevent both vehicle and pedestrian traffic. They’d erected Hesko barriers in such a way as to create a funnel effect. Anyone who wanted to come in had to travel approximately two hundred meters of an open area with no cover. It was an effective kill zone if the Marcus Hook people determined you were a threat.
There were two guards on duty at their main gate. One of them was manning a heavy caliber M2 machine gun. They were friendly enough when we approached, but the expressions on their faces were anything but pleasant.
“Good morning, men,” I said. “What’s wrong, Jimbo?”
“Zach, I like you. Mister Fred, I don’t know you all that well, but I’ve heard about you. Clay is my friend. My good friend. Y’all are going to carry him back to Mount Weather and hang him and that don’t set well with me.”
“He’s going to have a fair trial,” I countered.
Jimbo shook his head ruefully. He had the face of a man who once weighed a lot, but now all that was left was jowls that caused his face to resemble a basset hound. “He don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, I hope you come watch the trial and see for yourself nobody’s trying to railroad him.” I did not want to argue the matter and changed the subject.
“I don’t recall seeing that M2 the last time I was here.”
Now Jimbo emitted a small smile. “Found it a couple of weeks ago sitting in the back of a truck up north in Philadelphia.” He must have seen the surprise in my face and explained. “We’ve been working on some armored vehicles and decided to take them on a test run. We only got a few blocks before we had to turn around, but I spotted it and jumped out and grabbed it before any zeds grabbed me.”
It was surprising news. The major cities in this area, Philadelphia included, was overrun with zeds. Even after eight years, there were still large hordes wandering around.
“I’d love to hear more about it, but unfortunately, we have to get back on the road as quickly as possible,” I said.
Jimbo nodded. “I understand. Next time then. Oh, and Zach?”
“Yeah, Jimbo?”
“I would consider it a personal favor if you make sure Clay don’t get hurt or killed.” When he said it, he hastened a glance at Fred, who sat unmoving.
“You’ve got my word, Jimbo. That’s why they sent Fred and me, to make sure he’s safe and unharmed.”
I waved at the men and proceeded toward the main building, which used to be the municipal building for the city of Marcus Hook, Pennsylvania. Roscoe Sidebottom and Johnny G were waiting for us at the front door.
“Hello, Zach, Mister Fred,” Roscoe greeted. He looked the same as always. In his sixties, he was a lean, wiry man with gray hair and a constant inquisitive expression. The man was like an old MacGyver.
“How’s it going, guys?” I asked. We shook hands and made a casual hand-off. By design, when we had confidential information to pass along, we used encrypted flash drives that we would swap off.
Johnny G had stood in such a way that other people hanging around did not see the swap. He gave me a small somber nod once I had surreptitiously stuck the memory stick in my pocket. I was interested in what information they had for us and I hope they had some updated Intel about Philadelphia. Roscoe had a worried expression fixed on his face.
“Our community is divided over this. Half feel that Clay is a murderer, the other half believe he acted correctly.”
“It’s caused more than a few arguments,” Johnny G said. “A fight broke out last night during dinner.” He then looked around. The people who were hanging around did not seem in any hurry to go about their business. “Let’s take this inside,” he whispered.
Fred and I followed the two men to a side room. It looked like it was once a conference room, and the long rectangular table was still there. It was currently crowded with junk and piles of papers.
“Forgive the mess,” Roscoe apologized. “I’m not a very neat person.”
“In his defense, we’ve been so busy lately we haven’t had much time to keep organized,” Johnny G said.
“No need to explain,” I said and thought about my office. I was certainly neater, but that did not mean I had more time on my hands. In fact, I had several dozen matters that needed attention and coming here to Marcus Hook was only going to cause me to become more backlogged than I already was.
“Is everything still on schedule?” Johnny G asked.
I nodded. “The sooner we load him up, the sooner we get him back to Mount Weather. The trial starts the day after tomorrow. I assume you’re the one who is going to ensure all witnesses show up?”
Johnny G nodded. “We’ll be coming in two vehicles. One vehicle will be Clay’s witnesses, the other will be the witnesses for the prosecution.” He paused for a minute.
“There’s been a little bit of an issue that’s come up,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Clay has asked that Senator VanAllen act as his defense council.”
I started groaning before I could stop myself. Rochelle VanAllen had recently been elected as the senator for the great state of Pennsylvania, which included the Marcus Hook community.
She and her husband were rescues. Four years ago, she and Gil were found by one of our scout teams, eking out a living in a hillside hunting cabin near Seneca Caverns. They lived in Mount Weather for three weeks before relocating to Marcus Hook. Gil was an affable guy and a hard worker. Rochelle tended to be the one who stood around and did the talking while everyone else worked. She had a way of ingratiating herself with people, when she wanted to. But when it came time for any manual labor, she’d give a broad smile and declared she had more important things to do.
Most people fell for it. I didn’t. I thought she was a nut. I honestly did not know how she got along with people here. All of them were hard workers but not her. She was lazy. And, wouldn’t you know it, while we were sitting there, she walked into Roscoe’s office like she owned the place. She greeted us in a condescending tone.
“Hello, boys.”
I ignored her and focused on Johnny G. “Let’s get Clay secured and the Stryker refueled, and we’ll get going.”
“Not so fast,” she said with an upheld hand. “There are conditions I insist on before anyone lays hands on my client.”
I glanced at the two men and then Fred before I focused back on Rochelle.
“Okay, we’re listening,” I said.
“First, he is not to be interrogated, he will not be beaten, and he will not be mysteriously murdered under the claim of he was trying to escape.”
“Done,” I said and looked back at Johnny G. “Let’s go.”
“There is one more thing, Zachary,” she said. “I will be riding along to make sure all of these conditions are obeyed.”
I ignored the mistaking of my name and pointed at Fred. “He doesn’t like politicians, so no, you will not be riding with us. Follow us in a separate vehicle if you like, but you will not be riding with us.”
She continued arguing, but it fell on deaf ears. Johnny G ignored her as well and walked outside with us close behind him. He led us to another room at the far end of the building and unlocked it. Clay was lying on a bunk reading an old magazine. He sat up when he saw us.
“So, they sent you guys,” he said and glanced at Fred with worry. “Am I going to make it to Mount Weather alive, Zach?”
“We’re not going to kill you, Clay,” I said and then gestured to Fred. Fred pulled o
ut a pair of police leg irons. “But you’re going to have to wear these. We don’t want you to do anything dumb, like try to escape.”
“What are those, leg irons?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He frowned, and for a moment I thought he was going to resist, but after a moment he gave a single nod.
I took the leg irons from Fred and motioned for Clay to put his feet on the floor. He did so without complaint, and I fastened them around his ankles.
“I know from experience it’s a little hard to walk with them. You have to take small steps—otherwise, you’ll trip.”
Clay looked at me oddly. “You’ve worn these?”
I thought back to when I was abducted from Nolensville and held captive in a cell and experimented on. “Yeah, back a long time ago. If you need to use the restroom, let’s do it now before we get on the road.”
“Already taken care of,” he said, tried to smile, but couldn’t do it. “What do you think, Zach, am I going to get the death penalty?”
I shrugged. “We can discuss it on the ride.”
“I said there will be no questioning of my client!” Rochelle yelled. She was standing outside the door and was literally jumping in order to see over Fred’s shoulders. I glanced at her a second before bending my head closer to Clay’s.
“Clay, is there a possibility that someone, perhaps some of your friends, may try to waylay us on the way back to Mount Weather?” I whispered.
Clay shrugged. “I don’t think so. Nobody’s told me they were going to do something like that.”
Normally, I would not have been too concerned. The Stryker was heavily armored, but that fifty caliber could possibly disable it if someone knew what they were doing with it. I turned to Johnny G.
“I think you guys should have a muster and go on lockdown for a couple of hours.” I gestured outside. “The Stryker is resistant to small arms fire, but I don’t want anyone to do something foolish.”
Johnny G nodded. “Agreed.” He turned and hurried off. A moment later, a klaxon alarm went off.
Zombie Rules (Book 7): The Fifteens Page 4
