by N. C. Reed
“Okay!”
***
Dottie Greer left the farm the next morning followed by a semi-truck and a half-dozen people to help load her belongings and bring them back to the Sanders' ranch. Before leaving she had ventured to the square on the hill to examine the house left empty when the 'boys' had moved into the bunkhouse. She was accompanied by Amy Mitchell. The two women examined the house together as they got to know each other a little better. By the time they had come down from the hilltop they had decided that the two women and three children could share the house without any difficulty. It would give Amy and her daughter Lisa much more room than they had in their small 'apartment' in Building Two, and there would be more than enough room for Dottie and her children as well.
By the time the group helping Dottie had returned with her belongings, their new housemates were already in place. By dark, everyone was moved in and settled.
Clay had gotten permission from Dottie to place someone else in her house if they had someone suitable to watch over her garden and perhaps keep an eye out for movement in that direction. It wasn't close enough to the interstate for an observation point, but it would possibly make a good place for the people on such a duty to bunk down.
So much shuffling had left plenty of room in Building Two. As a result, Kurtis Montana, Shane Golden and even Xavier Adair became residents of the second floor.
***
“Man, am I glad the game of musical houses is over!” Clay dropped tiredly into a chair out in front of Building Two. He pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Like you did any of that work,” Jose snorted, sitting beside him.
“I supervised, man,” Clay pointed out as he replaced his hat. “That shit is stressful. 'Go here, do that, put this there'. I'm telling you, it will wear you down,” he was shaking his head slowly.
“You are so full of shit,” Jose snorted. “But I'm like you. I'm glad we seem to have put all this drama behind us. It's too distracting.”
“Run drills tomorrow,” Clay said suddenly. “Out of nowhere. Full alert, all people to their posts or shelters. Once it's done, send everyone on the security detail through their own drills. Everyone in the unit to run the gauntlet, too.”
“Everyone?” Jose raised an eyebrow.
“Me too,” Clay nodded. “We're getting soft. If we aren't careful, we’ll pay for it. Tomorrow we work like we mean it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Push further north,” Shirley ordered the three team leaders before him. “Follow all three of these highways. As you approach the state line, make your own judgment, but if it looks clear, then dip across and see what you can see.”
“Yes sir,” all three nodded. “How far do we go?” one asked.
“As far as you can safely go,” Shirley ordered. “We've lost a full platoon up there somewhere with three vehicles, and now we've lost a patrol that was following a target. The missing platoon had an armored truck with a machine gun. Whatever they ran into was mean enough to stop that. So be alert the whole way and keep your head on a swivel.” He paused briefly before continuing.
“And be on the lookout for signs of that patrol,” he said finally. “My niece was leading it and Gene was with her. I'd like to know what happened to them at least.”
“Yes sir,” all three said again.
“That's all. On your way.”
***
No one liked being on such a patrol into unknown territory. The North Alabama People's Militia preferred to go into areas that were already 'pacified', where there was little to no danger. But, no one wanted to tell the Powers That Be 'no', so go they did.
The patrol that drew Interstate 65 in the highway lotto was led by a man called Zee. No one knew what it stood for, and since Zee tended to be a disagreeable and generally violent son-of-a-bitch, no one asked him, either. Zee's patrol contained an even dozen people, himself included, and rode in three vehicles; one four door truck, one older model Suburban, and a panel van that carried their heavier gear and equipment when they planned to be in the field overnight.
“Why are you slowing?” Zee asked his driver. “What is it?” he looked forward.
“There's a line of cars across the highway,” his driver, a woman named Wendy, pointed over the steering wheel of the old Ford truck. “No way that was an accident, and there's no way through I can see. And those vehicles are burned,” she pointed again. “They also look like the vehicles Shirley's niece had.”
“Stop here,” Zee ordered as they drew within fifty yards. He stepped down, waving his arm in circle over his head. Soon he was joined by everyone other than the drivers of the three vehicles.
“You three, cover from here,” he snapped out orders. “You three, move right of the burned out van. You two come with me down the left. Be on your guard. This doesn't look new, but that doesn't mean there isn't more.”
They spent five minutes moving slowly to where the burned out hulks sat in the road, blocking the way.
“Oh, man,” someone said behind Zee as he looked into the van. The heat from the fire, probably an explosion, had welded the door shut, but had also burst the windows. It was easy to see inside. There were four bodies, still in their seats. The smell of burned flesh was still present, though thankfully not as bad as it could have been.
“Poor bastards,” someone else muttered. “Never knew what hit them, I bet.”
“Move up,” Zee didn't bother to correct them. They were likely right. Half a minute later they were looking at what Zee was sure was, or at least had been, Eugene.
“We're missing Emily,” a woman named Fran noted, looking around the vehicle. “No sign of her at all.”
“And the passenger door is open,” someone observed, pointing to the passenger door.
“Maybe she ran off?”
“Where would she run to?”
“Quiet,” Zee ordered before the argument could devolve. “I doubt she ran off, which means she lived through whatever this was and was probably taken, or else crawled off to die. Spread out, fifty yards north and then turn, walking the highway back to at least fifty yards behind here. If there's no sign of her, we keep going. Butch, see where we can make a hole in this little traffic jam so we can move on.”
The team spread out to follow his orders. Zee watched for a minute, making sure everything was moving like it should be. As he started to move in and join the search, 'Butch' called him. Joining the larger man, Zee found himself looking at a twisted piece of metal.
“So?” he asked after waiting for an explanation.
“This was done by a Claymore mine,” Butch said simply, pointing to two jagged holes left in what had once been a car fender. He then produced a darkened ball bearing, flattened on one side.
“How do you know?” Zee demanded.
“I seen it before,” Butch didn't quite smirk. “Whoever they ran into has military grade equipment, Zee,” he added more seriously. “Could be National Guard, or some kinda rogue outfit, or maybe they even stole it. But this was definitely done by a M18 Claymore. Looking at the damage, I'd say more than one, and that this wasn't the only thing. That car,” he pointed to the opposite side of the vehicles, “was turned over by the blast I'd wager.”
“How can you know that?” Zee asked, seeing the car in question on its side.
“Damage is done on the side and not the bottom, which is exposed to us,” Butch shrugged. “Was I a guessing man, I'd say whoever did this planned this little ambush just perfect. And Laverne drove right through it.”
“Don't let William hear you say that,” Zee reminded him.
“William ain't here, and neither is his niece,” Butch shrugged. “And him hearing me say it wouldn't change things none. Anyway, we should be able to push this car aside with the Ford's bumper,” he decided to stop trying to get Zee to pay attention.
“Go ahead and get that working, then,” Zee nodded.
“Yes sir.”
***
With no luck on locating a body, Zee had slowly taken his patrol further north in search of information. He didn't like it, but the other two patrols would meet them just north of the state line into Tennessee. If he stopped before then he'd be called chicken shit for it, and he wasn't going to let that happen.
He needn't have worried. His team made the rendezvous first. Stopping, everyone bailed out of the vehicles to stretch their legs and some to make a nature call.
“Look!” Zee heard someone call and instinctively looked north, expecting a threat.
What he saw instead were buzzards circling. Many, many buzzards.
“That's odd,” it was Butch again.
“Why?”
“Nothing should be left out here to attract their attention,” the other man noted. “No more traffic to hit animals, and no more people left, assuming any were dead in this area and didn't just walk out. No reason for them to be there.” He looked at Zee.
“There might be one reason,” Zee nodded grimly. “Butch, get two more and let’s go take a look. Rest of you stay here. We’ll be back momentarily.”
It was a quiet ride, made quieter by the tension felt inside the truck. Soon they arrived to where several buzzards were gathered around something on the ground. Zee hopped out of the truck and shot two of the large birds, scaring the others into taking flight. Butch frowned at the careless use of the rifle but said nothing. It was Zee's patrol, not his.
“Damn,” everyone said at roughly the same time as the odor of a long dead body reached their nostrils. Covering his mouth and nose with his shirt, Zee followed Butch to the body. Butch had elected to cover his face with a bandanna instead.
They found a body lying in the median, face down. The vultures had done a good job but it was still possible to say the body was probably female. She had likely been a prisoner somewhere, considering what was left of her dress, apparently a tow sack of all things.
“How in the hell are we supposed to know-,” Zee began, only to be cut off when Butch grabbed his arm and pointed.
Emily Shirley had a tattoo. She had gotten it one weekend while on a bender, on a dare from a friend. She had marched into a tattoo parlor in Huntsville and propped her ankle up, demanding the letter 'L', in the cursive script Penny Marshal had worn on the old Laverne and Shirley show, be tattooed on her ankle. She had regretted the tattoo once she sobered, but as anyone can tell you, after the fact is too late. She had been forced to deal with the stupid tattoo ever since.
Today it served to identify her body when there was no other way to do so.
Zee looked on for another few seconds before turning and losing his lunch all over the highway.
***
It was quiet on the way back. Fran had used a smart phone camera that had avoided the destruction to take a picture of the tattoo before Zee ordered his men to bury the remains. No one wanted to do it, but no one wanted to tell William Shirley they had left his niece on the highway to be eaten by buzzards, either.
Zee had presented his report quickly and concisely, placing the camera phone down with the tattoo already showing.
“Where?” William said softly after a minute. Zee went to the map and placed a push pin into it.
“About here, sir,” he said simply. “Just north of the rendezvous.”
“And where would you say you found her team?”
“Here, sir,” Zee placed another pin. “Just north of this mile marker. They were hit in a planned ambush. Probably with military grade weapons. Explosives, anyway.”
“I see,” Shirley nodded slowly. “What did you . . . ”
“We buried her on the side of the road, sir,” Zee replied to the unfinished question. “We marked the spot and left a crude marker there to identify her.”
“Very well,” the older man nodded again. “That will be all, Zee. Thank you.”
“Yes sir,” Zee didn't want to linger and left as quickly as he could without making it look like it was quickly.
Shirley sat staring at the map for a long time after Zee had departed.
***
William Shirley barely noticed when Eugene's father, Bart Adams, literally stalked into the office.
“I'm hearing rumors that-,”
“It's not a rumor,” William said softly. “Emily and Eugene are both dead. Eugene died in an explosion that was probably an ambush. Emily was taken prisoner but apparently later executed.”
“What?” Adams was stunned. He had expected to be told it was all bullshit.
“I want to send a stronger force north,” William said softly. “I'm going to create a new platoon level unit from the patrols that were out today. Send them and another of equal size north together. Strong enough for whatever is up there that keeps killing our people. We have to go north sooner or later for supplies, so we may as well clean it out now, right? That work for you, Bart?”
“Work for me?” Adams' voice was hard and quiet. “My son is dead, Shirley. I want whoever did it nailed to a wall somewhere. Anywhere. Hell yes it works for me.”
“I’ll start putting the mission together then,” William Shirley had never taken his eyes from the map on his wall. “Maybe two or three days, but that's all. Then we see what's up there,” he suddenly stabbed the spot on the map that Zee had circled.
“Then we see.”
THE END
FROM THE AUTHOR
I mean, who else would be writing a note at the end of this thing other than me, right?
As I said in the foreword, this was exhausting. I knew it would be difficult before I ever started, but I underestimated the degree of difficulty. I think there might have been one other book that I worked harder on than this one. Ever.
In order to set up the next arcs, there had to be a great deal of transition. Some of the dialogue was tough to get right, and sometimes I'm still not sure it's where I wanted it. This book was much longer than previous Fire novels, and it was always going to be that way due to so much change. Almost another novels worth in the end. 130K words. Nearly a Parno novel.
I hope you felt it was worth the wait. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope it made you excited to see what else was coming in the future.
I want to take just a second to thank all of you so much for your support, encouragement and with this book in particular, your patience. I doubt I will ever be able to find the proper words to describe how much all of you mean to me. You humble me constantly with your appreciation of my creations, and I am literally at a loss for words to tell you how that makes me feel. Odd for a fellow that uses words for a living, I know. But it's still the way it is.
Thank you all.
NC REED
