"His armor might have stopped the shot," Barb said.
Conor shook his head. "Not those rounds. They'd have punched right through."
"I'll remember that next time," said Wayne.
"Hopefully there won't be a next time," Shannon growled.
"I don't think we're done with him yet," Conor said. "He's testing us."
Barb asked, "Which part was the test?"
Conor gestured around him. "All of it. From showing his face here to landing in the garden, to giving us this assignment. He's measuring our willingness to play ball. He's trying to decide if he needs to go ahead and kill me or if I might prove useful yet."
The group was silent as the magnitude of this statement settled over them. In the past six months, since that operation overseas, it had been easy to forget about the cloud of destruction that hung over them. Conor hadn't been able to forget though. The constant presence of Browning's satellite phone in his pocket sat there like an anchor, like the weight of a bad meal sitting in his stomach, trying to decide if it was going to stay down or not.
Ragus wiped at his forehead with the tail of his shirt. "So what are we going to do?"
Conor scratched his chin and stared at the garden. "Harvest any damaged vegetables that are still edible. We can eat or can them. Stake up any plants that were knocked down. Try to save what we can since there's still a lot of growing season left."
"No," Ragus groaned, "about Browning."
Conor shrugged. "Nothing. All we can do right now is carry out the op as we've been asked to do."
"You're seriously going to track down a man with very similar beliefs to your own?" Barb asked, her voice rising. "Then you're going to hang him in front of his town? And you're going to kill all his friends and family?"
A look of disbelief went around the group as everyone stared at Conor in horror. The others hadn't yet heard the details of his conversation with Browning. They didn't know what he'd been asked to do.
"Maybe you should tell us a little about what went on in this conversation," Wayne suggested.
Conor propped his rifle against an old aluminum-body military trailer. He hauled off his chest rig and hung it over the side. "Let's at least work while we talk."
While they did their best to restore some order to their garden, Conor recounted his conversation with Browning. When he glossed over some detail that Barb insisted was relevant, she'd chime in with additional information. Most of the group had little to say during Conor's retelling, except to express their occasional shock and disbelief at the nature of the mission that he, or perhaps even they, had been tasked with. Conor was less surprised. He'd had a lot of experience with the ebbs and flows of governments.
"So back to my earlier question, what are you going to do?" Ragus asked when Conor finally reached the end of the narrative.
Conor straightened from the tomato plant that he was refastening to a tall wooden stake. "I expect I have no option but to go along with it for now."
Wayne shot Conor a hard look. "How far? Certainly you're not going to do everything Browning asked, right? You can't kill families."
"No, I can't, but I'm also not excited about the prospect of those things Browning warned were coming if I didn't comply. Not just destruction of this compound, but hit teams sent to wipe us out."
Ragus shook his head in disgust. "So it comes down to our family or his?"
"In Browning's mind it does. I'm not so sure that will be the final equation," Conor admitted. "I'm still exploring all the angles."
"But at a minimum, you might lose your compound," Wayne pointed out.
Conor bobbed his head. "That may be inevitable."
Barb angrily stood up a tomato stake and jabbed it into the ground. "I'd hate for it to come to that. This might be a junkyard to Browning but I'm kind of fond of our little place. It's home to me."
"It's home to me too, daughter. I could never replace it, especially under these conditions. Now isn't the optimal time to shop for a new Mad Mick compound. But I'm not certain I could remain here knowing that I had to kill innocent people to make it happen. That's too high a price."
"Where would we go?" Shannon asked. Still stinging from the loss of her father, the compound had become her home too. The idea of losing her new home scared her. She was struggling to find her place in the world, to stay anchored.
"So we leave here to go on this little mission of his, accepting that the compound might not be here when we return?" Barb asked.
"I accept that every time I leave home, Barb. That's the nature of things."
"That's not how I look at it."
"You're my daughter, not my clone.” Conor grinned. “We have our differences."
"Obviously," she snapped.
"Well, we're not leaving immediately. I need time to review the mission documents Browning gave me, though I suspect there's not much there," Conor said. "We'll also need to prepare our gear."
"Who is we?" Barb asked.
Conor pointed at her. "You and me, daughter."
"So the rest of us just sit around and wait for a missile to fall on our heads?" Ragus asked. "Lovely."
Barb rolled her eyes at him. "No, idiot. I'm sure we can come up with a better plan than that."
Ragus squinted at her harsh response. "I'm just wondering if there's something we can be doing while you're gone!"
"Easy, lad,” Conor said to the boy, “no one is going to sit here waiting for a drone strike. We may have to accept that we could lose the compound but that doesn't mean we're giving up."
"Where will we go?" Shannon repeated.
"I'm working on a plan," Conor said. "I suspect Browning won't be using satellite imaging to monitor us since I kindly agreed to go on this mission. That should allow us to move around the compound without worrying that he's monitoring our every move."
"What good will moving around the compound do us?" Wayne asked. "We need to be moving off the compound."
"That's exactly what we're going to do," Conor said. "I just don't want our movements tracked."
"I don't think there's enough room in the mine for everything," Ragus said. "It's a good spot but you have a lot of crap."
Conor looked offended. "Crap? My empire isn't crap, boy. But seriously, I know there's not enough room in the mine. "We have some diesel put back that Ricardo gave us, rest his soul. It's not enough for any long trips but I think there should be enough to make a few runs to Johnny Jacks' place. We've got the cargo truck we took from The Bond. I've also got the rollback truck that I used for picking up materials and hauling machines. I say we fuel up those trucks and haul as much as we can to Johnny's place."
"I don't think there's enough room in his barn to accommodate all the things you want to store," Barb said. "Your empire, as you call it, takes up a lot of space."
Conor pointed across the compound to the row of Conex shipping containers. "It'll be a heavy load but I want to haul those out of here on the rollback. We may have to partially unpack them to winch them onto the truck but they'll provide good storage."
"We could camouflage them so they'd be less visible from the air," Wayne suggested.
"I have netting just for that," Conor said. "I'll just have to find it."
"Do we have enough time to get this done before we have to leave on our op?" Barb asked.
"Browning said he wanted a report in a week," Conor said. "I think I can devote three days to the move, then you and I will need to hit the road. The rest of you will have to finish the move in our absence if we can't do it in three days."
"We can do it," Wayne said. "I'm confident."
Ragus raised a hand. "I'm less confident but willing to give it a shot."
"I'm glad we have a plan," Shannon said. "It keeps me focused."
"Food, weapons, and gear are the priorities," Conor said. "We can take the basic hand tools and power tools, but I'm not worried about the rest of the shop. If he hits it, it's gone. I'll rebuild one day."
Everyone could see
the way he looked at that shop as he spoke. They heard the lament in his voice. He'd told all of them at one time or another how this was the place he'd dreamed of having all of his adult life. While the loss of it would be a tough blow, he'd been through worse. In the scheme of things, it was just a building. At least, just a building with some really nice welders, lathes, milling machines, and drill presses.
"When do we start?" Barb asked.
Conor looked around the garden and sighed. They'd done as much as they could for it. "Right now."
20
Conor's Compound
Jewell Ridge, Virginia
The ensuing days were a mad scramble around the compound. Wayne got the old multi-fuel cargo truck that had once belonged to The Bond running, then did the same for Conor's thirty-year-old International rollback. The forty-foot Conex boxes were a lost cause. Conor had no way of moving those with a truck this size though. The twenty-foot containers could be winched up onto the rollback with ease, at least they would have if they'd been empty.
Since they weren't, they required a little help from the massive John Deere front end loader that Conor used as a forklift. While he was well aware that this moving operation would probably require him to use every drop of diesel fuel he had remaining, he saw no other choice. Conor's beloved compound could be nothing but a crater in a few weeks. If he wanted to have any gear and supplies he needed to salvage as much as he could in the time he had available to him.
While Conor, Barb, and Wayne loaded trucks, Shannon and Ragus traveled the road between the compound and Johnny's place on horseback, making sure it was clear enough to travel. They tossed branches out of the way and used an ax to chop fallen trees from their path. Of most concern was a mudslide that had blocked one lane of the narrow, winding road. Avoiding it would force the trucks to drive dangerously close to the shoulder. If they were too heavy for the edge of the road it could collapse beneath them, taking truck, cargo, and driver over the mountain. On the steep ridge that could mean rolling hundreds of feet before the truck finally hit a tree large enough to stop it.
The day after Browning's visit they were able to make their first delivery to Johnny's farm. Wayne and Conor drove trucks, with Barb along as a spotter for any challenging sections. Shannon and Ragus stayed behind to stage the next stack of boxes to be loaded onto the trucks. Conor laid out a detailed plan for them. He didn't want the pair to waste any time figuring out what should go and what shouldn't. Any time wasted was not time they could make up later because the clock was ticking.
Since Conor knew the road better, he took the lead position with his rollback. Barb rode with him while Wayne followed behind in the cargo truck. They all had radios so they could communicate between themselves. Once they were out of the compound, Ragus closed the gate and locked it. Despite the focus on moving, they couldn't let their guard down. This went for the folks remaining at the compound as well as those on the road. Everyone was amped up, hyperaware, and bristling with weapons.
Because the compound was at the top of the mountain, the road to Johnny's place was a constant winding descent. They used their gears and kept their speed low, not straying over twenty-five miles per hour. The road was scattered with dirt, leaves, twigs, and other debris. It was a constant surprise to Conor how quickly the Earth attempted to reclaim the land from man. It was a constant reminder of how there was a natural order to things and neat yards, paved roads, and neatly trimmed hedges were not a part of it. The world had its own plans, its own vision of perfection.
It felt strange to be driving again on the local roads. Conor hadn't done it since bringing the cargo truck home from the mission against The Bond. The act of driving was relaxing and almost meditative, at least until he came in sight of the mudslide Ragus had mentioned. The paved road over the mountain wasn't divided. There were no lines by which he could gauge how much road remained between where the slide stopped and the road ended. There was no guardrail because there wasn't enough shoulder to drive any posts into the ground. There was barely a tire's width of gravel beyond the pavement before the shoulder dropped off to open space.
"You're going to have to watch for me, Barb," said Conor.
With no hesitation, she jumped from the truck and jogged ahead of the vehicle. She turned around and studied the gap. Conor saw doubt and worry on her face before she raised the radio to her lips.
"I don't think there's enough room. You're going to have to put that driver's side tire into the slide and drive through it."
Conor didn't like the sound of that. "This load is top-heavy, Barb. She'll not handle much of a pitch before it topples off the mountain and takes me with it."
"How much of a pitch will it handle?"
"We'll know when she fecking tips," he replied.
"Then what do we do?"
"Send it, I guess," he muttered. "I'm going slow. Rocking the load will only make it worse."
Barb jogged backward, trying to put enough distance between her and the truck that Conor wouldn't have to worry about where she was standing. "I'm clear."
Conor dropped the Spicer transmission into the granny gear and released the brake. He let out on the clutch and the truck began rolling. It lurched when the front left tire hit the edge of the dried mudslide. He gave it more throttle and the engine roared, pushing the tire up onto the dirt. Something in the shipping container shifted, rocking the entire truck. Conor gritted his teeth and kept a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.
"You're almost over it, Dad!" Barb shouted into the radio.
He gave it more throttle and the truck leaned precariously, but he stayed on the accelerator. A little further and the truck flattened out again.
The radio squawked. "Back tires are going to be worse!" Wayne warned. "They'll cock the load more."
"Fuck it!" Conor growled, giving the truck steady throttle and powering the dual rear wheels onto the incline.
There was a groan from the deck of the rollback as the container shifted slightly. Conor felt a small jerk as a chain or load binder adjusted itself. He clenched his jaw and slapped the wheel with his hand, but didn't let off the throttle. He looked at Barb and saw the terror in her eyes, doubt on her face.
The front driver's side tire lifted completely off the road as he reached the tipping point. He tried to imagine how to escape the truck but didn't think he'd make it. He'd likely be halfway out when she went over and he'd be flung into the air. He'd land somewhere far below, broken and impaled. So he did the only thing he knew to do, the thing they'd taught him in evasive driving class.
He floored the throttle and the truck powered forward. It was past the slide now but still had wheels in the air, trying to decide which way it was going to go. Conor wrenched the wheel to the right and the momentum dropped the driver's side tires back to the ground. He stomped on the brake and the truck lurched to a stop less than foot from the edge of the roadway.
Conor threw open his door and hopped to the ground. He paced around for a moment, trying to burn off some adrenaline and get his breathing back under control. He'd been in a lot of scary situations in his life, but this was one where he felt like he had very little control over the outcome. He could have died right there.
"Are you okay, Conor?" Wayne asked over the radio.
Barb answered for him. "He might need his nappies changed."
"I'm okay," Conor said. "I guess I need to get this one out of the way so we can try to get you through here."
"I think I'm narrower," said Wayne.
Conor climbed back into his truck. "Let's hope so."
Wayne's truck negotiated the slide with ease. "Piece of cake," he announced, pulling alongside Conor and Barb. "I think you mashed the dirt down some for me."
Conor was still standing in the road, studying the mess they'd just driven through. "I’ll tell you one thing, I'm not tempting fate a second time. We're moving that shit out of the way before I bring another load through here. I thought I was about to meet me Maker and I'm sure he's go
t a long list of things he wants to discuss."
Barb stared at the massive pile of dirt. "That's a lot to shovel."
"That big Deere loader of yours would be perfect for that," said Wayne. "You got a bucket for it, right?"
"Aye, I got a bucket for it but I hate to waste the fuel. That machine sucks down diesel like my uncle sucked down a pint."
"We could probably do it with the tractor. It's got a loader and it's easier on fuel," Barb suggested.
"She'd definitely do it," Conor agreed. "Just a little slower."
"So how about I run on home and come back with the tractor?" Barb said. "I could probably have that mess out of the way before you got back here. Then it would be taken care of."
"You sure you want to go back on foot?" Conor asked.
"Not everyone is as lazy as you are, Dad. The running is good for me. It's less than three miles. Not even a 5k run."
"Then do it. Stay on guard and be careful. You know that tractor loader can be a little tippy so keep the load low to the ground."
"I got it. I'll be careful. See you guys later."
Before Conor could give her any more warnings or operating instructions Barb was gone, chugging up the mountain like it was nothing. He shook his head as he watched her go. "I'd kill to have that kind of energy again."
Wayne looked envious. "Me too."
Conor climbed back into his truck and they continued their slow journey down the mountain. Just as Ragus and Shannon had told them, there were no more hazards to be concerned about. No one built on this back side of the mountain because the land was too steep for habitation. The few homes between the base of the mountain and Johnny's place were unoccupied, so they saw no one until they rolled up to Johnny's gate.
Conor had radioed him from a mile or so up the road to tell them he was coming. He didn't want the sight of the trucks to provoke any kind of hostile response. Conor didn't mention on the radio that he was in a truck or what he was doing there in the neighborhood. That wasn't the kind of information that should be put out on public airwaves.
Ultraviolent: Book Six in The Mad Mick Series Page 18
