Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 3 | Havoc Endures

by Hunt, Jack

  “Don’t we all,” Miles replied. “Who’s to say that when we are out of sight of your grandmother’s place, we won’t put a bullet in your head?”

  She had kept her distance, a few yards back from them.

  “You could try,” she said, nudging her rifle.

  Miles snorted. “All right. Lead the way.”

  “No, you can do that. I’ll hang back. You know, just in case you decide to put a bullet in my head,” she replied, a smile dancing on her face. He gave a nod and they continued on about ten yards ahead of her, rifles slung over their shoulder so that she felt comfortable. The town wasn’t far from the farm but enough that it gave them time to get acquainted. Tex pulled out a cigar and chewed on the end and spat a chunk off before lighting it. Miles spoke over his shoulder.

  “So where are you two from?” she asked, keeping a steady pace behind them.

  “Camdenton.”

  “Camden County?”

  “Yep.”

  “You with the resistance?”

  “That would be us.”

  A pause.

  “You heard of the one they call the Hunter?”

  Tex looked at Miles and let out a small chuckle. Miles replied, “We’ve heard.”

  “They say he’s leading a large army against the PLA.”

  “Large? Um, don’t know about that, but yeah, he’s active.”

  “Have you met him?” she asked in a curious tone.

  “Many times,” he replied.

  “What’s he like?”

  “Surprisingly, a bit of an asshole,” Miles said.

  “Really?” She didn’t ask any further but Tex had a good laugh at his response.

  They continued walking south down 168 in silence for a short while, thick woodland and open farm fields were on either side of the road. Curious to know how they’d managed to keep the PLA at bay, he turned the questions on her.

  “So if your uncle has the town on lockdown, why are you and your grandmother outside?”

  “A disagreement on how things should be done.”

  “Glad to see we’re not the only ones then.”

  “No, a few people they trust turned on them and my uncle shot them. Daisy didn’t agree. She felt it could be handled another way.”

  “And yet she looked trigger happy when we arrived.”

  “Just because she didn’t agree with my uncle, it doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to defend her property. You’re not the first who has strolled onto the farm and you won’t be the last.”

  “And parents? Where are they.”

  “Dead. My father died in the initial attacks. He was out west when it happened. My mother’s passing was natural. Illness. She needed surgery but with the country in chaos, it never happened. She died at home. I was there.”

  Miles looked back at her. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “You said you were searching for your father. What brought him this way?”

  “I don’t know. For the past five years, I have believed he was dead. Only recently got word that he came this way. I don’t know if he stayed or left but I figured I would try to find him.”

  “You got family?” she asked.

  “I do if he’s alive.”

  At the crossroads of Highways 410 and 168, they encountered their first checkpoint. Unlike those he’d seen in other towns, this had been done remarkably well. Staggered concrete barriers had been positioned a quarter of a mile from the checkpoint to slow, even prevent any rogue vehicles from reaching the main checkpoint. In addition to this, wire had been strung across the road between trees both high and low to prevent anyone riding in on horseback. This attention to detail to protect those manning the checkpoint gave him an insight into the kind of group that was holding their ground.

  “This work?” Miles asked.

  “Haven’t had any surprises so far,” she said.

  “How many checkpoints like this?”

  “One on every road leading in. The barriers were my grandmother’s idea. She’s very much involved in the decisions in town.”

  “And survivors? How many?”

  “Around six thousand.”

  “That’s a lot. And the rest?”

  “They were forced to the railway before Gareth and the others took over.”

  As they stepped over the wire and ducked beneath more, they soon came into view of the main checkpoint. Large 18-wheelers had been rolled into place, more concrete barriers and tents had been erected.

  “They sleep here?”

  She nodded. “They’re on a rotational shift. It’s easier this way.”

  He noticed ordinary folk laying on top of the 18-wheeler with sniper rifles. Someone blew an air horn and several armed men and women took up position behind concrete barriers, assault rifles at the ready. As soon as they were close enough to see, Selena raised a hand and made a gesture with her fingers, and immediately, those behind the barriers stood up, a couple returning to whatever they were doing. She explained they had a signal that let them know that she was okay.

  A grizzled guy with a thick beard and wearing a flak jacket and tactical pants came out to meet them. He had his rifle up high, pressed against his chest, barrel facing the ground. “Selena.”

  “Jake. These are friends of mine from the south. Looking to speak with Gareth.”

  “He’s not available.”

  “Then we’ll wait until he is,” Miles said.

  Jake looked skeptically at them. “Fine. Leave your weapons with us and you can enter.”

  “Not on my watch,” Tex said.

  “Then you don’t enter.”

  Selena took a step forward. “Jake.”

  “Rules are rules, Selena,” he replied without taking his eyes off them. She turned and shrugged but there was no way in hell Miles or Tex were handing over their firearms.

  “All right. Then I guess you’ll have to wait here.”

  Jake returned to the truck, while others kept their rifles trained on them. Tex walked over to one of the concrete barriers and perched his ass on the top. “Might as well get comfy.”

  “Look, wait here, I’ll get this fixed,” she said, heading past the group and leaving armed individuals watching over them. Miles sat down and waited.

  Tex offered him a cigar but he declined. “I like what they’ve done here, maybe Camdenton should follow suit.”

  “Tex, how did you find yourself this far north?”

  “The front lines. They needed someone to transport in firearms and ammo.”

  “I haven’t asked you before. You got family?”

  He cleared his throat and for the first time, Miles saw a serious expression cross his face. He thought Tex was about to tell him he’d lost his family, but he quickly changed the topic. “You know after this. I think I might head back to Texas, you should come down. We cook a mean BBQ.”

  “Tex. Don’t dodge the question. Do you have family?”

  He groaned and ran a hand over his beard. “I had a wife and a child.”

  “Do the PLA have them?”

  “No.” He looked hesitant to say, but Miles had a good idea. Instead of probing him for details, he dropped it.

  “Forget it. You don’t need to rehash.”

  Tex took a hard pull on his cigar and blew it out. “I was getting supplies from the store — you know, when all shit broke loose. It was a quick run. Canned goods. Water. We should have had it. All my years in the military, I should have known better. Anyway, I wasn’t out for more than twenty minutes tops. I came home and found her dead. They’d shot her multiple times in the back. There was blood trailing down the hallway. She’d tried to make it to the gun cabinet but died before she reached it.”

  “And your child?”

  He shrugged. “Missing.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Luca. He was seven at the time.” He shook his head. “He’d be twelve by now. I went looking for him. Spent the better part of three months busting in doors, grilling looters, I even shot this one
guy because he said he knew but would only tell me if I gave him food. I gave him some, then he tried to run. I shot him in the leg. When I caught up with him, I beat him with an inch of his life trying to get an answer only to have him say that he didn’t know. That he made it up to get a few cans of beans. Can you believe that?” Tex tilted his head back. “I spent the next month lost in a bottle. I continued searching but in the end, I gave up. I mean, I didn’t give up entirely. I still look at kids’ faces every time we roll through a town but I just get this feeling in my gut that he’s not with us anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, Tex.”

  All of them had experienced loss in different ways at the hands of either the enemy or the depraved. The opportunity to kill, rape, or kidnap people without anyone doing anything was getting easier by the day. With a lack of resources, trusting people was hard but for some, it was the only thing they could do, and that often ended badly.

  In the distance, they saw Selena raise a hand and beckon them on.

  Miles patted Tex’s leg. “Seems we’re in.”

  “Not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “Well, time to find out.”

  13

  Hannibal, Missouri

  Escorted by six armed men and women, they were taken to a lavish nineteenth-century home called Rockcliffe Mansion. Perched on top of the rocky limestone knoll in the heart of the city, the enormous three-story home with a red roof looked out of place as if the world around it had moved on and modernized while it remained stuck in the Gilded Age.

  Tex marveled at the sight of large white columns and porches that towered above them as they approached.

  They came to learn that it had once been a B&B with thirty rooms, ten fireplaces, and antique furnishings that had been preserved. Also, the owners had offered daily tours. Now it was being used as the central hub for operations in the city.

  With Selena confident that Gareth could help, Miles felt hopeful as they were led inside and basked in the sight of late Victorian and Art Nouveau décor. Standing inside the central hall, waiting for Gareth to come down, Miles took in the reception room with gilded wallpaper and quarter-sawn oak paneling. There was a grand piano in the music room with several guys sitting nearby in deep discussion. They glanced their way for just a second before returning to the conversation. Tex ran his hands over thick velvet drapes and stood back from the white onyx fireplace, eyeing it at an angle with one eye closed as he puffed on his cigar.

  It smelled musty inside, like an old antique store with unopened windows.

  Observed by suspicious armed residents, Miles took a seat on a plush sofa, his fingers drumming out a beat on his leg as he stared out a large Palladian window. A moment later, Selena returned with a tall, broad-shouldered man who was wearing a gray suit, white shirt, and highly polished brown shoes. The two top buttons on the shirt were undone. His style looked unusual for someone in the thick of an apocalypse. He had a full head of curly black hair, and like everyone else, he was wearing a holster though his was strapped beneath his suit. Miles just caught sight of the gun butt.

  “Miles, this is Gareth.”

  He rose and greeted him with a handshake.

  “I hear you are searching for your father?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have a description? It’s just we have a lot of people here, I’m sure not all of them go by their original names.”

  He gave him the last description he could remember before he headed off to war.

  “It was over five years ago that I last saw him. He’s probably changed a lot.”

  “Selena says his name is Grant Arrington?”

  “That’s right.”

  He crossed the room and walked into a study where he took out a large book, flipped it open, and thumbed through it. His finger scanned the pages then he shook his head. “Nope. I mean, he could be here but we don’t have anyone under that name.”

  “You keep track of names?”

  He turned back to him. “To run a tight ship you have to.” He regarded him with a smile. “By the way, who told you he was here?”

  “Someone.”

  “I’m going to need you to be a little less vague.”

  “Why? He’s not here, right?”

  “Right.” Gareth closed the large book. “But I’m curious to know who might have sent you all this way. I mean, Camden County is a long journey from here. Must have taken you a while.”

  Miles found his question a little odd. Sure, everyone was paranoid about who might be working for the PLA but still… “Look. If you don’t know, you wouldn’t object to us asking around, would you?”

  Gareth narrowed his eyes. “Of course not. However, you will be escorted.”

  “That’s okay, we don’t need a babysitter,” Tex said, chewing on the end of his cigar.

  “It’s not for your benefit, it’s for ours. Can’t be too careful nowadays.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Tex replied.

  Miles could feel the tension in the room change as if they had overstayed their welcome, even Selena looked uncomfortable. “I could escort them,” Selena piped up, stepping forward. “I mean if that’s okay with you?”

  There was some hesitation on Gareth’s part as if he didn’t like being put on the spot. “No offense but I would prefer if they just went on their way.” He looked back at Miles. “There isn’t anything you would discover that we don’t already know.”

  “There’s a lot of people in this town,” Miles remarked.

  “And they all play a role. Now if I have you traipsing all over this town, that could slow things down, maybe even place our people in danger.”

  Tex stepped away from the fireplace. “Why don’t we just call a spade a spade? You don’t trust us and you think we’re here to snoop around.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “It’s all right, Tex,” Miles said. “It’s clear we’re not welcome.”

  “Selena will see you out. I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help.”

  “More help? You call that help?” Tex asked. He snorted.

  “You know, buddy, I’m not sure I like the tone of your voice.”

  “Get in line, most don’t.”

  Miles was quick to intervene. He could see where this was heading. “You have to forgive my friend, it’s been a long journey and we’re both tired and a little disappointed.” Tex was reluctant to leave but Miles placed his hand on his shoulder and gave him a shove toward the door. On their way out of the front entrance, Miles could hear a commotion behind him, voices, an indistinguishable conversation.

  “Before you go, answer this,” a different man’s voice said. “What symbol was on your father’s patch, the one he was going to use?”

  The question struck Miles as odd, as did the older voice. He turned but couldn’t make out who had asked. “A phoenix rising from the ashes, and within it the symbol of the archer.”

  From among the group, a man stepped out, his face partially hidden by a hood and sunglasses. He hadn’t seen him there before. He had a thick salt and pepper beard and a scar on his right cheek. He pushed back the hood and removed his sunglasses. One of his eyes was milky white. “And your mother’s maiden name?”

  “Brock.”

  He strode over and stood in front of Miles, looking him up and down before he placed both hands on his shoulders and a smile formed. “Wow, you have grown. You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Miles had seen a lot of faces over the years, many who had been part of the militia. Faces blurred together especially with so many men sporting beards.

  “I never used to have this, or this,” he said pointing to his eye and scar. “It’s me. Charlie Lynch.”

  A moment of rifling through his memory and then as if a light bulb had turned on, his brain registered him. He was one of the militia, a close friend of his father. He’d only met him a few times but the name, that he remembered.

  “Charlie?”

  He l
aughed. “Ah, there we go. Hey kid, your father will be pleased.”

  “So he is alive?”

  “Of course. Though, he’s not in good health.” He turned back to the others. “I’m sorry for the theatrics but I promised your father that he would be safe here and others have come searching, though no one but you has passed our line of questioning.”

  Miles nodded. “August. Demar’s son. Do you remember him?”

  “I do. He came by a few weeks ago.”

  “And?”

  “Like I said, no one answered correctly, barring you. We sent him on his way.”

  A sense of relief washed over him. The thought that he’d come all this way only to have his hopes dashed from news that August had found his father had been eating away in the back of his mind.

  “Where is he? My father.”

  “Follow me.”

  It didn’t come as a surprise that he wasn’t in Hannibal. According to Charlie, the location change was his father’s decision not theirs. They wanted him to stay, told him he was safer in the city surrounded by thousands of people than forty-five minutes away.

  Charlie and two other close friends of his father were the only ones that knew where he was. After loading themselves into an old Scout, they set off for an uninhabited village perched on the shores of Mark Twain Lake.

  Florida, Missouri, had very little in the way of amenities. Except for a few homes and outbuildings, it was a barren patch of land on the eastern side of Mark Twain State Park. On the journey down, Miles peppered them with questions. He wanted to hear it from another. “Is he there by himself?”

  “No. I stay with him as do Caleb and Joshua. There are others but no one in Hannibal knows them. We only head into town a few times a week. You just lucked out and happened to catch us when we were collecting supplies.”

  “What happened, Charlie? Demar told me my father was killed.”

  “It might have looked that way. I don’t want to say Demar abandoned him but he didn’t go out of his way to check if he was still alive. At least that’s what your father said. In all fairness, your father was barely alive. He’d suffered some horrific wounds, lost a lot of blood, and would have died on that battlefield if it wasn’t for a medic who came across him. He brought him back in. His platoon was long gone by then. Because I knew him, I told them to leave him with me. After a year of treatment, I brought him back to Hannibal. He specifically requested not to be taken to Camdenton.”