Mason and Beebie both stopped to try and triangulate the direction.
“Handgun,” said Beebie. “Maybe a .38 or .357.”
Mason’s mind raced. Brooke had a .357.
“Let’s pick it up.”
Beebie’s eyes narrowed. “You think it’s her.”
“If it is, I’d rather not be late. Let’s go.”
Beebie started to jog, and Mason fell in behind him. Bowie took it to be a game of chase and bolted ahead, stopped and looked back, and then bolted ahead each time they came close.
They crossed the dusty field to cut through another thick patch of trees. As they pushed out the other side, the back of the house finally came into view.
“There,” Mason said, pointing. Even as he said the words, they both noticed that the back door sat open.
Mason pulled the M4 off his shoulder and took a knee behind a large bush. Beebie ducked behind a tree a few yards away. Bowie moved up beside Mason and settled on the ground with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Beebie leaned around and tried to get eyes on what was happening inside the house.
“Looks like trouble might have found her while you were out,” he said in a low voice. “Any idea who?”
“Did I forget to mention that we’re being hunted by an army of infected?”
His eyes cut over to Mason. “You sure have a way—”
He was cut short by the appearance of a bearded man with long black dreadlocks stepping out through the open doorway at the back of the house. He looked to be somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age. It was hard to be certain because his face had been badly weathered by the sun. An AR-15 hung from one shoulder, muzzle down, as he took one last drag on a cigarette before flicking it out into the grass. He advanced a few feet into the back yard, scanning the trees as if sensing that someone was nearby. Before he could convince himself one way or the other, someone called from behind him. He mumbled something to himself, and then ducked back inside the home.
“Not infected, for what that’s worth,” whispered Beebie.
Mason said nothing. For a woman who looked like Brooke, men were an equally grave threat.
Beebie held out a hand. “Give me my rifle.”
Mason hesitated.
“Come on. I’m more use to you if I’m armed.”
“Not if you’re shooting at me, you’re not.”
“I’m not a fool. You didn’t bring me all the way back here just because you enjoy my company. I see now that we had things wrong about you.”
Mason quickly weighed the risks and rewards. Beebie was a capable fighter, and two were always better than one.
He passed him his rifle. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Beebie checked to see that it was loaded before turning his attention back to the house.
“How do you want to do it?”
“Bowie and I will go right; you go left. Let’s see what’s happening out front.”
He nodded. “Got it.”
Mason shuffled along the tree line in one direction, and Beebie went in the other. As the front of the house came into view, they spotted two men loading into a white pickup truck. One was the hippie from the back porch, the other younger but so fat that even climbing into the truck looked like a struggle. Brooke sat sandwiched between them. A third man lay in the bed, either dead or unconscious. A faded logo was painted on the door of the truck, with the words “Western Tidewater Regional Jail” printed beneath it.
Mason hurried forward, his rifle swinging up.
Too late. The truck was already speeding down the driveway. Before he could draw a bead on either man, they turned south onto Highway 10.
Bowie skidded to a stop beside him and let out a soft woof.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get her back.” Even as he said the words, Mason wasn’t sure how that was going to be possible. The only car they had was out of gas, and finding fuel or another serviceable vehicle was proving to be no easy task.
Beebie sounded off with a short whistle from the tree line. When Mason looked over, the big man cut a hand toward the house. It seemed unlikely that anyone remained inside, but Beebie was right. They needed to clear it before worrying about how to rescue Brooke.
Mason brought his rifle back up and shuffled forward, approaching from one side while Beebie came from the other. Bowie trailed behind Mason, sniffing the air, as if picking up an interesting odor.
A quick peek through the front door revealed a living room floor smeared with blood. Mason ducked in first, Beebie a split second behind him, one going right, the other left.
Nothing. The house was empty. There were, however, two bullet holes in the living room wall. Both misses, but based on the blood on the floor, a third had obviously found its mark.
“She took one of them out,” Beebie said, studying the bloody drag marks.
“Good for her.”
Mason stepped back outside, and Beebie and Bowie both followed. Standing side by side, they stared off toward Highway 10.
“Could you make out the words on the door?” asked Beebie.
“Western Tidewater Regional Jail.”
“Not much help there. They probably just picked it up along the way somewhere.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What makes you say that?”
Mason thought of Caruso. “Before going to the tower, I ran into someone who told me that a warlord named Laroche was working out of the jail.” Mason nodded toward the road. “Those men were almost certainly his.”
“Well, shit,” Beebie said with a slow shake of his head. “It sounds like this little lady friend of yours has gotten herself in a godawful mess.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No one would blame you for not going after her, not after what she did.”
“It’s not about blame.”
“No? What then?”
Mason took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“I gave her my word that I’d get her to safety.”
Beebie studied him. “Are you sure this is about your word and not your feelings?”
The question hit a little too close to home, and Mason let out a frustrated sigh.
“Honestly, Beebie, I wish I knew.”
Chapter 7
After a short ride, Tanner and Samantha discovered that the plume of gray smoke was coming from a large pile of burning garbage. It sat in an open field to one side of a sprawling L-shaped building. The structure had a formal columned entrance and a distinctive magenta-colored roof.
They turned onto the private driveway and followed it past a small man-made lake and a stone sign that read “Voice of God Recordings.”
A young man with greasy blonde hair stood beside the bonfire, watching the garbage burn, a bolt-action hunting rifle hanging lazily from his shoulder. He held a fireplace poker over the flames, slowly turning it like a makeshift spit. It was impossible to be certain what he was cooking, but based on its size, Samantha guessed it was either a squirrel or a small cat.
When he saw Tanner and Samantha approaching, he quickly set the poker aside and pulled the rifle off his shoulder.
“Back the way you came,” he said, waving his hands while hurrying toward them. “There’s nothing for you here.”
Tanner brought Major to a halt and cast a disapproving look down at the lad.
“Not very Christian-like of you.” He had found that a little guilt could often go a long way to a proper welcome, especially with “church folk.”
“I’m sorry about that, but we’re already at capacity. Any more come inside, and our families won’t have a place to sleep.”
Samantha leaned around so that she could get a better look at the building.
“Is this some kind of church?”
“It’s a retreat for those in need.”
“But not us,” smarted Tanner.
“Like I said, we’re full.” The man gestured toward a housing subdivision off to the east. “Plenty of room over th
ere.”
They had already passed through the neighborhood and found it to be abandoned, a true suburbia ghost town. That by itself wasn’t a mystery, but Samantha quickly picked up on the discrepancy.
“If you’re so full, why don’t some of your folks move into the empty houses?”
The guard started to reply but stopped short.
“You need to keep moving.” He inched closer and lowered his voice. “Honestly, get as far away from here as you can.”
“Why?” she said, glancing around. “What’s wrong?”
He eyed the sun, which was just starting its slow afternoon descent.
“Please, just go,” he said, nearly pleading now. “You still have time if you hurry.”
As wisps of smoke reached Samantha’s nose, she made a face.
“That smells awful. What in the world are you burning?”
He stiffened. “Just garbage.”
“It stinks like something died.”
“Just garbage,” he repeated.
Hoping to move things along, Tanner said, “Where’d you guys put the gold, anyway?”
The man’s eyes widened. “What gold?”
“The gold from the train.” He rose up in the saddle to get a better look. “Is it inside or around back?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tanner motioned for Samantha to dismount.
“Down you go, darlin’. I think we’ve found our prize.”
Samantha stepped down and Tanner followed, bringing the Mare’s Leg along with him.
Despite being armed himself, the guard seemed to go from nervous to downright terrified at the sight of the weapon.
“Listen Mister, we don’t want any trouble.”
“Good to know.” Tanner pointed to the radio on the man’s belt. “You want to let them know we’re here, or should we just go up and ring the bell?”
The man shifted from one foot to the other.
“I didn’t say anything about the gold. I didn’t.”
“No, you didn’t, and I’ll be sure your superiors know that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Samantha assured him. “We’ve been tracking it all the way from Fort Knox.” She stepped closer and extended her hand. “I’m Samantha, by the way. The pushy one here is Tanner.”
“Pushy one?” protested Tanner.
“Shh,” she whispered, “I’m bonding.”
The man reluctantly shook her hand.
“I’m Peter.”
She smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Peter. Are you on guard duty?”
“Uh, yeah. That, along with… he motioned toward the fire, “… garbage burning.”
“Do you get many visitors?”
“Visitors?”
“You know, folks stopping by to say hello.”
He shook his head. “Everyone around here has either left or died. You two are the first new people I’ve seen in more than a month.”
“If that’s the case, maybe everyone inside would be glad to meet us. We’re really great company. Well, I am. Tanner’s what you might call a…” She hunted for the word, finally turning to Tanner. “What are you again?”
“An unwanted guest.”
“Exactly!” She turned back to Peter. “But he’s also very handy to have around. What do you say, Peter? Will you let them know we’re here?”
Peter took another moment to consider her request before saying, “I’ll call and see if they’ll talk to you, but please don’t tell anyone that I said anything about gold.”
Samantha pretended to lock her lips with a key.
“We won’t, will we, Tanner?” she mumbled through pinched lips.
“Absolutely not.”
Peter took the radio from his belt and pressed the talk button.
“Doris, are you there? It’s me, Peter.”
After a brief delay, a sharp voice snapped, “What is it?” Based on her acerbic tone, it sounded as if his call had taken her away from a winning hand of poker.
“I have two people who… well, they won’t leave. I’m not sure what to do.”
“We gave you a rifle, didn’t we?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then use it to run ’em off!”
Peter looked over at the Mare’s Leg. When he did, Tanner raised it up to his mouth, breathed fog on the brass trim, and went about shining it with his sleeve.
“I really think someone should come out and talk to them.”
A frustrated sigh was followed by, “Hold on.”
It took nearly two minutes for the radio to sound again.
“Reverend Purdy’s on his way out. Keep an eye on them, and make sure they don’t steal anything before he gets there.”
“Okay, but I don’t think they’re the stealing kind.”
Samantha cupped her mouth toward Tanner and said with a snicker, “He clearly doesn’t know you very well.”
Tanner grinned, but before he could reply, the building’s double doors swung open. Two men stepped out. One was thick with muscle, and dressed in a blue and gray Navy Working Uniform with a Glock 22 holstered at his side. The other was twenty years his senior and garbed in a wrinkled leisure suit that could have been worn by one of the Osmond Brothers.
Waiting for the men to make their way down the long asphalt driveway, Samantha turned to Tanner and said, “Try to be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“No, seriously.”
He grinned. “I’ll try not to shoot anyone. Satisfied?”
“For you, yes.”
As the men approached, the older one extended his hand and said, “Reverend Purdy, how might we help you?”
Before Tanner could reciprocate, Samantha stepped forward and gave his hand a good shake.
“I’m Samantha, and this is my father, Tanner.” As she said the words, Samantha couldn’t help but notice how much more natural it felt to introduce him as such.
“Well, aren’t you the delightful young lady.” He looked over at Tanner. “You’ve obviously set a fine example to have raised such a well-mannered child.”
Samantha’s mouth fell open as she looked from Purdy to Tanner.
“Tanner? Example? You’ve got to be—”
Tanner interrupted her by clearing his throat and saying, “Thank you, I do my best. But you know how kids are these days, it’s always a struggle.”
Purdy offered an understanding smile. “If it’s food or water you’re looking for, I’m afraid we’re a bit short on both at the moment. Still, I’m sure we could send you on your way with a little something.”
“Oh, we’re not hungry,” said Samantha. “Tanner makes sure we always have plenty to eat.” She leaned closer to the reverend and whispered, “Even though missing a meal or two wouldn’t hurt him, if you know what I mean.”
His eyes never left Tanner. “If not food, what then?”
Tanner saw no reason to beat around the bush.
“We’ve been following a shipment of gold from Fort Knox.” He glanced over at Peter. “Your man here says you took it.”
“I said no such thing!” Peter turned to the Purdy. “Honest, Reverend, I didn’t say a word about the gold.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Purdy said with an understanding smile. “Mr. Tanner here just wanted to see our reaction, and I’m afraid we gave him exactly what he was looking for.”
The thick-chested man beside Purdy shifted his hand to the butt of his pistol. When he did, Tanner casually tilted the muzzle of the Mare’s Leg up to point at his belly.
“That would be a mistake.”
He seemed unimpressed by the weapon, his eyes tightening.
“Tyler,” Purdy said, gently placing his hand on the bodyguard’s shoulder, “these people are not our enemy.”
The gesture was enough to put him at ease, and he let his hand slowly fall back by his side.
Turning back to Tanner, Purdy said, “You’ll have to forgive him. Tyler came to us a few months back,
distinguished sailor, avid outdoorsman, and an all-around good-hearted soul. But I’m afraid he still has trouble knowing when to turn off the voices of war.”
“Tanner has the same trouble,” offered Samantha, “only he doesn’t have the good-hearted soul.” She looked over at him. “You don’t, right?”
“Nope.”
Purdy inched forward to stand between Tanner and Tyler, perhaps hoping to prevent a misunderstanding.
“What exactly do you want?”
“I thought I already made that clear. We’re here for our gold.”
Before Purdy could reply, Samantha said, “It’s not like we want it because we’re greedy. We need it to get Issa back.”
The reverend’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Issa?”
“She’s my new mom.”
“What do you mean, new mom?”
“My first mom was the president. She died. Then we rescued Issa from down in the tunnels under Washington.” She let out a little sigh. “It’s a bit of a long story.”
Purdy pressed his lips together and nodded.
“I see. And somehow the gold will help you to rescue her once again?”
“That’s right.”
Purdy turned back to Tanner and took a long moment to size him up.
“Can I have a word with you, in private?”
“Why?”
“There’s something I want to show you.”
Tanner glanced over at Samantha, and she shrugged.
“All right,” he said, “but if one of your bozos so much as looks at Sam cross-eyed, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”
“I assure you, with Tyler at her side, she’s perfectly safe.” Reverend Purdy turned and led Tanner toward the pile of smoldering garbage. “This way, please.”
As they got closer, Tanner heard the fire hiss and pop as flames found small pockets of moisture. Purdy circled around to the back so that the smoke didn’t blow directly in their faces.
“If it’s garbage you want to show me, don’t bother. I’ve seen my share.”
“Perhaps, but I suspect you haven’t seen this.”
He used his shoe to gently move aside a smoldering wooden pallet. Underneath were two bodies, neither of which looked quite human. Much like the creature from the train, they were strange assemblages of human parts… a torso with mismatched legs and two left arms, another with a pair of hands protruding from its back like tiny wings.
The Survivalist (Solemn Duty) Page 8
