The Survivalist (Solemn Duty)

by Arthur T. Bradley

  “My love was taken from me too.” He met Mason’s gaze. “The world is not fair to men like us.”

  “No,” Mason breathed, “but we fight on anyway.”

  Mason clicked the M4 over to full automatic. Given the short distance, he figured he could spray the four of them, although they would almost certainly kill him as well. Even if they didn’t, it likely wouldn’t matter since there were no doubt many more of their kind between him and freedom.

  The general nodded. “But even we must know when to stop.” He turned and shoved one of his men out of the way. “It’s time to go home.”

  Mason watched in disbelief as the general and his men disappeared around the corner. What had just happened? Fearing a change of heart, he remained with his rifle pressed to his shoulder for the next several minutes.

  No one came.

  The jail quieted, and the only sound was that of Bowie’s heavy breathing.

  Lowering the rifle, he settled back on his heels and waited another ten minutes to be sure they were gone. Once he was certain, he lifted Brooke back into his arms and followed them out.

  As he stepped over Farley’s body and out into the cool night air, he was surprised by the scale of the devastation. Bodies lay everywhere. A few were the general’s men, but most were Laroche’s. Whether that be due to the element of surprise, or simply the difference in their battle readiness, he couldn’t say. What he did notice was that many of Laroche’s men had been shot in the back. They had cut and run.

  A handful of vehicles sat burning next to what was left of the gate, but the tractor trailer was gone. McCabe and the women had apparently gotten out. The general’s convoy was also missing, although Mason thought he could still hear their engines as they weaved their way back down the narrow road.

  A big man hurried out from the dark tree line, waving an enormous rifle in the air.

  Beebie.

  Bowie let out a loud bark.

  “Go on,” said Mason. “Give him a proper welcome.”

  The wolfhound bounded across the parking lot and through the grass, tackling Beebie to the ground. By the time Mason got to them, both Beebie and Bowie were winded by what had turned into a vigorous wrestling match.

  Beebie got back to his feet, leaving the MK15 where it lay on the ground. He adjusted his AK-47 to hang across his back and stepped forward with his arms extended.

  “Let me carry her for a while.”

  Mason passed Brooke to him, his arms and back both aching.

  “Did you settle things in there?” asked Beebie.

  “As well as I could.”

  “He’s dead then?”

  “Twice over.”

  “Good,” he said with a nod. “I saw the women come out with McCabe. They managed to load up and get away without drawing too much fuss.”

  Mason glanced down at the sniper rifle lying on the ground.

  “I suspect you had a little something to do with that.”

  “Death at a distance. That was the plan, right?”

  “That was the plan.” Mason started toward the road at a slow walk, Beebie and Bowie both following.

  “I focused my attention on Laroche’s men. Figured the infected were doing our work for us. How’d you get by them, anyway?”

  Mason thought of his encounter with the formidable general.

  “It ended up that we had something in common.”

  “What like Superman and Batman?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, something like that.”

  As they emerged out onto the road, they saw several vehicles with bodies lying next to them. The subdivision sat off to their left, and while not quite on fire, it was clear that the infected had quickly swept through, butchering any who hadn’t resorted to hiding in a closet.

  “Looks like a few of them tried to put up a fight,” Beebie said, nudging one of the bodies.

  “They would have been better served making a run for it.”

  Mason approached a dark blue, boxy Ford Flex, and pulled a bullet-ridden body out from behind its steering wheel. Beebie popped open the back door with one hand and gently laid Brooke across the seat.

  “She okay in here?”

  Mason nodded. “I’ll find a place to put her to rest.”

  “I’m sorry things worked out the way they did. She seemed like a…” He hunted for the right word but couldn’t find it. “You know what I’m saying.”

  “I do.”

  “If you’re going back to the Colony, I’ll ride along. Maybe keep you out of trouble.”

  Mason shook his head. “I’m headed a different direction.”

  “You ever coming back?”

  “I hope not.”

  Beebie extended his hand. “Well then, I guess this is goodbye. It’s been an honor, Marshal.” Mason shook his hand, and as he did, Beebie pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Keep fighting the good fight.”

  Mason patted him on the back.

  “You do the same.”

  Beebie let him go and turned to Bowie. A few pats sent the dog rolling to his back with his legs twitching in the air. Beebie squatted and went about vigorously scrubbing his belly. Bowie’s eyes closed, and his tongue began snaking in and out of his mouth.

  “Bowie,” he said with a laugh, “you almost make me wish I had a dog. Almost.”

  When he had finished saying his goodbyes, Beebie stood and wandered around the vehicles until he found one that still ran. Extending an arm out the window, he offered one final wave as he headed down the small winding road.

  Mason waited until Beebie was out of sight before turning and opening the passenger-side door on the Flex. Bowie scrambled aboard and eagerly looked out over the dash. Mason walked around to the other side and climbed in behind the wheel. The fuel gauge showed that a quarter of a tank remained. As long as they didn’t get detoured, he thought it should be enough. He rolled down both his and Bowie’s windows and steered the car out onto the twisty two-lane road.

  Bowie looked back at Brooke lying across the seat and whined softly.

  “We’re going to bury her next to that little house. I think she would have liked that.”

  Apparently satisfied with the plan, Bowie stuck his head out the window to enjoy the rush of wind.

  Mason leaned toward his window too, the cool night air helping to clear his mind. It had been a day of unexpected happenings. Wrongs had been set right, enemies had become friends, and a deceitful lover had redeemed herself in full. While Brooke would not be forgotten, Mason accepted that he had to move forward. It was as he had told the infected general, men like them fought on.

  Even with the icy stab of grief still fresh in his heart, Mason was honest enough to acknowledge that he also felt a sense of relief. Brooke’s death, while tragic, left life simpler, his path clearer. He was free, not from her, but from his obligations to her.

  Once he put Brooke to rest, it would be time to move on with a new chapter in his life, a chapter that involved forging bonds with those he hoped to one day call family.

  He let the image of young Jessie fill his mind. She was perhaps his last chance at a normal life. He imagined the sounds of their children chasing Bowie around the yard, the smell of bacon frying in the early morning, and the comforting warmth of her lying beside him in bed. Mason had been surrounded by violence for so long that he didn’t know if such a life was even possible for a man like him.

  What he did know was that he had to try.

  Chapter 24

  Tanner turned the gunmetal gray Toyota Tacoma onto Highway 60 heading east. A buckshot-riddled green and white road sign read “Shelbyville, 10 miles.” The Davy Crockett launcher and two M-388 rounds were safely strapped down in the bed, as was a box packed full of ammunition, food, and supplies. Purdy had delivered on his promises, even if they were somewhat muted when compared to the fortune in gold originally promised.

  Sitting across the cab, Samantha busily loaded their new weapons. Thanks to Purdy, Tanner had become the owner of a well-used Be
nelli M4. With its pistol grip stock, auto-regulating gas operation, titanium cerakote finish, and ghost ring sights, the twelve-gauge semi-automatic tactical shotgun was all business. Plus, it was big and scary, and that suited Tanner just fine.

  Samantha, on the other hand, had been the recipient of a CZ Model 452. The .22 caliber full-sized, bolt-action rifle was simple and reliable, fed from a five-round detachable box magazine, and built around a beautiful walnut stock. Best of all, its previous owner had installed an inexpensive Bushnell 3.5-10x scope, which made it perfect for reaching out and touching someone at a distance.

  “I sure hope they take good care of Major,” she said, finishing with the CZ and moving on to load the Benelli.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t think they’ll eat him, do you? I couldn’t live with myself if I left him to be eaten.”

  “They have a warehouse full of groceries just down the road. No reason to eat a smelly horse.”

  “I guess,” she said, not completely convinced. “He saved your life, you know.”

  “No, you saved my life.”

  “Yeah, but he helped.”

  “He’ll be fine,” repeated Tanner. “My guess is he’ll live out his days giving pony rides to the kids. Believe me, he’s far safer with them than he is with us.”

  “That’s for sure. We live a dangerous life.”

  “That we do.”

  As Samantha finished loading the Benelli, she noticed a small, glossy card pressed between the windshield and the dash.

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking it up.

  “My guess is a calling card for conmen-R-us.”

  “Funny,” she said, taking a moment to study both sides. “It looks like some kind of religious card. On one side, it lists the Seven Heavenly Virtues, and on the other, the Seven Deadly Sins.” She began reading. “Chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility.” She paused. “Wait a minute. Those all sound just like me.”

  “Especially the humility part,” he said, grinning.

  She flipped the card over and read the list of sins.

  “Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.” Her eyes widened. “That’s you, Tanner. That’s you!”

  “Can’t argue with that,” he said with a chuckle. “Some of my very best days were filled with lust and sloth.”

  “Why do you think Purdy left it?”

  “Typical proselytizing.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s like when those salesmen come to your door and sell encyclopedias.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What’s an encyclopedia?”

  Tanner shook his head. “Forget it.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe the reverend was trying to tell us to live better lives.”

  “Says the con artist who tried to pass off fake gold.”

  She spotted tiny words written along one edge of the card and squinted to read them.

  “A little heavenly guidance to help you make the right choices.” She glanced back at the Davy Crockett. “I think he was worried we might do something stupid.”

  “Nonsense. When have I ever done something stupid with bombs?”

  She turned to him, her mouth falling open.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  He smiled. “Yes, darlin’, I am.”

  “I’m going to keep it,” she said, slipping the card into her shirt pocket. “Maybe it’ll help keep us from losing our way.”

  “You do that.”

  “I sure wish the gold had been real. Mother would have been rich. Plus, maybe we could have kept a little, you know, as a reward.”

  “We got the next best thing.”

  “Do you really think she’ll take the bombs instead of gold?”

  “It’s them or nothing.”

  “She could hurt a lot of people.”

  “She’ll have no reason to use them unless her community is threatened.”

  “Still, it seems kind of… irresponsible.”

  “Darlin’, it’s way beyond irresponsible.”

  “But we’re going to do it anyway.”

  “We’re going to do whatever it takes to get Issa back.”

  “Even if it leads to the deaths of thousands of people?”

  “Even then.”

  She nodded. “You’re very faithful.”

  His eyes cut over toward her, waiting for the subsequent insult.

  It didn’t come.

  “I figured out a long time ago that family is all any of us have in this world.”

  “And Issa, she’s your family?”

  He nodded. “Same as you.”

  “Would you really blow up an entire city to save me?”

  “Darlin’, I’d burn this whole godforsaken world to the ground for you.”

  There was a chill to his voice, and Samantha felt a tingle go up her back.

  “You’re scary sometimes.”

  “That I am.”

  She smiled and touched his forearm.

  “But sweet too.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone that last part.”

  “They wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “No, I suspect they wouldn’t.”

  Samantha turned to look out her window.

  “How far to Mount Weather?”

  “Five hundred miles, give or take. Should be there sometime tomorrow, if all goes as planned.”

  “If all goes as planned, that’s funny.”

  “Hey, things are looking up. We got a pretty new truck, guns, and a bed full of food. Honestly, I can’t think of a time when things were going any better.”

  Samantha glanced back at the two nuclear warheads lying in the bed of the truck.

  “Yeah,” she breathed, “what could possibly go wrong?”

  See how it all ends in The Survivalist (Road Home)…

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