The door to the garage opened behind them, and Spanner stepped through with a loaded bag over his back. "What about the sheriff?"
Darien turned. "Spanner! I got an idea." He turned back to the prisoner. "This here’s Spanner, my lieutenant. What's your name?"
"Rufus," the man in dreadlocks said with a grin. "On account of my hair."
Spanner and Rufus shook hands. Darien grinned. "I got a proposition for your boss."
Rufus cocked his head. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Darien said. "Tell him Darien Flynt wants to discuss a mutual alliance.”
“No offense,” Rufus said with a glance at the knife on the counter. “But why would he want to join up with you?”
Darien ignored the barb. “Because I got the inside track on this place—I know which houses are going to give the most resistance, and which houses have the most...cheddar. Tell him if he sends down some muscle to help me out, we’ll take care of the sheriff together."
Rufus grinned. "Sounds good to me, man. But you might be telling yourself."
"How's that?" asked Darien.
"Well, if the other guys made it back to Rolling Hills any time today, the Boss’ll probably be on his way down here first thing in the morning.”
Chapter 17
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami handed Gary a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "So, what do you think?”
Gary took the mug of coffee and smiled. "Thanks. I got a decent nap last night so I should be good." He looked at the paper and frowned. "Cami, you put an awful lot of this on your shoulders. Why don’t you let me and Mitch handle water collection today? You've done it three days in a row now."
Cami sighed. "I know, but I can't help but feel responsible for—"
"Look," Gary said gently. "None of us would be here if it weren't for you. You're the reason this whole neighborhood hasn’t fallen apart yet. Please, let us handle this and take some of the load off of you so you don't burn yourself out!"
Cami smiled. "Well, I guess..."
An insistent knocking at the back door interrupted her. Cami jumped from her seat and had her pistol out before Gary could even stand. She motioned for him to take a position by the fridge, and he pulled the stainless-steel shotgun from its perch above the big appliance and aimed at the door. Cami stepped aside and peered through the slitted plywood in front of the kitchen window.
"It's Marty," she said quickly. "Something must've happened—there's no way he’d be over here this early in the morning..." She threw back the deadbolt and opened the reinforced back door to the kitchen. Marty brushed past her and his cane thumped on the tile floor as he moved in like he owned the place.
"What is it?" asked Cami. "What's the matter?"
"Got some bad news," Marty replied. He sat heavily in the chair recently occupied by Gary. "This couldn't wait, so I figured I'd tell you right now and get it over with."
Cami shut the door and locked it after a quick check in the backyard. "What is it? Does is it have something to do with the guy that Mitch and I saw?"
"Maybe—hard to say.” Marty frowned. “All I know is the sheriff ran into a fight that was bigger than he expected up north. Rolling Hills." He looked at Gary.
"That's our neighborhood," Gary breathed. He put the shotgun back above the fridge and grabbed his coffee mug. "What happened?"
Marty sighed and looked longingly at the coffee maker. "It's hard to tell—everything on the net’s garbled. I wasn't able to get a hold of anybody, but heard plenty chatter going back and forth. The sheriff and his boys ambushed some thugs in your neighborhood. There was a big fight, and the sheriff took the worst of it. In fact, I don't think he's still with us."
Cami poured a cup of coffee for Marty and left it black. "What do you mean he's not with us?"
Marty looked up at her and squinted. “Meaning, I think he's dead. From what I can tell, only two deputies survived."
Cami sat and stared at him. "I don't believe it..."
"What happened to the neighborhood?" asked Gary.
"Sounds like it's a god-awful mess," Marty groused. He took a sip of the coffee and winced. "Dadgum that's hot. I like the way you think, missy."
"The neighborhood?" prodded Gary.
"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," Marty said as he waved an arthritic hand. "Sounds like they had a real war up there—houses burning, bodies in the streets kind of thing. Looks like most of the gang got wiped out, but it wasn't the sheriff that did it. This is the part that I just can't puzzle out."
"Well, try us," Cami said.
"It sounded like the army showed up and just started laying down some indiscriminate justice."
"The army?" asked Gary.
“Didn't the governor call out the National Guard right after the tsunami hit?" asked Cami. "It's hard to remember stuff more than a week ago—all the days are blurring together since we haven't heard any news..."
"I recall the National Guard and the state troopers were called out to protect the state capital," Marty said. "Least that's what I've been hearin’ over the ham nets." He shook his head and stared at his coffee. "No, this is different. The deputies that survived told their station a couple of them went up to a big armored truck to offer their thanks when they rolled through and cut down the bad guys—then they took fire and ran."
"The deputies took fire?" asked Cami. "You mean the army—or the National Guard—someone shot at the sheriff?"
"I mean the soldiers, or somebody pretending to be soldiers, rolled in there and shot everybody," Marty said with a grimace. “I heard tell of a couple neighborhoods blocking roads and putting armed men on patrols...turning their homes into fortresses, kinda...but nothing like what they were talking about in Rolling Hills.”
Gary stared at the old man. "What do you mean the National Guard—er, the army—whoever—shot at the sheriff's deputies—that doesn't even make any sense."
Cami raised her hand. "Wait—what did you mean when you said they could be people impersonating soldiers? How does somebody pretend to be soldiers?”
Marty sat back in his chair with a groan. "These times we’re living in are crazy. All kinds of bad things been happening—just look at your house and mine. People are nuts," Marty said as he shook his head. "Ain’t too much of a stretch of the imagination to think all these troops roaming around out there might decide they'd be better off going home to their families. Now, what I wonder," Marty said as he looked at them, "is what might happen to all that stuff that they had...all that lovely gear?"
"Oh, good grief," Gary said as he slumped in his chair.
Cami pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't need this right now. I seriously don't."
"Just wait, it gets better. The sheriff’s department has gone radio silent."
Gary looked at Cami. Cami looked at Marty. "What's that mean?"
Marty shrugged. "Means exactly what it says. Can't get a hold of anybody at the sheriff’s department, and they ain’t broadcasting. I think we can assume a couple things from this though," Marty said. He raised his hand in the air and extended one finger. "Sheriff McIntyre is dead. That raid he launched up there in Rolling Hills failed miserably—and not only are the bad guys that he went to go fight dead, but the good guys are gone with him." Marty raised a second finger. "As if that wasn't bad enough, we got us a new threat to worry about, that not only wiped out the last law enforcement agency in the county but took out some serious gang bangers up north. That's gonna create a power vacuum." He raised a third finger. "From what I can tell, Rolling Hills was pretty much trashed. If the houses are on fire...then the loot is burning, too. That means whoever took over the joint will be looking for another place."
Cami shook her head. "No. No, I'm gonna have to actively disbelieve this. They're not coming here—they can't."
"Oh?" asked Marty. He looked around, as if searching for something in the kitchen. "I'm sorry,
I wasn't aware you had a sign that says ‘Don't stop here, go somewhere else.’ You got some kind of magical talisman that’ll keep bad things from happening? It sure would've been nice to have a couple days ago, before the big fight."
Cami sighed and looked at her coffee. "That’s not what I mean...we’re not ready. We can’t handle—"
“You can handle a lot," Gary said. "When those guys attacked your house and Marty's, you guys were able to fight them off. There was nobody in our neighborhood that could have done that—at least nobody that I knew. We just didn't have the right mindset to fight back, let alone the tools to do so. Shoot, most of them were retirees. It's an older neighborhood. It was an older neighborhood." Gary looked down at his coffee.
"How do we know where they're going next?" asked Cami.
Marty shrugged. "In my radio shack I've got a county map on the wall. I've been plotting all the places the sheriff department has been recording as neighborhoods hit and knocked over by forces unknown. There's more than one group out there doing this—even the thugs are getting desperate. That doesn't mean they’ve all been attacked by this army group but there's a good chance that the places around Rolling Hills have already been hit.” He looked at Cami. “That means they're gonna spread out to look for more targets. Which leaves us and a couple of the neighborhoods a little closer to Charleston. And if these guys are starting this far out, I doubt they're going to be heading past us into Charleston." Marty tapped his finger on the table. "It's a good bet that they're coming here soon."
Gary rubbed his face with his hands. "It only took us a couple hours to get here, but that was with a busted car. If they have vehicles—"
"According to the reports, they do. Sounded like they had a tank on wheels, and a big troop carrier. I'm thinking it's an MRAP."
“A what?” asked Gary.
“Mine Resistant, Armor Protected…a big bad armored truck.”
Gary threw his hands up. "Whatever—it's not gonna take that long to get here. So, what do we do?"
Marty looked at both of them. "Way I figure it, we got two options. We retreat and evacuate, or we fight back. Which one of those options we take can be up to you. I'm too old to do much of either, but I’ll do my best. Just let me know." Marty drained the cup of coffee in two big gulps, smacked his lips and placed the mug carefully back on the table. He stood and grabbed his cane. "Well, I’ll leave you to it. Just let me know what you decide—I gotta get back to the radio...make sure I don't miss something."
When Marty was gone, Gary looked at her over the rim of his mug. "So, what do we do?" he asked wearily.
Cami sighed. "What can we do? There’re too many people in the neighborhood that are sick—we can’t all run away. And I can't just leave people that can't fend for themselves. I’m going to have to stay. What you do is up to—"
Gary nodded. "If you stay, we stay. And if we stay, we fight."
Cami looked down at her own coffee mug and wrapped both hands around the warm porcelain. "Yep. That's the way I see it. What do you think?"
Gary shrugged. “I'm fine with fighting. If the guys that trashed my neighborhood got their butts kicked by these imposters..." He shrugged. "Well, it doesn’t matter who did it—it feels like there's payback involved for me."
Cami nodded. "If we’re going to do this, we need to act fast. We'll have to all split up and get the word out."
"Me and Mitch don't know the people in this neighborhood—and they don't know us. Let me and him go get the water for today, so you and Amber—or you and Mia—can go spread the word to the neighborhood. If we can get people ready...I don't know, I'm no soldier, I don't have a battle plan," Gary said helplessly.
"Neither do I, but we have to do something." She put both hands on the table and stood. "For now, at least we’ve got a plan. You guys get the water, we’ll Paul Revere it and get the word out."
"Be careful out there," Gary said as Cami walked from the kitchen.
"You too," she replied. "Keep an eye out for that guy we saw with the dreadlocks. I don't know where he fits in all this, and I'm not sure I'm ready to find out, yet."
"That makes two of us," Gary said solemnly. He stood from the table and cupped his hands over his mouth. "Mitch!" he called up the stairs. "Get down here, we got work to do!"
Chapter 18
Camp Echo
Port Jefferson, New York
Reese, Tony, and Byron emerged from the barracks tent as the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon. The work gangs pulled themselves from their cots and trudged slowly to the mess hall for breakfast. The sky was crystal clear, but Reese could already feel the nascent heat in the still morning air. The day promised to be a real scorcher. He grinned. All the better to serve as a distraction for what they were about to do.
"I'm gonna get some chow, I'll catch up with you guys later," Byron said loud enough for the passing soldiers to hear. He split from Tony and Reese and moved and followed the other people headed toward dining hall tent.
Despite the smell of eggs and bacon that wafted on the breeze, Reese ignored his stomach. He nodded in passing at one of the soldiers who stood outside the barracks tent and got a smile in return.
Reese and Tony ambled along and exchanged pleasantries with people they passed and made a circuitous route through the camp. He made sure they took plenty of random turns down side streets and alleys as they wound through the tents of Camp Echo.
More than once Reese stopped to tie his shoe and surreptitiously scanned the area behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. At last, about 15 minutes after they left Byron, Reese and Tony made their way to the food and supplies cache. Several armed guards faced out and watched them warily as they approached, then looked away when Reese turned and walked down a side street.
"It's too heavily guarded, we can’t get to it," he muttered to Tony under his breath.
"But we told uncle Byron that we’d kick things off..." He looked at his watch. "Five minutes from now. He's counting on us," Tony hissed back.
"I know, I know," Reese said irritated that his plan wasn't going exactly the way he had for seen.
"What are we gonna do?" Tony asked as they turned again and found themselves next to the quartermaster’s tent.
A heavyset man emerged from the tent a few feet away, belched, and nodded at them. He hitched up his pants, let the tent flap fall behind him, and adjusted the tiny hat on his head. He cleared his throat and strolled toward the food cache.
Reese led Tony to the far end of the quartermaster’s tent, then turned abruptly and ducked around the corner. When they were both hidden from sight, Reese peeked around the edge and watched as the quartermaster talked with the guards next to the food cache. One of the guards said something, and the quartermaster guffawed—his laughter echoed across the distance and down the street.
"If we can't set fire to the food supplies, then maybe we can find something in here to burn." Reese walked out to the main street, checked both ways and when the guards continued to talk with the quartermaster, he pulled Tony through the open flap and they disappeared inside the quartermaster’s tent.
It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but Reese found a lavishly decorated tent for such austere times. Instead of a simple army cot like everyone else, they found an actual bed with a heavy wooden sleigh frame. A fan—an electric fan—stood guard at the foot of the bed.
Tony moved to the side and looked at the gear spread out on a large wooden dresser. "Would you look at this? He’s got all kinds of stuff over here—cell phones, handheld video games, he's even got cans of tuna and an electric can opener!"
Reese ignored Tony and grabbed the power cord from the fan. He pulled it up off the ground and traced it all the way back across the tent over to a small wooden crate. Perched atop the crate was a small black microwave. On top of the microwave sat a coffee pot, still warm with a quarter pot of coffee in it. Reese stared at the contraption, a remnant of a world that no longer existed, and a grin
spread across his face.
"This guy’s got a lot of stuff, but I don't think any of it can help us..." Tony complained as he walked over to the microwave. "Are you serious? Dude’s got a microwave and a coffee pot? While people outside are starving, this guy’s sitting around in his own private suite," Tony said as he picked up a half-eaten package of marshmallows and graham crackers. "He's making freakin’ s'mores in the microwave!"
Reese eyed the microwave and the wooden crate it sat on. "What else has he got in here?" he mumbled. He stepped behind the microwave and pulled the tarp back to reveal a pile of toilet paper still in original packaging. "He's been hoarding toilet paper..." Reese said, disgusted.
Tony laughed. "That guy doesn't strike me as somebody who cares about toilet paper—how much you want to bet he's using it to get favors from the people who used to live here?"
Disgusted, Reese had an idea. "Quick, find anything that's metal. Silverware, cans—the empty can of tuna over there—anything." He picked up a metal serving tray from the floor and popped it in the microwave. Tony returned with a handful of forks and empty tuna containers, and two that were still sealed.
Reese put everything in the microwave and slammed the door. "Pull back that tarp off the rest of the toilet paper," he said as he set the microwave to run for 30 minutes. The little appliance hummed to life, and Reese picked it up and placed it on top of the toilet paper pile. He carefully stacked a few packages of the thin sanitary paper around and on top of the microwave, then grabbed Tony. “C’mon, we gotta get out here."
They ran for the exit and stepped outside as if they owned the place. Reese turned and walked left, maintaining a casual pace until they were able to turn down a side street and hide behind the next available tent—labeled as vehicle supplies.
“My turn?" asked Tony.
Reese nodded. "Make your way to the north gate. If this works—the microwave’s gonna set the quartermaster’s tent on fire. That oughta get their attention, being so close to the food cache. That'll be your cue to slip through the gate and contact the locals outside." Reese turned in the other direction. "I'll head to the docks and secure the boats." He turned back to Tony. "You remember where to meet?"
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 16
