"Easy," Tony said with a lopsided grin. "Once I start the riot, head straight west until I hit the coast and wait till you guys show up."
Reese shook hands with Tony. "Good luck. We'll see you tonight."
Tony nodded, his mouth pressed into a grim line. "You too. If something happens—"
Reese shook his head. "Stop—it's gonna be fine, you'll see."
"But if something does happen, tell my aunt and uncle it's not their fault. Tell them I love them."
Reese grabbed Tony's hand with both of his. "You’re gonna tell them yourself—tonight. Now get going. We don't have much time before that microwave has an identity crisis."
Chapter 19
Spalding Residence
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Darien put down his bottled water and turned to gaze at the storeroom he’d created in Harriet's house. In the past couple days, they'd managed to bring back almost everything that hadn’t been nailed down—or stripped clean by the neighbors. It wasn't much...it certainly wasn't what they'd had, but it was enough to get them through the next month or two. He scratched his jaw. That didn't account for whatever was coming his way.
What he didn't expect was Spanner—not due back for two days—to come walking up the stairs right as he thought about him. "That was fast," Darien said.
Spanner tromped up the stairs followed by four other men, all heavily armed. Darien pulled the Desert Eagle from his waistband and kept it hidden behind him as he turned sideways to greet the newcomers. "So, what's going on?" he asked carefully.
Spanner recognized the tone in his voice and threw up both hands. "Hey, we’re cool, we’re cool—it's okay. These guys are from the Hedge Knights." Spanner stepped aside and let a bloodied man step forward into the room. He left muddy footprints on the floor as he walked across and reached out a bandage-wrapped hand.
"Name’s Franks."
"That a last name? I'm Darien Flynt," Darien said as he shook hands.
"No,” Franks said. “I got it on account of I like to eat hot dogs."
Darien held the man's grasp and looked over his shoulder at Spanner, who shrugged and hid a smile behind a hand.
"Okay," Darien said as he drew out the word and wiped his hand on his pants. "What's going on?"
Franks looked at him, looked at him up and down, then sighed. "I guess you're the best we got, huh?"
"I like to think I am. What's the deal?"
"I’ll give it to you straight. We got our butts handed to us, that's what’s goin’ on. Everything was going fine up there in Rolling Hills, and we were takin’ over pretty as you please. Then the National Guard shows up and cuts everybody down. Even took out the sheriff."
Darien narrowed his eyes at Franks. "Took out the sheriff? Wait a minute, the National Guard? All right—start over. Spanner, why don’t you get our guests something to drink, will you? Make it a double for me. I have a feeling I’m gonna need it in a minute."
"You got it, boss," Spanner said as he ducked out of the room.
Since they'd already seen the storeroom—which Darien had expressly warned everyone to keep secret—he figured there was no reason to dwell on formalities. He suggested everyone find a seat where they could, and the men who accompanied Franks simply collapsed on the floor and leaned back against piles of boxes or walls. Darien pulled over a case of water and used it as a stool. "Now, what happened?"
"We rolled into that neighborhood a couple days ago. They didn't put up much resistance. I don't even know if anybody had guns in that place. Bunch of old farts. Took over and did whatever we wanted. It was great—we were walking right up and down the streets, just kicking in doors and taking everything. Then this one broad escaped in a car, and the boss sends a couple of us to go track her down.”
Rufus nodded from his position against the wall. "He ain't lyin’.”
Darien turned back to Franks. "Go on."
"Sherriff shows up and we have it out—I’m thinking we got ‘im licked and then the army guys show up. They trashed the place. Wasn’t anything we could do about it, either—they had some kind of big tank on wheels. Everything we shot at it just bounced off. They had a machine gun mounted on the top—I swear it cut a car in half." He shook his head. "It was like a nightmare on wheels.”
“There was this loudspeaker, too,” said one of the others.
“Yeah,” agreed Franks. “It was attached to this big truck behind the tank—said they were there to take over and anybody who wanted to join ‘em could, otherwise no one was leaving alive."
"How many joined?" asked Darien. "Before you answer that," he said as he raised a hand to stop Franks in his tracks. "How many did you have to start with?"
"About 20 of us...maybe 25," Franks said. The other men nodded in agreement. He turned back to Darien. "But half of them threw down their weapons and ran over to the truck. That didn’t make the boss happy, but it didn't matter—them soldier boys opened up that big gun and cut them all down right in the middle the street."
Darien shook his head. “Freakin’ soldiers—"
"I don't think they’re soldiers," Rufus said from his spot in the back of the group.
"Me either," said Franks.
Darien arched an eyebrow. "What makes y’all say that?"
"Well, for starters, they shot all the cops, too," said Franks.
Darien looked at Rufus. The dreadlocked man shrugged and smiled as Spanner returned, carrying drinks. He passed out glasses to everybody. Only one man raised his in salute, the others immediately slugged them back.
Darien took his with a nod of thanks and sniffed. Scotch. Neat. He raised his glass to Rufus and Franks, then took a sip. "Why would they shoot the cops?"
"Ain’t cops—it was the sheriff."
Darien looked up at Spanner. “They shot Sheriff McIntyre?"
Franks grunted. "Yeah, him and a bunch of his deputies. Took ‘em all out. Tell you what, them soldier boys ain’t playin’ around."
"So, what did you do?" Darien asked.
"Me? Shoot, I ran. About ten of us got away. We headed for the trees and didn't look back, man. Crept in that night and watched the whole place burn down."
"How many soldiers we looking at?" asked Darien.
"Hard to say—we didn't see too many running around, but it didn't matter —they got a couple of them big trucks and the one...man, it's like a tank. The other’s just like a transport or something. Can probably hold 20 or 30 people. I saw at least 10 guys running around with machine guns. But only half of looked like they had camo on. It was really something, man."
"Sounds more like some kind of crazy militia than the National Guard," Darien scoffed.
Franks nodded in agreement. "Militia—hadn't thought about them. Those guys are really crazy. They might just be crazy enough to pull this off."
"It would certainly explain them shooting at both the gang and the sheriff," Bender observed.
Darien leaned back against the wall and scratched his jaw. "Well, the question is...now what we do?"
"That's what we came to ask you," Frank said. He raised his glass in salute again. "Boss got taken out. There’s only a handful of us left, and we don't know what to do. You’re the closest thing we got to a leader, so..." He raised both eyebrows and waited for Darien to speak.
"Hold up," Darien said as he leaned forward. "You offerin’ to join my crew, is that it?"
Franks looked behind him at the other men, who both nodded. "Well, yeah. If you’ll have us? Look, we’re only a couple days away from starvation. We got guns, sure, but we don't have anybody to lead us. I'm telling you, them soldiers put the fear of God in all of us."
Darien licked his lips and considered his options. As if by divine providence, the answer to all of his problems had literally landed in his lap. In the blink of an eye, with one word, he could have a small, motivated army with which to take over Bee's Landing.
If he’d had ten men armed as Franks
and his people were, there was no way anyone in Bee's Landing could resist—even if they were led by the redoubtable Cami Lavelle. “From what I hear, there's a good number of hunters in this neighborhood—men used to hard times and weapons."
Franks grinned. He adjusted the sling over his shoulder and pulled out an AK-47. “Any of ‘em hunt with one of these?"
Darien grinned. "No, I don't imagine they do." He stood and extended his hand to Franks. "If you guys want, you can join my crew. But I got some ground rules." He pulled his hand back as Franks got to his feet and reached out to take it. "If you agree, then we have an accord. If not, then you guys may as well just keep on going and find your own place."
Franks turned and looked at Spanner, Rufus, and the others. He shrugged. "Okay. Let's hear it."
"If we do this, we’re doing it my way. You answer to me, or anybody I tell you to answer to. Spanner and Jon Boy are my original crew. Whatever they say, you take it as if I said it. Got that?"
"You talking about that big guy downstairs?" Franks whistled. "Man, I don’t want to do anything to make him mad. That sounds okay to me."
Darien nodded. "Next, whatever I say, you do—no questioning, no back talk. Things are little tense here in this neighborhood, and I don't have time to explain. If we move quick, we’ll have the whole place eatin’ out of our hand by tomorrow. But if we screw around trying to explain every action and every decision, then we may as well just give up now and go our separate ways."
Franks nodded again. "Sounds fair. Anything else?"
Darien grinned. He pulled the Desert Eagle from behind his back. "Yeah, you break any rules, and I'll shoot you myself. Sound fair?"
Franks grinned. "Fair enough to me, man." He reached out his hand, and Darien took it.
"Welcome aboard, boys. Now, let's get you guys squared away and settled. Everybody with you?"
"Yeah, the rest are downstairs."
"Good, who among you are the best leaders?" Darien asked as they headed for the door.
Franks shrugged. "I guess that’d be me and Rufus. Everybody else is...I don't know, good at following, but not thinking."
Darien snorted. "I know how that goes. Look, what do you think the chances are these National Guard guys settling down up there in Rolling Hills?"
Franks frowned and looked at the floor. "Honestly?" he asked as he looked up. "I don't think they’re going to stay there. What we saw before we left last night...most of that place is on fire. I doubt any of its left, I doubt any of it survived the night. Going to need more supplies and more places to loot. Sooner rather than later."
Darien nodded. "I was afraid you'd say that. How far away is it?"
"About an hour away by car. They got two big trucks. They can be here anytime they want."
Darien cursed under his breath. "Then we’re gonna have to move faster than I thought. Come on, let's get downstairs and get organized."
"What you gonna do? Try and set up a roadblock or something to stop ‘em?"
"Yeah—eventually," Darien said from the doorway. He slapped the doorjamb. "But first we gotta make some more friends."
Chapter 20
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Amber ran into Cami's bedroom and interrupted her mother as she took inventory of their weapons and ammunition. "Mom! There's some big military truck or something coming down the road."
Cami looked up from her tally. "What?"
"Just come downstairs!" Amber said. She turned and left the room in a swirl of hair and bare feet on the floor. Cami grabbed her pistol, made sure it was loaded and slapped it in her holster. At the bottom of the stairs, she met Gary and Mitch.
She joined Amber in the living room and peered between the pieces of tarp-covered plywood that covered the broken front windows. A massive coyote brown vehicle—it had to be ten feet high—lumbered down the road. It took up almost the entire width of the road as well. She'd never seen anything like it. It had tall, angular sides, and tiny windows. A man sat in a machine gun turret strapped to the top and swiveled the big, menacing weapon back and forth as the truck rolled slowly forward. She could feel the vibrations of the engine through her rib cage.
Cami grabbed the ever-present radio from her belt and brought it to her mouth. "Marty! Marty, you seein’this?"
"No names! How many times I have to tell you that?" demanded the old-timer.
“I don’t care! Look outside! What do we do?”
That massive vehicle was armed to the teeth and ready for war as it trundled down her street. It sent a chill of fear down Cami’s spine. Though it was emblazoned with a camouflaged American flag on the side, the vehicle’s menacing look did not lend the impression that it was there to help.
Cami had an unencumbered view of the huge tank on wheels as it trudged down the street. Right behind it was an equally massive troop transport.
"Whatever you do,” Marty warned over the little radio, “stay inside. We don't know what these jokers are up to."
“Battle stations?” asked Amber.
Cami swallowed. She had to do something—Amber was right. She nodded as she watched the giant truck pass in front of Marty’s house. "Okay, battle stations, everyone!" Cami said over her shoulder.
Battle stations had been the codeword to keep the boys excited about following along with instructions whenever the adults needed. Everyone had a different task—Mia shuffled the boys upstairs to hunker down in an expedient safe room they’d constructed out of Amber's old room. They’d piled mattresses and plywood up in an attempt to make a hardened enclosure.
Elizabeth led the boys went up there with binoculars and flashlights and maps while Amber stayed at the top of the stairs with her rifle. From that position she could move to any one of the other rooms and cover all the area around the house. Depending on where the threat came, Amber would be able to put rounds on a target.
Mitch stayed in the center of the lower floor as a quick reaction force. He was better with the shotgun than he was with the pistol, so he had the room sweeper—what they called Reese’s stainless-steel marine shotgun.
Gary secured the rear of the house and stationed himself in the kitchen armed with a pistol. Mia also remained in the kitchen as the medic. Though Amber, after reading through the survival medicine book on loan from Marty seem to pick up more knowledge by the hour, Mia was admittedly useless with firearms and decided the best way she could help the cause was to apply dressings and help with simple first-aid tasks. She'd survived the battle by doing so and had come out of it with a sense of purpose that Cami relied upon.
Lastly, Cami took the front of the house, and remained in the living room with her pistol. She was their first line of defense. Against what rolled down the street, though, Cami wondered if their plans were all for naught.
“Something’s happening...look,” Marty warned.
“What’s goin on out there?" Gary called from the kitchen.
"Just stay put for a minute," Cami warned. "These guys are up to something—somebody's standing up in the turret of that tank...he’s got a megaphone."
"I don't think it's a tank," Mitch observed from the stairwell.
"I know that," Cami snapped. "But until I figure out what the heck it is, that's what I'm calling it."
Two men in camo fatigues clambered down out of the transport truck behind the armored tank-truck. They walked along at the vehicles’ sedate pace and scanned left and right, taking in the neighborhood.
"Attention residents of Bee’s Landing,” the man with the megaphone said, his voice amplified and strong. “This is the South Carolina National Guard. You are under our protection now, and as such will be required to donate to the cause. You have until sundown today to assemble donation packages and place them on your front porch. Any house that does not have supplies ready for our taking will be forcibly entered. These orders come from Governor Wilson. In order to maintain the safety and securi
ty of all residents, the National Guard has been called out and is required to requisition materials directly from the citizens of this state."
Cami's mouth fell open. "Are you kidding me?"
"Attention residence of Bee’s Landing," the trooper in the tank said again.
Cami shook her head. "No way," she breathed. She ignored the rest of the message and brought the radio back to her mouth. “Are you hearing this?"
"I am, and something doesn't smell right.”
"What do you mean, ‘something?’" Cami asked. "None of it smells right to me!"
"For starters, look at the way those two idiots are walking behind that Deuce and a Half.”
“Is that what they really call that truck?” Cami asked.
“Well, not really, but us old timers don’t like to change habits. Forget the truck, look at the men.”
Cami leaned forward and squinted through the slot in the plywood. The two camouflaged soldiers sauntered casually behind the big truck as if they owned the neighborhood. One carried his rifle by the handle, completely useless if he needed to fire in an emergency. The other draped his over his shoulders and carried it as if it were a yoke across his neck. They chatted amiably as they walked.
"What in the world?" Cami said to the radio.
"Exactly. I never had much respect for the weekend warriors, but I know I ain't never seen National Guard walk around like that. Those two boys are imposters, I say. And look how close that transport is following the big ‘un there." Marty said. "If they gotta steal stuff from everybody they drive past, then they’re expecting counterattacks at any moment—ain't no way they'd be driving only a couple feet behind the butt end of that monstrosity. If a firefight started right now, that there’d be a hot mess."
"I don't what to do..." Cami breathed. "Look at the gun on that thing, if they turn that on the house, they'd punch clear to the backyard!"
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 17
