Eastwood: Book Two in The No Direction Home Series

by Mike Sheridan

  The Irishman had received a frosty stare in reply, before Sadowski had gone on to explain that meals were cooked three times a day and eaten over at the dining hall. There was oatmeal and instant coffee for breakfast, pasta and soup for lunch, and freshly grilled meat or fish in the evenings, supplied by the hunters who went out in search of game each day.

  Jonah was thankful she hadn’t mention anything about alcohol. He needed that in easy reach, not under the stern eye of somebody like Mary Sadowski. He had a funny feeling they might not see eye to eye on what Jonah considered a normal daily allowance.

  “Grand,” he said, smiling at Colleen. “Crack open one of them tins of spaghetti and meatballs and we’ll tuck into it soon as I get back. Then I’ll take everything over to Mary. The auld battleax can put it under lock and key.” He winked at Colleen. “Maybe we’ll keep a packet of biscuits here on the sly. Whaddeyeh say?”

  “Jonah. No.”

  “Ah, go on, love. It’s not like—”

  “Jonah, I said no!”

  Jonah put on a glum face. “Colleen, you’re so…so…”

  “By the book?”

  Jonah grinned. “That’s it. Something tells me you and Mary are going to get on like a house on fire.”

  With that, he closed the door behind him and strode over to where the Nissan was parked in the lot. The sooner he finished unpacking, the sooner he’d get to go fishing. Somewhere in that lake was a twenty pound catfish with his name written all over it. He was going to haul it in and give it a great big kiss. Right on the smacker!

  CHAPTER 7

  In Charlotte, North Carolina, Simone Holmes rode down the middle of the LYNX Blue Line railroad track, keeping the engine of her Yamaha 125cc motorcycle at a low rev. Heading south, the next station was Archdale, not that she intended going that far. Her destination was the Aldi supermarket on the Old Pineville Road, a mile short of the station.

  Simone hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Not only was food scarce these days, it was dangerous to come by, too. What remained in the supermarkets was controlled by the newly-formed gangs that had sprung up over the city this past week with alarming speed. They’d taken over all sorts of places, and many gas stations and drugstores were under their control too. But food mattered the most. If you controlled the food, you controlled the people, and a person who hadn’t eaten in days was easy to press into the ranks in exchange for some meager rations.

  There were several reasons why Simone had no intentions of joining a gang. The main one being that her father, Clarence Holmes, a black officer and 25-year veteran of the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, wouldn’t have approved. Although he’d died eight days ago, it just didn’t sit right with her. Her father had instilled in her a strong sense of morals. She had no intention of letting them go that quickly.

  Soon after driving across the Tyvola Road overpass, she pulled up to a stop. On her left, obscured by a dense line of evergreens bordering the track, was the supermarket.

  She cut the engine and dismounted the Yamaha, wheeling it around so that it faced in the direction she’d come. Her original plan had been to hide it behind the tree line, but at the last minute she’d decided against it. If she had to leave in a hurry, better that her machine faced in the right direction, ready to go. Besides, no one ever passed along the railroad tracks these days, as far as she could tell.

  With her rucksack on her back, she crossed the tracks and walked through the dense but narrow band of trees. Emerging out the other side, she crouched behind one of them. Not more than thirty yards away was the back entrance to the Aldi, a large one-story building about two hundred feet long.

  The huge steel doors of the delivery gates were closed, and she knew that the front was heavily guarded. Earlier that day, she’d passed by and seen several armed men lounging by their vehicles, drinking beer and passing a joint around. That was fine with Simone. She had a more devious plan to break into the supermarket.

  Crouching low, she made the thirty yard sprint over to the southwest corner of the building. Sticking close to the wall, she darted across to a stack of pallets stored fifteen feet high. Next to them, a refrigerated trailer stood parked. Its doors had been busted open and there was nothing inside.

  By sticking her toes between the gaps in the pallets, she climbed nimbly up them and, once on top, clambered up onto the trailer. From there, the supermarket’s asphalt roof was in easy reach, and she hauled herself up onto it.

  She treaded softly over to a large air conditioning vent, where she took out a screwdriver from her jacket pocket and began removing the screws from the front panel. As soon as they were all out, she lifted the panel off and placed it gently on the ground, then climbed into the metal housing to where a set of enormous louvers faced down onto the supermarket floor thirty feet below.

  She took the rucksack off her back, pulled out a length of rope, and fixed it onto a thick steel pipe that ran along the wall. Then she poked her head out through the louver’s plastic shutters and took a look around.

  Other than for the faint glow of daylight coming from the front entrance, it was dark inside the building. Once she was sure there was no one around, she dropped the rope to the ground, then squeezed her body through the louvers. Grabbing the rope, she shimmied down it, using the knots she’d tied on it at evenly-spaced intervals for grip.

  When she hit the floor, she pulled out a flashlight from her pocket and switched it on. Shrugging the rucksack from her shoulders, she crept up and down the aisles, loading it with foodstuffs. In went cans of tuna, beef, ham, and turkey meat, then at the dry foods section, packs of spicy ramen noodles—her favorite.

  Reaching one of the outer loops, her eyes lit up when she came across a cookie tower. Careful not to make any noise, she crammed her pack with peanut butter, oatmeal, and shortbread cookies, along with crackers, pretzels, and granola bars.

  She scoured the aisles to find where the bottled water was stored. After a long search, with only the tiny flashlight to guide her, she finally found it on the far side of the store.

  She had just put three 1.5 liter bottles inside her pack when she heard the sound of voices. Heart racing, she instantly turned off her flashlight.

  By the entrance, a powerful torch switched on. There was the sound of footsteps, then the low drawl of a man’s voice spoke out.

  “Hot damn, Ledell. Drinking beer and eating pretzels all day. Now that’s what I call a dream job. What say you, buddy?”

  “Fuck yeah,” a second voice replied, even gruffer than the first. “We need to milk this for all its worth. Tomorrow it’s back to guarding some shithole part of town again.”

  The first man chuckled. “I hear you, bro. Time to hit the beer section again.”

  Simone hadn’t come across the beer section. She just hoped it wasn’t anywhere near her. Crouched down on the floor, she quietly zipped up her rucksack and slung it up onto her shoulders.

  As she rose to her feet, the flashlight moved away in the opposite direction. She let out a sigh of relief. It looked like the beer section was in a different part of the store. Hopefully the men would just grab their beers and head back outside again.

  Something else dawned on her. A fear that was realized moments later.

  “Shit, Rico,” Ledell called out. “What’s that hanging from the ceiling? Holy fuck!”

  Simone froze as a torch angled its beam toward the ceiling, to where her rope dangled out of the air con unit. Her one and only means of escape from the building was now gone.

  She thought hard. If she was quick, perhaps she could sneak past the guards at the front entrance. With a little luck, she could bolt around the side of the building and get back to the tree line without getting shot.

  That option was taken away from her a moment later.

  “Louie, Hector…we got an intruder in here! Get your asses over to the doorway!” one of the men yelled.

  There was a crackle of static, then a voice responded over a radio. “Okay, Led
ell. On our way now.”

  Simone’s next instinct was to look for somewhere to hole up and just hope that the men presumed she’d already left the building. It was a good idea. The only trouble was, there didn’t seem anywhere good to hide.

  Scurrying along the row, she headed toward the side wall farthest away from the men. When she reached it, she saw that in the corner, thirty feet away, was what looked like a staffroom door. If it was unlocked, perhaps there was somewhere inside she could hide.

  In a low crouch, she headed for it, checking each horizontal aisle as she passed by to make sure neither of the men stood along it.

  She made it three rows from the end when a voice called out behind her. “Stop right there, you sonofabitch!”

  She spun around to see a muscular black man in a sleeveless tank top standing at the corner of one of the aisles, pointing a pistol at her. He wore a baseball cap turned at an angle, and a heavy gold rope chain dangled from his neck. “Over here, Rico!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ve found him.”

  The man stepped forward warily, keeping his flashlight trained on Simone. When he got closer, his shoulders dropped and he lowered his weapon. “Hey, it’s only a girl! She can’t be more than sixteen years old either.”

  There was the sound of footsteps, and another man appeared a couple of aisles behind him, a light-skinned Hispanic wearing a white T-shirt, baggy pants, and a bandana tied around his forehead.

  He looked Simone up and down appreciatively as he drew alongside his companion. “Why, Ledell, she’s a fine little thing too. Look at her, half grown up and nearly all woman. Sweetheart, how old are you?”

  “F-Fifteen,” Simone replied nervously, blinking in the harsh glare of the flashlight.

  A broad grin came over the man’s face. “Bro, you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Hell yeah,” Ledell growled. “Must be our lucky day. We got booze, we got weed. Now we get to have a little fun too.”

  “Please, mister. D-don’t…” Simone stammered, thrusting both hands inside her jacket pockets nervously.

  “Don’t what, little girl?”

  Both men stepped forward, their intentions written all over their faces.

  Simone backed away. “Don’t make me do this.”

  Rico sniggered. “You got any idea what she’s talking about?”

  “Nope, cos it don’t matter a damn,” Ledell replied with a throaty drawl. “Only thing that matters right now is how fine this girl is.” He took another step forward. “Come here, sweetheart. Come to Daddy.”

  There was another chuckle from Rico.

  “All right….” Simone raised her right hand still inside her jacket pocket and extended it forward. Clutched tightly in her grip was her father’s compact Glock 43, his backup weapon. At the range, he’d taught her how to shoot well with it too. “Seeing as you’re the biggest asshole.”

  “What the f—” Ledell stopped in his tracks, staring at her in disbelief. Desperately, he raised his pistol, which he’d held loosely by his side, gangster style. Before he could take aim, Simone fired twice in quick succession, and two nine millimeter rounds tore into his chest and stomach. With a grunt, he staggered back, clutching his belly with one hand.

  Simone swiveled the Glock and pointed it at Rico next. Another two rounds ripped into his chest. With a low moan, he slumped to the ground.

  There was no time to hang around. Simone darted down the aisle closest to her and raced toward the center of the supermarket. From the building entrance, she heard voices shouting, then the sound of running footsteps.

  Reaching the center aisle, she sprinted over to the rope and scrambled up it. The weight of her pack made the going tough, and she was thankful for having taken the time to make the knots in the rope, helping to give her better purchase.

  She reached the ceiling, breathing hard. With her pack on, getting back inside the aircon unit was a lot harder than before, and she had to push down hard on the louver shutters, breaking them open before clambering inside. Below, several flashlights were now combing the building. She quickly pulled up the rope so that the men would have no idea of her location, then climbed up through the metal casing and back out onto the roof. Temporarily blinded by the sunlight, she stumbled forward, then ran toward the corner of the building.

  When she reached it, she peered cautiously over the edge to see a red pickup parked at the back entrance. Two men stood by the delivery gate, no doubt trying to figure out how an intruder had gotten inside. With a sense of relief, she saw that there was no one along the south wall where the pallets were stacked.

  Barely pausing, she slid her body over the side of the wall and jumped down onto the trailer roof, then climbed down the stack of pallets again. As soon as her feet hit the concrete, she sprinted toward the tree line, praying that the guards around the corner didn’t choose that moment to continue their sweep of the building.

  She reached the trees and ran straight through them, pine needles scraping her face and arms as she rushed past. At one point, her feet tangled in the undergrowth and she fell to the ground. Scrambling to her feet again, she pushed through the last of the branches and, with a sigh of relief, spotted her Yamaha parked ten yards away.

  She ran over and jumped on, then slotted the key in the ignition. As the engine came to life, she looked behind her but saw no sign of any activity. Letting out the clutch, she raced up the track, not slowing until she was well past the far side of the Tyvola Road overpass. Finally, she could relax.

  It was time to go home for her last evening in the city. Things were getting too dangerous here. Tomorrow, at first light, she would leave. She was done with this town.

  CHAPTER 8

  The following morning at dawn, a convoy of two pickup trucks and a motorcycle set off from Old Fort. Turning onto the Old Federal Road, they drove north for eight miles until they reached Sloans Gap Road, then headed east.

  Leading the way, Russ Willis rode his Suzuki VStrom. Mason Bonner followed next, sitting behind the wheel of his black GMC Canyon, his bodyguard Doney beside him. At their security firm in Knoxville, Mason had been a driver, and he still liked to drive. Behind him, two crew members occupied the back seats, while in the truck bed, a further two sat with their rifles sticking out over the sides. The second pickup was similarly configured.

  The formation passed through a section of thick pine forest. Coming around a tight bend, the VStrom’s brake lights came on. Mason slowed down when Russ stuck his right hand out.

  Moments later, the motorbike turned up a narrow lane, signposted Casson Road. Almost immediately, the lane cut hard to the right. Turning the corner, Russ drove another twenty yards and pulled over to the side of the road.

  Mason came to a stop beside him. He opened his door and jumped out as the trailing vehicle drew up behind him. “We’re too far from the damned road,” he said irritatedly as Russ strolled up to him. “What the hell we doing here?”

  “Relax, Mason. This is the hideout spot while we wait for somebody to come by this way. It could be a few hours.” Russ pointed back toward the Sloans Gap Road. “Give me three of your men and I’ll go set the trap. Won’t take more than twenty minutes. Once it’s ready, I’ll ride up to the YMCA camp. Soon as someone leaves, I’ll radio ahead so you can get ready.”

  Mason breathed a little easier. “All right, that’ll work.” He ordered the two men sitting in the Canyon’s load bed to get out.

  After the second man jumped down off the tailgate, Russ pointed back into the truck. “Grab that chainsaw,” he told him. “We’re going to need it.”

  With a grunt, the crew member leaned over and dragged out the gas-powered Kawasaki chainsaw Russ had stored there earlier.

  When the man made to hand it over to him, Russ said, “No, you carry it. It’s you that going to be using it.”

  Without another word, he set off down the lane in the direction of the junction. The two crew members exchanged surly glances, then followed after him.

 
; Mason chuckled. Russ’s cunning and intelligence was serving him well, but the devious runt wasn’t making any new friends, that was for sure.

  CHAPTER 9

  Cody sat by himself on his trailer steps sipping coffee. A few minutes ago, Emma had gone off to Walter’s trailer where Greta was in the process of setting up a makeshift clinic. She needed help sorting out the medical supplies that she’d hastily grabbed at the lodge the previous day, and Emma had offered to help her.

  Cody had been busy too. That morning, he’d been part of an armed detail that had ridden out of camp to source badly needed supplies. Riding in two pickups they’d taken the old Highway 2 and cut west across the Cohutta, emerging onto Route 411 at a town called Chatsworth. Driving through the empty streets, they’d ventured fifteen miles farther to reach Dalton City. Being a relatively unknown town, they hoped they might have some luck in getting everything they needed. By now, Chattanooga and Cleveland had been pretty much stripped clean.

  Their luck was in. On an out of the way street, they came across a builder supplier whose entrance gate was still intact. Breaking into the yard, they filled the trucks with carpentry tools, screws, nails, timber, barbed wire, and a host of other things Walter had listed down for them.

  Before returning to camp, they stopped at a Walmart and managed to find the exact same radio handsets that Walter had brought with him from Knoxville. They also grabbed a chainsaw, gardening gloves, and a stack of four-foot plastic flower-box planters. Cody had no idea what Walter wanted them for. To grow vegetables, he presumed. With both trucks stocked to the brim, they’d made an uneventful journey home.

  He checked his watch. In a few minutes, the group was due to start work on building the camp’s defenses. Walter was anxious to start right away and utilize Pete, Ralph, and Maya before they left in the morning. The camp would be considerably more exposed while they were gone. He drained his coffee and stood up. Time to get back to work.