Eastwood: Book Two in The No Direction Home Series

by Mike Sheridan

  “Push,” the voice said.

  Marcie’s right eyebrow arched. “What in tarnation are these people playing at?” she muttered. She leveled her shotgun and gestured for Simone to open the door. Simone stepped forward and gave it a shove, then stepped quickly back again.

  The door swung open to reveal two men in the hallway. One was an old man in a wheelchair with gray hair and an unkempt beard. Behind him stood the tall man in the short-sleeved blue shirt and sunglasses. He was younger, fortyish, and gripped both handles of the wheelchair.

  Simone stared down at the old man and gasped. In the grip of his gnarled and bony hands was a double barrel shotgun pointed straight at her.

  The old man gasped as well. He too stared down both barrels of a 12 gauge shotgun, the one Marcie held up to her shoulder.

  “Goddammit!” he exclaimed.

  For one awful moment, Simone was convinced one of the two was about to open fire.

  “Fred, is everything okay?” the younger man asked nervously.

  Studying him further, Simone understood the situation. “Everything is fine,” she said soothingly. “I’m Simone, from Charlotte. This is my friend Marcie. Don’t worry, she’s actually very nice.”

  “Then what’s she doing pointing that gun at me?” Fred said angrily. “Nothing nice about that.”

  Marcie snorted. “Same could be said for you, mister. That’s no way to greet a friendly face.”

  “Lady, ain’t nothing friendly about your face,” Fred replied, scowling. He shifted his gaze to Simone. “As for you, now that’s a different matter.” He sighed. “All right, no point in us pointing these damned things at each other. Someone is bound to get hurt.” Lowering his shotgun, he rested it on the blanket across his knees. A moment later, Marcie followed suit.

  Simone breathed a sigh of relief. She stared up at the younger man, still gripping the wheelchair and looking around uncertainly. “Pardon me for asking, but is your friend blind?”

  Fred nodded. “Eric is blind as a bat. Me, I’m crippled from the waist down. On our own, we’re pretty much hopeless, but together we make a hell of a team.” He made an impatient gesture. “Well, no point standing there like a couple of goons, you may as well come inside. Eric, turn this thing around. Back to the kitchen!”

  With a deft shuffle of his feet, Eric made a one-eighty turn and headed down the hall. “Bolt the door after you!” Fred yelled out over his shoulder. “We don’t want any unwanted visitors getting in. Been there, done that already.”

  Marcie gave Simone an indifferent shrug, then stepped into the house. Simone followed her inside, locked the door securely, and followed her down the hall.

  At the end, she entered a large and tastefully decorated kitchen. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with white wooden panels, and on one side were huge cabinets with carved moldings and fluted corners. Over by the window was a long granite countertop with a large porcelain sink centered in it. Whoever had lived here before had had money, that was for sure.

  The Golden Retriever Simone had seen in the field earlier came over to her. It looked up at her with warm brown eyes and wagged its tail gently. She guessed it was a guide dog.

  “Say hello to our guests, Molly,” Fred said as Simone reached down to stroke the dog’s head. “That’s Simone. She’s the nice one.”

  There was the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the room. On a rustic-looking oak table in the corner were two mugs and a half-full coffeepot.

  Fred caught Marcie staring at it. “Either of you want coffee?” he asked. “We were just having some when you arrived.”

  “No thank you.” Simone loved the smell of coffee, but hated the taste.

  “I’d murder one,” Marcie said. “Haven’t had a real coffee in over a week. With everything that’s been going on, it feels more like a year.”

  Fred wheeled himself over to a marble-topped island in the middle of the room. On it was a wooden tray with several mugs in it. He grabbed one, wheeled back to the table, and poured out a drink for Marcie. Taking it from him, she dolloped out two heaped spoons of brown sugar, stirred them in, and took an eager sip.

  Fred gestured over to a mason jar on the countertop, a quarter full with ground coffee. “We got enough for a few more days, then it’s back to the instant again.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not looking forward to that.”

  Using his hands, Eric edged his way over to the far side of the table and picked up his mug.

  “How long have you two known each other?” Simone asked.

  “Not long. A few days.”

  “Are you both from Gainesville?”

  “No,” Fred replied, “Maysville. It’s close by.”

  Across the table Eric smiled gently. “I don’t think the survivors thought too much of us there, did they, Fred? They sure left us behind pretty quick. So much for small town manners.”

  Fred chuckled. “If only they thought of pairing us together, maybe they’d have taken us with them. We did a good job chasing off those no good varmints the other day. Sent them packing with their tails between their legs.”

  “What happened?” Simone asked, remembering Fred’s comment in the hallway.

  “Two days ago a group of men tried to break in here, looking to steal our food,” Eric explained. “I had to run around like crazy, pushing Fred from one room to another while he blasted away at them through the windows.”

  Fred grinned. “Hard left, full ahead! Turn right! Stop! Peppered a couple of them with buckshot before they got the message, that’s for sure.”

  “So that’s how come the front window is broken,” Simone said.

  “Right.” A worried look flashed across Fred’s face. “God knows what will happen when the last of our food runs out. It’s one thing warding off people trying to steal our supplies, another thing hunting for our own food out there.”

  Simone understood what he meant. Confined to a wheelchair, hunting was out of the question for Fred. Being blind, it would be impossible for Eric too. Life would soon become harsh for the two men.

  “We saw plenty of lakes and rivers on our way here. Did you choose this area so you could fish?”

  A thin smile came to Fred’s lips. “Smart girl. Yes, we were planning something along those lines. Back when I had the use of my legs, this area used to be my old stomping ground. I know it like the back of my hand. So long as Eric can get me down to the riverbank, we should be okay.”

  Marcie’s bushy eyebrows knitted together. “But why stay here?” she asked. “Surely it makes more sense to live at a farm where some of the livestock have survived.”

  Fred looked at her sternly. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for us to even make it this far? And what use exactly is a farm to us? You think me and Eric plan on milking the cows each morning, or chasing sheep in the field?”

  At the far end of the table, Eric chuckled. “We’re good, but we’re not that good.”

  A thought occurred to Simone. “Pardon me, but how did you get here? I mean, neither of you can drive.”

  “A minor miracle, that’s how,” Fred replied. “Eric got in behind the wheel and operated the pedals of that old station wagon you saw parked outside. I sat beside him and steered.”

  Simone shook her head in amazement. “Wow.”

  “To be honest, with no cars on the road, it wasn’t as hard as you might think. Though we did have a couple of close shaves along the way.”

  “So what now?” Marcie asked. “You two plan on living here on your own?”

  “No choice,” Eric said flatly, staring sightlessly at her through his dark glasses. “So far, the only folk interested in us want to rob us blind.” He chuckled at his little joke. “It’s a dog eat dog world out there. No one has shown any intention of letting us into their lives.”

  Marcie sighed. “I know how that feels. No one wanted to take me in either, until I met this sweet little girl,” she added, glancing over at Simone.

  “Well, as far as I’m conce
rned, you’re both welcome to stay here,” Eric said. “If that’s okay with you, Fred?”

  Fred nodded. “Absolutely. Having a little help wouldn’t go amiss.” He paused a moment. “Before we left Maysville, we stocked up with plenty of seeds from a gardening store. It’s not too late in the season to grow vegetables. All it takes is a bit of elbow grease.”

  Simone grinned. “You’re just looking for someone to dig you a vegetable bed, aren’t you?”

  Sipping his coffee, Eric laughed. “Fred plans on putting me to work in the garden. I can use a spade pretty well, so long as someone points me in the right direction.”

  “So, how about it? Will you stay?” Fred asked, staring first at Simone, then Marcie. Despite his casual tone, Simone could sense the underlying desperation. Without any help, a bleak future awaited the pair. She looked at Marcie questioningly.

  Marcie took another slurp from her coffee, then set her mug down on the table. “I guess we can stay awhile. It’s not like we got someplace in particular to be.” She looked at Fred with a wry smile. “I’ve grown my own vegetables for this past forty years. Don’t worry, we’ll get something going in your garden.”

  ***

  That evening, as the last of the summer light faded from the kitchen window, Simone and Marcie headed off to bed. Hauling their gear up the stairs, they found the master bedroom at the back of the house. Since they’d arrived, neither Fred nor Eric had ventured upstairs. “I can’t get up there, and not much point in Eric going if he can’t see a damned thing,” Fred had commented. “I’m pretty sure there’s no dead bodies in the rooms or we would have smelled them by now.”

  Marcie ran her flashlight around the bedroom, a high-ceilinged, cream-colored room with thick purple drapes drawn across the windows. On one wall was a wood-framed mirror, while on the other side was an elegant Shaker-style wardrobe.

  The bed was large, and had a carved wood headboard. It was fully made up, with fresh sheets and a multi-colored throw on top. Simone breathed a sigh of relief to see no dead person in it. There was always the chance a decomposing body might have lain under the blankets.

  “What do you think, child? You want to sleep on your own?” Marcie asked. She aimed her flashlight back toward the door. “In which case, we better check out another room for you.”

  Simone shook her head. “It’s creepy up here. Let’s sleep together.”

  “All right.” Marcie cracked a smile. “But I got to warn you, I tend to snore at night. Used to drive my husband mad. If I wake you up, you have my permission to turn me over onto my side. That’s what Dan used to do, God bless him. It usually does the trick.”

  Simone giggled. “Okay, I’ll remember that.”

  Marcie frowned at her. “You don’t fart in your sleep, do you? Dan used to do that, especially when he ate too much. I used to kick him out and make him sleep in the spare room.”

  “As far as I know, I don’t,” Simone laughed. “All right, fair is fair. If I fart during the night, you have my permission to kick me out of the bed. I’ll go sleep in the corner.”

  Marcie began laughing too. “I’m so glad we met at the gas station today. It was a blessing. Nearly sixty years between us, yet we get on famously.” She sighed. “The world’s turned into a strange place, that’s for darn sure. Something tells me that ain’t going to change anytime soon.”

  CHAPTER 17

  At 3:10 a.m., a group of heavily-armed men piled into four pickup trucks and left the town of Old Fort. Thirty minutes later, the convoy arrived at Devil’s Point, on the southern shores of Lake Ocoee. A little over a mile away lay Wasson Lodge, the focus of their attention that evening.

  The night was moonless. Not a star could be seen in the skies above, and a light drizzle sprayed across Mason’s face as he got out of his vehicle. Perfect conditions for the task at hand.

  With Russ leading the way, the men entered the forest and walked single file along a narrow trail. Twenty minutes later, Russ stopped and raised his hand. He pointed ahead to where two pine trees stood directly opposite each other on the trail.

  “Tripwire,” he said in a hushed tone when Mason reached him. Stepping forward, he took out his knife and cut the fishing line set at ankle height between the two trees. After he’d dragged the ends to either side of the path, the group continued forward.

  Soon, they reached the edge of the forest by a large clearing. A hundred yards away, barely visible in the gloom, they could make out the silhouette of the lodge.

  Russ pointed over to it. “Behind the house is the field that backs onto the lake,” he whispered. “That’s where their trailers are parked.”

  “You’re sure no one is staying inside the lodge?” Mason whispered back.

  Russ shook his head.

  “All right, let’s do this.”

  Mason gave the signal, and his men split into two teams. From the sketch Russ had drawn previously, he knew that guard posts had been placed on either side of the lodge. The plan was to attack both posts simultaneously, then continue on to the trailers.

  Creeping along the side of the forest, Mason and his men started toward the east gable end, while Russ’s team headed over to the opposite side of the building.

  A few minutes later, Mason came to within fifty feet of a sandbag parapet and halted his men. Gazing through the inky darkness, it was hard to tell whether the post was manned or not. He selected two men and headed deeper behind the tree line. Treading softly through the forest, they reemerged twenty feet behind the guard post.

  Mason squinted, and could make out a slumped figure sitting on a stool, his head resting on top of the sandbags. He leveled his rifle and strode forward, a man to either side of him.

  The guard didn’t wake up until Mason was almost on top of him. With a start, he stood up and reached for his rifle. Mason pulled the trigger of his Heckler & Koch AR-15 style carbine and fired off several rounds in quick succession. The guard staggered back and toppled over the stack of sandbags.

  From the other side of the lodge came the sound of more gunfire. It stopped almost as soon as it started. Russ had taken out the second guard post.

  Mason called out to the rest of his men who’d lain in wait by the forest edge, out of the field of fire. All eight spread out across the short grass, and jogged over to a row of four trailers parked fifty yards away.

  By that time, shouts of alarm started to come from inside them. The door to the nearest trailer flung open and a figure stepped out. “Tim! James! What’s going on?” a man’s voice called out.

  Mason opened fire. The man stumbled down the steps and fell to the ground. Striding forward, Mason shone his flashlight down to see a blond-haired man wearing a pair of sports shorts lying motionless on the ground. A round had hit him above the right eye, and blood seeped out of the wound. Mason kicked his rifle away. Pointing to the open door, he ordered his men to check if anyone else was inside.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure emerging from the last trailer. It began to creep away. Mason opened fire again. Immediately, the figure sprinted around the back of the trailer and disappeared from view.

  Just then, Russ and the rest of his men arrived, sprinting across the field. In a matter of seconds, all four trailers were surrounded front and back. No one else dared come out of any of them.

  Mason walked up to the second trailer. He gave the side several hard raps with the butt of his rifle. “Open the door and throw your weapons out!” he yelled. “That way no one else gets hurt.”

  A moment later, the door opened. Mason heard the sound of several thuds in the grass. “That’s all the guns I got!” a woman’s frightened voice called out.

  “All right. Come on out!” Mason angled his flashlight at the door and a stocky woman with short gray hair came down the steps. Blinking in the harsh glare of his torch, she threw her hands in the air. “Anyone else inside?”

  The woman shook her head. She stared over toward the first trailer, and let out a groan when she spott
ed the man lying motionless outside.

  Mason gestured for one of his men to check the woman’s trailer. The crew member strode past her and went up the steps. He peeked his head around the door, then went inside. A moment later, he came back out again. “All clear, boss.”

  The last two trailers were cleared in the same manner. At the end of the process, only two people stood outside.

  “We’re missing someone,” Russ said, frowning. “There should be six to account for altogether.”

  “One guy ran off earlier,” Mason told him. “No big deal.”

  He walked over to the two figures, the second of which was a stockily-built man in his thirties. “You!” he barked at him. “Are you the leader of this sorry group?”

  “No. Not me,” the man replied, shaking badly.

  “Then who? The guy that ran away?”

  The man pointed over to the figure lying sprawled in the grass by the first trailer. “Chris. That’s him over there.”

  “So, who are you then?”

  “I’m Eddy. I’m…uh…in charge of camp security.”

  “Well you did a piss poor job of it, didn’t you?” Mason chuckled. “All right, where did Walter go after he left here?”

  Eddy looked at him in surprise. “You know Walter?”

  “Yeah, I know Walter. Where did he go?”

  “I-I have no idea.”

  Mason’s hard eyes bore into Eddy’s. “Why the fuck not?”

  “We didn’t leave on good terms. Him and his group just up and left.”

  Mason spat on the ground. “You’re no use to anyone, are you? No information…lousy security.” He reflected a moment. “In Roman times, if a general conducted himself badly in battle, afterward he’d fall on his sword. It was the honorable thing to do. Eddy, are you an honorable man?”

  “I…uh…I don’t know.”

  “I’m taking that as a no.” Mason withdrew the Sig Sauer P226 pistol holstered by his waist and leveled it at Eddy. “Guess you leave me no choice.”