by N. C. Reed
“Roger that,” was the simple reply. Jose turned to Kade.
“We stay in sight of one another and protect this side of the truck. I don't want anyone alone or out of sight of the others.”
“Got it boss,” Kade nodded and moved toward a spot between the Cougar and the other vehicles. Jose turned to look back toward the office and other sheds, feeling his skin crawl. With society gone nuts, this shouldn't have surprised him, but it had. He honestly hadn't expected to see something like this, at least not so soon. There was food to be had if you knew where to look for it. Free for the taking, often growing on the side of the road even. Game in the forest that you could shoot or even trap. Berries, wild vegetables. There were plenty of things someone could do to survive. They weren't all pretty, or tasty, but they were a far better choice than that.
Anything but that.
-
“I need you on watch tomorrow while we're gone to the Walters place,” Clay told Jody Thompson.
“Will do,” the sniper nodded. He and Heath Kelly were breaking down the Barrett Heath had been using, Thompson instructing the teen on how to service, clean and care for the big gun.
“How's he doing?” Clay asked.
“He will make a fine rifleman,” Jody said confidently. “He is an excellent shot.” Heath felt his face flush with pleasure at the compliment but he kept working.
“I 'll let him stay with you tomorrow then and you can get him set up for standing watch,” Clay decided. “We need someone new trained on over-watch anyway.”
“True,” Jody agreed. “I believe he will do well.”
“That's good enough for me. I plan for us to be on the road at first light. Make sure you guys are ready to stand to then.”
“We 'll be ready.”
-
“You've all been through the rifle course so you should be familiar with your rifles, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” a dozen different voices tried to say all at once. Greg Holloway looked over the small crowd standing before him and decided he would withhold judgment until he saw how well they took to this next phase of their training.
Micah Webb (oldest of the Webb siblings), Matthew Webb and wife Jasmine, Mark Webb and his wife Bernice, Samuel, Luke and John Webb, Anthony Goodrum, Gary Meecham, Marcy George (oldest daughter of Franklin George) and Byron Jessup made up this class. Ages ranged from fifteen-year-old Anthony to forty-three-year-old Meecham and made several stops in between. While some of the other offspring of the newly arrived families were old enough, barely, to participate, all of the people assembled before Holloway at that moment were considered more than mature enough to handle not only the training but also the use of said training should the need arise.
Everyone who was physically able had already been given the basic course and been to the range. A few who had been unable to master using the Kalashnikov had been given shotguns or left to use their own rifles if they desired and had them. A few had likewise been reluctant to use the semi-automatic pistols and used revolvers instead. All of the people standing before Holloway at that moment however had passed the course on the AK and pistol with flying colors, hence their inclusion in this advanced class.
“In this class we will be learning small unit tactics and basic defense measures that will be put into place should our homes come under attack. If you think that can't happen, then realize that Peabody was attacked by a large, well organized group of gang members who inflicted a tremendous amount of damage to both the town and the people living there. This farm was attacked by the man behind that particular group a few days later. So, I advise you to take this seriously people. Understood?”
Another chorus of yeses and nods.
“We're going to examine defensive tactics designed to let a minimum of people do a maximum amount of damage to any attacker while ensuring as much as possible the safety of our own citizens. The idea is to make anyone who attacks us pay a steep price for doing so while protecting our own people at all costs. Ideally we will drive off or kill our attackers without loss to our own people.”
“How likely is that, though?” Micah Webb asked. He didn't ask in a challenging way but in a simple and direct request for Holloway's opinion. The oldest of the Webb siblings, he was about Greg's own age, though the two knew each other only in the sense that they knew who the other was.
“That depends on a number of variables, Mister Webb,” Holloway replied honestly. “For instance, if our attackers are inept idiots, the odds of all of us escaping unharmed is quite likely. If they happen to be moderately well trained, those odds will decrease exponentially to the degree of increased skill possessed by our assailants. In the event we are attacked by a well-trained and organized force, someone trained up to military standards for instance, then it becomes much more likely that we will suffer casualties ourselves in repelling their attack.”
“Don't we have some military folks on our side?” Gary Meecham asked.
“We do indeed, and they are all former special forces,” Holloway nodded. “Their presence here will almost certainly ensure victory despite any losses we may suffer. But there aren't many of them,” he added before anyone could decide that meant their training was superfluous. “And they aren't always here, either. There are times when we have to send parties off the farm proper, and those men are always going to be the crew providing security for those runs. So, if someone attacks us while they're gone, we need to be prepared for that. Any questions?”
There were none as the sobering effect of Holloway's blunt statements settled in on the small group.
“All right then, let’s get started. First of all, we will divide into teams of four. The four-man fire team will be our basic element for defense and maneuver tactics alike. We won't worry about permanent teams right now since that will have to wait until everyone is ready for assignment. We will do our best to place people who normally work with or near each other into the same group so that they will always work together in defensive situations as well. Working with the same team on a regular basis allows for team members to...”
-
“Okay, we're strapped down and ready to move,” Jake announced.
“Good,” Jose said at once. “Everyone mount up. I want us on the road, right now.”
“What's wrong?” Jake asked as he walked toward the Cougar.
“Not now,” the other man shook his head. “We 'll discuss it on the way home. Or better yet after we get home. That would be ideal.”
“Okay,” Jake didn't object, recognizing the strained look on Juarez's face and the tautness of both his body and his facial features. He entered the Cougar and moved to his seat without any further comments. As soon as everyone as loaded and he got the ready call from Tandi Maseo, Juarez nodded to Zachary Willis.
“Take us home, Zach.”
“Got it boss,” the teen nodded and was moving an instant later. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he did know that Kade still looked a little green around the gills and Jose looked anxious, which was completely out of character for the former commando.
Soon the two-vehicle convoy was on its way back to the Sanders' farm even as several sets of eyes watched the area all around them for anything and everything that might be a threat.
It was a quiet ride home.
-
“How many?”
“I didn't stay long enough to count them,” Jose replied to Clay's question. The convoy had made it home without incident. So far only three people on the mission knew exactly what had been found, though all knew that something was wrong.
“But enough that it has obviously been an ongoing thing?” Clay pondered and Jose nodded grimly.
“Varying states of decomposition and decay, some having been ravaged by scavengers, signs of . . . things that are hard to misinterpret,” he settled for saying.
“I get it,” Clay's face was just as grim. “It shouldn't surprise us, but. . .I really didn't think I'd see something like that here,” he s
hook his head slowly.
“Me either,” Jose agreed. “We're going to have to have a safety meeting about this, Boss. People are going to have to be extra careful from now on. For starters we need to make sure no one can be caught alone, whether it's hunting, working, whatever.”
“Yeah,” Clay sighed. “And that's going to put a strain on everything else and make people mad.”
“Well, if they don't want to take precautions you can't make them,” Jose shrugged. “Just explain the consequences, or the possible consequences at least, and then it's on them from there on out.”
“And we can see how far that takes us the first time someone goes missing,” Clay snorted.
“People have to be responsible for their own actions, man.”
“Speaking of which, how did it go with Abby?” Clay changed the subject.
“She did fine,” Jose replied at once. “Worked hard, didn't antagonize anyone or cause any problems. I'm starting to think that her attitude problems stemmed from the way she was being treated,” he added. “She's capable and willing to work, but all she was assigned to was babysitting. That would chafe anyone after a while.”
“It's all she could be trusted with,” Clay said at once.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jose replied flatly. “Your family, your rules, Bossman, but you know as well as I do that she made valid points. None of us would leave another in the hands of an enemy. We've proven it before, too.”
“None of us would have been as stupid as she was, either.”
“She made a valid argument there, too,” Jose kept his voice reasonable. “She tried, using what she knew. What she didn't know got her in trouble, but she had balls enough to go after a friend that needed help. And I don't think we can keep hanging Bear's death on her either. It was Bear's idea for us to go, like it or not.”
Clay remained silent but his mulish expression told Jose that he was talking to a brick wall.
“What time you want us on the road in the morning?”
“I want us moving by daylight,” Clay accepted the subject change gladly. “As soon as it's light enough to see. We need to get there and get back as quick as we can.”
“Roger that,” Jose nodded. “We 'll be ready when you are.”
Jose watched his boss walk away, headed for his cabin before turning to head home himself. As he made his way up the steps to the door, he caught the smell of wood smoke in the air, but ignored it. Every home on the farm used wood for heat, for cooking, for laundry, and for pretty much anything else that required a heat source. It had become common enough that no one noticed it anymore. Without thinking further about it he continued inside to start preparing for his next assignment.
CHAPTER SIX
-
“Cannibals?”
Leon's face showed a mixture of revulsion, disgust and fear as he listened to Clay fill him in on what Juarez and the others had found at the forestry station.
“Yep,” Clay nodded.
“Jesus Christ,” Leon muttered as he looked at the floor. “I…I never imagined...”
“Me either, and I've seen it before,” Clay admitted. “I don't know why I didn't think it might happen here. I just. . .none of us did.”
“Things like that aren't supposed to happen in this country,” Leon nodded. “I remember when I was a boy, people being hungry. There as a depression you know, and then the weather. . .land just wouldn't produce the way it had in the past and people clear cut the land to make fields and the rain washed in and made gullies everywhere. . .but as bad as it got back then, and it was bad,” he looked up at his grandson, “it never. . .I never once heard o' no shit like this.”
“I know,” Clay nodded. “But this is happening, or at least that's what it looks like, anyway. If it isn't then that still leaves the fact that there's at least one very sick son-of-a-bitch running around here somewhere slaughtering people for the hell of it. Break down in society and law enforcement leaves nuts like that free to prey on anyone they can defeat, Leon. You know that.”
“I know that,” Leon looked very tired suddenly. “All right,” he appeared to force himself to perk up. “Send word around we're having a meeting tonight at. . .let’s make it seven. Everyone should be done eatin' by then. Get the word out, boy. I 'll break it to them. And for God's sake make sure everyone gets home safe, ya hear?”
“I 'll see to it.”
-
“Brick, I gotta-” Leon halted in mid-sentence as he looked into the room Byron “Brick” House used as his bedroom.
Sitting on his bed, the big man was in the process of assembling a large rifle. Parts of another rifle lay scattered on the bed, along with an ugly looking shotgun and three pistols.
“Well,” Leon exhaled slowly. “I guess you heard me talking to Clay then?” Brick stopped working and looked at Leon.
“What?” he asked, reaching up with one hand to pull ear buds from his ears. “What did you say, Leon? Sorry, I was listening to music.”
“So, you didn't hear what Clay said?”
“Clay's here?” Brick set the rifle aside and stood. “Does he need me for something?”
“No, no,” Leon waved the big man back down. “I thought since you were assembling your arsenal you heard him talking.”
“No,” Brick continued to assemble his rifle. “What did he say?”
“If you didn't hear him, what brought all this on?” Leon ignored the question for the moment in favor of satisfying his own curiosity.
“I just have a feeling,” Brick's massive shoulders shrugged slightly. “A hunch, if you will, that I 'll be needing them. Soon, probably.”
“A hunch?” Leon cocked his head slightly. “Really?”
“My instincts are usually pretty good,” Brick nodded. “I learned long ago to trust them. And right now, my instincts are screaming at me that I need my tools.”
Tools. Leon had never heard Brick refer to his armory as anything but tools. The big man's background was shrouded in mystery that even Leon knew only a part of, and he rarely questioned him about it. Brick shared a little every now and then but it was rare. And one simply didn't pry too much into the private affairs of someone like Brick House.
“Well, Clay's men went after Abby's fire dozer today and found signs at the forestry station that someone has gone cannibal.”
“Cannibal,” Brick repeated. “I suppose it was inevitable that it would happen somewhere but I confess I didn't think it would be out here where food is plentiful. There shouldn't be a need for it, should there?”
“No, there shouldn't,” Leon agreed.
“You know there are many problems associated with cannibalism,” Brick spoke casually as he finished assembling his rifle. “I mean other than the obvious.” He worked the bolt on the rifle then set it aside and began to assemble the second one.
“Yeah?” Leon asked.
“Yes. Eating human brains or parts of the central nervous system of another human can transmit prions of the victim to the cannibal, which in turn can create several instances of infection, all of which are usually fatal. No treatment or cure. In addition to the physical damage, however, there is a mental aspect to it. In cultures where cannibalism is an accepted behavior no one suffers from it, but in a culture like ours where it's so taboo, a person who resorts to cannibalism is likely to suffer a mental breakdown from doing so. That can lead to real insanity, Leon. Lead someone to commit even more atrocious acts than mere cannibalism of a dead person.”
“More?” Leon looked aghast. “How much more atrocious can you get than eating other people?” he demanded.
“Well, for starters he or she could start eating people while they're still alive,” Brick said calmly. All the while his hands were working quickly and efficiently, the pieces on the bed quickly becoming a rather wicked looking rifle indeed.
“Jesus help us,” Leon almost gagged. “I doubt I want to know why you know all this, Byron.”
“Probably not,” Brick agreed, slammin
g the bolt home on the second rifle, now fully assembled. “It's not as uncommon as you think, Leon,” he continued as he set the rifle aside and looked up at his host. “The fact is that cannibalism is practiced in many cultures around the globe. Sometimes simply because it always has been and others because of simple desperation. Rumor has it that North Korea has been practicing cannibalism for several years now because of famine and lack of edible foodstuffs.”
“Shame someone doesn't eat that fat little prick in charge over there,” Leon muttered.
“I doubt he's being forced to eat people,” Brick snorted. “Of course, he may do so just out of meanness or mental illness. Who knows?”
“I don't know why I talk to you,” Leon turned away, shaking his head. “I really don't.”
“What did you want to see me about?” Brick called after him.
“Group meeting at seven,” Leon said over his shoulder. “Appreciate it if you could carry me over there. Without any more commentary,” he added.
“Will do.”
-
“So, what is it we're gathering over here for tonight?”
That was the question on everyone's mind as the totality of the population at the Sanders ranch gathered in the central building used for such functions. The only exceptions were the men of Clay's command and their teenage contingent. They were divided into pairs and were roaming the area on lookout, ensuring the safety of the people who were moving to and from for the meeting and finishing last minute chores.
Leon had met with the family heads a half-hour before the assembly to brief them on the problem. Their reaction had been equal to his own as the grim reality settled on them. Now they stood stoically among their families, refusing to say if they knew what was going on, waiting on Leon to make his appearance.
And suddenly, Leon was there, climbing onto a trailer that was being used for a stage, Janice Hardy lending him her arm to steady himself.
“Okay people, settle down,” Leon called to the group. “Settle down!” he banged his staff on the trailer floor. The noise level fell as people stopped talking and asking questions so that they could hear what Leon had to say.
