The Survivalist (Freedom Lost)

by Arthur T. Bradley

  “Silver bullets,” she murmured, holding it up to the light. “That’s cool, right?”

  “Nothing cooler.”

  Setting the cartridge back in the box, she let the gun rest on her palm and lifted it up and down as if weighing it.

  “I think I’ll keep it. That’s okay, right?”

  “I don’t think John will mind.”

  “John?” Her lips turned up into a smile. “Oh, I get it.” She glanced over at the bathroom door. “We should really do something for him.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Bury him or something.”

  “Why?”

  “You took his boots, and I’m taking his gun. The least we can do is not leave him lying beside the toilet.”

  “Sounds like a line from a country-western song.”

  “Huh?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What matters is I don’t have a shovel, and even if I did, I don’t feel like digging a hole deep enough for a body.”

  She looked around. “We could put him in the bed.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “If you were dead, wouldn’t you rather be left lying in your bed than on the floor of your bathroom, with your pants down?”

  “Good point.” Tanner reached over and pulled the bedspread off the bed. Dragging it behind him, he stepped over to the bathroom and draped it over the body. “Help me roll him up.”

  Samantha hurried over, and together, they rolled the body into the bedding. Once Tanner was sure that all the man’s piece parts were accounted for, he scooped the bundle up and carried it over to the bed.

  “Happy?” he said, flopping it down.

  She touched the tightly rolled bundle.

  “Thank you, sir, for your boots and pistol. We’ll try to take good care of them.”

  Tanner twirled the keys around his finger.

  “Don’t forget the wagon.”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “And for the vintage car, too.”

  Chapter 6

  It took nearly an hour for Mason to load the junkers’ bodies onto their trailer and dump them in a nearby field. When he returned to the Atkins’ family home, he found Jessie on her hands and knees, carefully scrubbing the kitchen floor. Despite her hard work, there remained a noticeable darkening where Hoss’s blood had seeped between the boards.

  Mason approached the screen door and gave it a soft rap with his knuckles.

  “I’d understand if I were no longer welcome.”

  Jessie stood up and tossed the bloodstained rag into the sink.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, pushing open the door. “When people die, they leave a mess behind. That’s no more your fault than it is theirs.”

  As he stepped inside, Mason looked back at Bowie and said, “Stand guard like you mean it this time.”

  Bowie yawned and flopped down on all fours, enjoying the midday sun on his face.

  Jessie looked past Mason, studying the open field behind her home.

  “Do you think anyone will come looking for them?”

  “I doubt it. From what I could tell, it was just the three of them, all half-brothers.”

  “All of them?” she said, cracking a smile. “How exactly does that work?”

  He shrugged. “Either way, I believe we’ve ended that particular family line.”

  She glanced at the rifle hanging across his back and then at the Supergrade on his hip.

  “Did you learn to use those in the military?”

  “There, and other places.”

  She nodded. “Daddy used to be a pilot in Southeast Asia. Did he ever tell you that?”

  Mason shook his head.

  “He flew F-4 Phantoms. Said they were the best fighter planes in the whole world at the time. Have you ever been in one?”

  Phantoms had been replaced with Eagles, Tomcats, and Hornets by the time Mason had served.

  “No,” he said. “That was before my time.”

  “When I was little, he used to tell me stories about honey bears, snub-nosed monkeys, and golden jackals.” She smiled, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “It sounded like a magical place.”

  Mason said nothing. He had been to Southeast Asia several times on military assignments, but his memories were quite a bit darker than chattering monkeys.

  Jessie shook her head and smiled.

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget I’m not that little girl anymore.”

  “Don’t be sorry. There’s still a piece of her in you, and that’s a good thing.”

  “Do you still want to use Daddy’s radio?”

  “If you don’t think he’d mind.”

  “He wouldn’t. Come on,” she said, motioning for him to follow.

  Jessie turned and led Mason into a small den connected to the living room. It smelled of cigar smoke, and there were empty coffee cups sitting on nearly every surface. Across the room was a long workman’s bench, topped with all manner of amateur radio equipment, some old enough to contain vacuum tubes and others built around state-of-the-art digital circuitry.

  Mason quickly surveyed the electronics. He pointed to a wire that disappeared into the ceiling.

  “Does that connect to the antenna outside?”

  “That’s right.” Jessie reached over and flipped a few switches, turning on the transceiver, tuner, and power supply. A low-pitched buzz sounded. “It should be ready to go. All you have to do is dial in a frequency and press the talk button on the microphone.”

  Mason sat on a rolling stool in front of the workbench and considered how best to proceed. Reaching out to General Carr was not going to be as easy as making a phone call. While it was true that the New Colony used radio broadcasts to relay important information, none of those channels were suited to his requesting a private call with their Chief of Security.

  Given the time of day, Carr was likely onboard the USS John F. Kennedy, an aircraft carrier sitting in port at what used to be the Norfolk Naval Station. The decision to conduct government operations aboard an aircraft carrier was one made primarily with security in mind. It was not protection from a foreign enemy that was of concern but rather protection from the masses, should they grow hungry or desperate. Breaching such a vessel was all but impossible for an angry mob, and if worse came to worst, the ship could be put to sea, allowing the government to relocate en masse.

  Not only was the carrier secure, it also had communications equipment, sleeping quarters, cafeterias, and other infrastructure. For many government workers, the Kennedy had become the equivalent of an enormous waterborne Winnebago.

  The dilemma facing Mason was that reaching out via radio would be anything but private. Broadcasts were monitored and recorded, making anything that he and Carr said a matter of public record. Given the sensitive nature of the accusations against him, Mason preferred to explain himself in a more private radio setting, if at all possible. The only way to avoid government scrutiny, however, was to get Carr to agree to communicate using an unmonitored frequency. But even that required first making contact over official channels.

  Mason tuned the transceiver to a frequency that he knew the New Colony used for emergency broadcasts.

  Pressing the talk button, he said, “Is anyone listening, over?”

  Within seconds, a firm female voice said, “This channel is reserved for official communications. Be advised to immediately redirect to another channel or face criminal prosecution.”

  Mason recognized the voice as that of Betsi Greene, a middle-aged, ex-Navy electronics technician with an affinity for two things, riding her Harley and training service animals. Thanks to her having fallen instantly in love with Bowie, she and Mason had developed a friendly, some would say flirty, relationship. While Betsi took her duties seriously, he wondered whether that coquettish interest might be enough to get her to bend the rules just this once.

  “Sorry about that, Twidget,” he said, using the nickname for sailors who worked with electronics. “Could you suggest a frequency open
to public use?” There was no way that any random individual would have been familiar with her background, and he was certain that she now knew that it was him on the line.

  There was a long pause, followed by, “Suggest you switch to a more suitable amateur channel, such as 16.36 megahertz. Out.”

  Mason knew full well that 16.36 megahertz was outside the recognized amateur bands. She was directing him to a frequency that wasn’t actively monitored.

  He quickly dialed in the new frequency and waited, listening to the static.

  Looking over his shoulder, Jessie said, “I’m confused. What exactly are you doing?”

  Before he could answer, a hushed voice sounded from the radio.

  “Mason? Are you there?”

  “I’m here, Betsi.”

  “Are you and Bowie okay?”

  “We’re both fine. Just laying low at the moment.”

  “Where are you?”

  “It’s better if I don’t say.”

  After a long pause, she said, “There’s been chatter about you. None of it good.”

  “What kind of chatter?”

  “Members of your team claim that you turned on them, killed one, hurt three others. Plus, they said you…” She paused. “They said you raped a woman.”

  Mason glanced back in time to see a look of concern come over Jessie’s face.

  “It’s not what it sounds like,” he said with the quick shake of his head.

  “Good, because what it sounds like is that I let the wrong man into my home.”

  “I’ll explain everything when I’m done here.”

  She nodded. “I’m counting on it.”

  Mason turned back to the radio.

  “Betsi, I can’t explain it all right now, but I need for you to believe me. None of what you’re hearing is true.”

  There was no reply.

  “Betsi? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “This is one of those times when you have to listen to your gut. Ask yourself if the man you’ve come to know these past few months is capable of those crimes.”

  There was another pause. “No. He’s not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “All right then. Next time I’m onboard the Kennedy, we’ll share a drink, and I’ll explain the whole thing. But right now, I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I need to reach General Carr so I can explain things to him. Can you make that happen?”

  “I can try.”

  “Ask him to contact me on this frequency as soon as he can.”

  “If I do, you’re going to owe me more than a drink.”

  “What did you have in mind?” he said, grinning.

  “That depends on how well you clean up.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Stay put and await his broadcast.”

  “Roger. Out here.”

  Mason leaned back and crossed his arms, noticing for the first time that his shirt was spattered with stiff speckles of dried blood.

  “She likes you,” said Jessie.

  “Betsi’s good people.”

  “Is she pretty? She sounds pretty.”

  “I guess so. To be honest, I hadn’t really noticed.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t notice if a woman was pretty?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had my share of bad luck with women. The prettier they are, the worse the luck.”

  “Is that how you ended up in this predicament? A pretty woman?”

  He tried to force a smile, but the image of Brooke’s face made it impossible. She had betrayed him, and it still burned like a hot poker.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, touching his shoulder. “That isn’t any of my business.”

  He shook his head. “It is your business, because I promised you an explanation.”

  Mason stood up and walked over to look out the window. What Locke had managed to pull off was difficult to explain without going through the entire elaborate story. And elaborate stories were almost universally viewed with skepticism. He needed to keep it simple but factual, both with Jessie and with General Carr.

  “Let me start by saying that I didn’t attack my own men, and I most certainly didn’t rape anyone.”

  “Okay,” she said, waiting for more.

  “I discovered something terrible about The Farm. When I confronted its leader, he set things in motion to either discredit or kill me.”

  “The Farm? Isn’t that where they make those disgusting food bars?”

  “You have no idea just how disgusting they really are.”

  “But how did he make you look like a criminal?”

  “He tricked my own team into coming after me. I had no choice but to defend myself.”

  “By killing them?”

  “One died. The other three were injured.”

  She nodded. “And the woman? What happened with her?”

  Mason let out a sigh. “I took her to be something that she wasn’t. In the end, she helped to set me up.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s because all women are evil,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  She grinned. “Not all. Just most.”

  “I can go into great detail on everything if it’ll make you feel better about my being here.”

  Jessie shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You saved my life not two hours ago. I think that earns you some credit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now,” she said, “let’s see about getting you out of those clothes.”

  Mason’s eyes grew wide, and she giggled.

  “So I can wash them, Romeo!”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Follow me,” she said, wheeling around. “I’m sure Daddy’s got something in his closet that’ll fit you.”

  Mason sat in front of the radio, a large bowl of vegetable soup in one hand and a spoon in the other. Thick chunks of homegrown potatoes, carrots, tomatoes, and corn were all mixed into a savory beef broth. He could hear Jessie singing outside as she pulled bedding from the clothesline. There was a sense of peace in the air, a warm feeling of invitation and family that country life often captured.

  He took a deep whiff of the soup.

  It smelled absolutely delicious.

  Mason began to eat, taking his time to enjoy the subtle flavors of the vegetables. Fresh food of any type was hard to come by, especially when living in the colony. Every bite took him back to a time when food was more plentiful, and the hardest decision someone had to make was whether to eat General Tso’s Chicken or an Italian meatball sub.

  As he was finishing, Jessie came back into the den, a sly grin on her face. She held something in her hands. When he realized what it was, Mason sat up straight, his mouth hanging open as he searched for an explanation.

  “I believe these are yours,” she said, holding out the brightly colored prophylactics.

  He squinted awkwardly as he tried to explain.

  “They’re, uh, survival gear.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure they are.”

  “No, you don’t understand. They’re for—”

  The radio sounded. “This is General Carr. Come in, over.”

  Mason looked at the radio and then back at Jessie, uncertain about which warranted his attention more.

  She motioned toward the radio and said, “Go on. I’m just funnin’ with you.” She wheeled about, shaking her head lightly as she left the room.

  Still a bit red-faced, Mason leaned toward the microphone and pushed the talk button.

  “Mason here.”

  “Good to hear your voice, Marshal.”

  “You too. I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything too important.”

  “Bandits hitting convoys, dogs terrorizing neighborhoods—same as every other day.” There was a pause. “I need to know what happen
ed out there.”

  “I fell into a trap, one that won’t be easy to pull myself out of.”

  “Go on.”

  “Locke offered me a job at The Farm.”

  “Not too surprising given your talents with a gun. Did you take it?”

  “Before I could decide one way or the other, I discovered something awful.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re killing infected people and using them in their food bars.”

  “Come again?”

  “You heard me. Locke and his men are hunting the infected like animals, and processing them at the plant.”

  “Good God! Are you sure?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, General. When I confronted Locke, he claimed he didn’t have a choice, that people would starve without the protein.”

  “And he let you leave without a fight?”

  “I guess he figured that if he killed me, you and others would start asking questions. Instead, he turned my own team against me. How are they, by the way?”

  “Red’s dead, but I guess you already knew that.”

  Mason thought back to Red lying in the cargo ship’s hold, pleading for him to carry him out. It had come down to a choice between Bowie and Red, and Mason had zero regrets about his decision.

  “And the others?”

  “The rest are alive, but injured to one degree or another. Dix was fished out of the James River with a broken arm. Cam announced that he’s done working for the colony. And Beebie, well, Beebie’s got a serious hard-on for you at the moment.”

  “It was them or me, and when those are the options, I’m gonna choose me every time.”

  “Even so, it’s not going to set things right in their minds. Any one of them will kill you if given the chance.”

  “Understood.” Mason paused, trying to decide how to word his next question. “General, I need a straight answer from you on something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Did you know what Locke was doing?”

  “Hell no, I didn’t know. I’ve eaten a few of those bars myself.”

  “What about Governor Stinson? Do you think he’s aware of what’s going on?”

  “Stinson’s not a bad man. Indecisive at times, but not rotten at the core like Pike was. I can’t see him signing off on something like that.”