On The Edge: Book Three in The No Direction Home Series

by Mike Sheridan

  Mason nodded.

  “Thing is, it’s currently occupied right now,” Nate continued. “So you’ll need to shift the management there too, won’t you?”

  Mason grinned. “You’re a quick learner, Nate. Help me take it, and the lodge is yours.” He indicated to the barricade. “How about you let me in and I’ll tell you all about my plan. Play this smart, and by this time tomorrow you’ll be living somewhere comfortable with new friends close by for safety. How does that grab you?”

  Nate stared at Mason for several seconds. Then he turned to his two companions. “Joe, Matt, pull back the barrier and let them in. Ain’t no harm in talking.”

  CHAPTER 4

  At the north end of Camp Benton’s headland, Mary Sadowski stood next to a short row of sandbags stacked eighteen inches high. Standing attentively in front of her, with their backs to the lake, were Jonah Murphy, his wife Colleen, and Monica Jeffreys.

  Seventy-five yards away, close to where Russ had been executed that morning, were three wooden stands, each with an eight-inch cardboard square attached to them. Clipped to the squares were homemade paper targets with a series of concentric circles scrawled on them in thick black marker. In the middle of each, colored in red, were the targets’ three-inch centers.

  Mary was about to commence weapons training with the newcomers. By now, all three had been made aware of the emergency situation at the camp, and that it could come under attack at any time. Though they had been taken aback by the alarming turn of events, the three were part of the Benton group now, and had assured Mary they were committed to defending the camp.

  “Right,” she said, striding up and down in front of them like a drill sergeant. “Have any of you had weapons training before?”

  Monica and Colleen shook their heads. Only Jonah raised his hand.

  Typical, Mary thought to herself. It had to be the motormouth. She walked over and stood directly in front of him. “All right then. Where and when did you receive your training?”

  “A few days ago,” Jonah replied. “Outside a gun store on the Osceola Parkway, Orlando. Yeh probably don’t know where that is, do yeh?”

  “Nor do I care,” Mary answered curtly. “And who exactly gave you this training?”

  “Eh…Bill O’Shea and his buddy Darren.” Jonah indicated to the Armalite M-15 rifle he held in front of him, its butt resting on the ground. “They taught me a cool firing stance for the rifle, and another for me Glock. When I got back to the hotel, I taught it all to Colleen.” He looked at his wife reprovingly. “Yeh really should have raised yer hand too, love.”

  “Jonah, you hardly qualify as a weapons instructor,” she replied firmly. “Which is precisely why I didn’t raise my hand.”

  “My training helped you kill three skangers on our way here,” Jonah protested. “If I hadn’t—”

  Mary shot up the palm of her hand directly in front of his face. “Please. Not another word.” She turned to Colleen. “You really killed three people?” she asked curiously.

  Colleen nodded. “Killed or severely injured. To be honest, Jonah’s training was pretty good.”

  Jonah looked like he was about to say something more. Mary raised her hand again, giving him a stern look.

  “Mary, I’m afraid I don’t have any weapons,” Monica said hesitantly. “I haven’t had the opportunity to pick any up yet.”

  “Don’t worry.” Mary gestured toward the sandbags where two rifles rested against them. One was hers, the other a LaRue PredatAr AR-15-style rifle, a spoil of war taken from one of Mason’s guards at Old Fort the other day. “I have a spare rifle for you to practice with. If you handle it well, it’s yours.”

  “Thank you,” Monica said nervously. “I fired a pistol once before, but never a rifle.”

  “You’re going to do just fine,” Mary reassured her. “All right, pay close attention everyone. We don’t have much time, so we’re going to pack a lot into this session.”

  She spent the next thirty minutes going through the basics, starting with a safety check of their rifles, where she showed them how to remove the magazine and determine whether a round was already in the chamber or not. After that, she demonstrated how to load and unload the thirty-round magazines all three were using. Then it was on to clearing magazine jams, misfeeds, and other functional issues.

  Next, she demonstrated the three main shooting positions: standing, kneeling, and prone, showing how to use the environment to maximize firing stability. As one example, she grabbed the side of a nearby tree and rested the rifle in the V between her thumb and forefinger to get a stable shooting position that improved aiming and trigger control.

  Finally, they got to the part she knew they were all waiting for: target practice. Using the sandbags as shooting rests, she taught them how to fire from the prone position, ensuring they understood the basic mechanics on how to squeeze off accurate rounds: legs spread apart, shoulders level, head upright, support arm at a ninety-degree angle.

  Both Jonah and Colleen’s shooting was impressive, and the two kept their shots in tight groupings. Monica was extremely nervous, however, and her shots went wild. Mary did her best to encourage her.

  Swapping out the paper targets, she took the three to within fifty yards of the stands and demonstrated the best shooting technique while on the move, taking into account Ned Granger’s recent comment to her that in all his years of combat, he’d rarely gotten the chance to shoot from the prone position.

  She gestured for Colleen to come over to her. “All right, take a couple of steps and move into your shooting stance. Fire off three quick shots with the mag hold grip I showed you. I think it suits you best.”

  Colleen took three paces, then placed her left foot forward and raised the rifle up to her right shoulder so the iron sights were at eye level. She pushed her head down tight, hunched her shoulders, and with her left hand clutching the magazine for support, popped off three shots in rapid succession, mimicking the type of real life action she could expect.

  Mary looked at her approvingly as she lowered the weapon. “Nice, smooth shooting. Run down and fetch your target. Let’s see how you did.”

  A minute later, Mary inspected the paper target, noting with satisfaction the sub six-inch grouping around the center bullseye.

  “Close enough for government work,” she said. “Not that there’s much of that around these days.”

  Monica stepped up to the line and fired off her three rounds using the same technique as Colleen. Her shots were far wider than Colleen’s. Two rounds missed entirely, while one caught the very edge of the target.

  “Needs improvement,” Mary told her, “but not bad for your first attempt. Next time, fire off your shots a little slower until you get the hang of it.” She wagged Jonah over with her finger.

  Jonah strutted forward and raised his Armalite to his shoulder. Rather than gripping the magazine with his left hand, he extended it and grabbed the rifle’s fore-end in a C-clamp grip, the one Bill had shown him back in Orlando. He squeezed off three shots in rapid succession.

  Showoff, Mary thought to herself. Still, she had to admit the Irishman’s posture and trigger action had been excellent.

  “Go get it,” she told him curtly. With a grin, Jonah sauntered down to the stand, returning a minute later with an even bigger smile as he handed her his target.

  Mary stared down at it. All three rounds were tightly grouped around the bullseye, and one had even clipped the edge of it. She gave him a brief nod. “It’s a relief to see you’re more than just a bigmouth.”

  Standing three feet away, Jonah grinned. “I’ve always had a good eye. Used to do great with the old air rifle at the fairground. I was pretty good at the coconut shy too.”

  As he spoke, Mary caught a strong whiff of beer off his breath. A large frown broke across her face. “Jonah, have you been drinking?”

  The Irishman took a step back. “Eh, no. Why do yeh say that?” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth.


  Mary snorted. “Because I smell it on your breath, that’s why. Don’t lie to me.”

  Jonah looked at her uneasily. “Well, now that yeh mention it, I might have had a beer or two after lunch. Helps with me digestion, don’t yeh know.”

  Mary looked at him sternly. “I will not tolerate anyone handling firearms under the influence of alcohol.”

  “Mary, I wouldn’t call it ‘under the influence,’” Jonah protested. “Sure, a couple of tinnies doesn’t even give me a buzz. It’d take a lot more—”

  “Jonah!” Mary thundered. “You will not drink alcohol again until this issue with Mason is resolved. Our camp could come under attack at any moment.” She turned to Colleen. “After we’re done here, bring over all the alcohol in your cabin,” she ordered her. “And I mean all of it.”

  Colleen glanced quickly at her husband, then nodded.

  “Mary!” Jonah protested. “That’s…that’s not—”

  “Yes, it is fair. And no, it’s not stealing. You’ll get it all back when the situation has normalized. Until then, all alcohol is prohibited here at the camp. Do I make myself understood?”

  A clearly shell-shocked Jonah nodded his head forlornly, speechless for once.

  “Good.” Mary nodded. “All right, Colleen, you’re up again. Let’s see if you can improve on your last score.”

  ***

  “She’s taking all me gargle?” Jonah said in a high-pitched yelp as he and Colleen walked back to their cabin an hour later. “That’s not right. It’s not like I’m a problem drinker or anything,” he spluttered furiously.

  “Well, it does run in your family,” Colleen said quietly. “Your father has gout, and just look at what happened to your Uncle Paddy. Dead at fifty-three.”

  “Colleen, I’m not like Uncle Paddy!” Jonah protested. “He was on the whiskey before his first slice of toast in the morning.” He paused a moment to reflect. “By jaysus, there was some drink taken on the day of his funeral, though. Do yeh remember love?”

  “Yes, I remember. I’m surprised you remember anything of the day,” Colleen said dryly.

  They reached their cabin. “Now listen, Jonah,” Colleen said as they walked up the porch steps, “I’m going to collect your beer and whiskey and take it over to Mary right now. And I mean all of it.”

  Jonah glowered at her. “Teacher’s pet. Yeah, she loves you all right.” He sighed. “Go on, take it. Guess I’ll just have to suffer in silence, won’t I? It won’t help with me blood pressure, you know.”

  “What are you talking about? You don’t have high blood pressure.”

  “Because a glass of whiskey in the evenings prevents it, that’s why. Doctor McGillycuddy told me that on me last checkup. Just a sup, mind.”

  A smile came to Colleen’s face. “How about we have a little afternoon fun when I get back? That helps with blood pressure too, they say.”

  Jonah’s eyes lit up, instantly forgetting his woes. “How about the hot stuff, love? Will yeh put it on for me? Seeing as I hauled it all the way from Orlando, it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”

  Colleen laughed. “Yes, Jonah. I’ll put it on.” She stepped into the cabin and looked around the room. “Now…where have you stashed all that drink of yours?”

  CHAPTER 5

  “I don’t trust him, Nate. You sure we should go through with this?” Matt Cooper asked as soon as Mason and his crew departed. Cooper was Nate Gingell’s second in command. From the very outset, he’d made it clear that he opposed Mason’s proposal, and had listened in stony silence throughout the entire meeting.

  Nate, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about the fact that he’d just agreed to oust another group from their camp. It was dog-eat-dog these days, way beyond the issue of morals.

  He and his men had arrived in the Cohutta less than seventy-two hours ago, and had wandered up and down the lake’s shoreline looking for a decent place to camp, getting yelled or shot at in the process.

  Exhausted and demoralized, they had finally claimed a spot at Greasy Creek, an inlet just east of where Highway 30 ran north up to Archville. At the top of the inlet was a campground, already occupied by a group of fifteen. Luckily, Nate and his men had managed to set themselves up at a tiny bay on the west side. Tucked out of the way, the larger group hadn’t objected to their presence.

  Finding a boat had been their first priority. By now, all had been taken from the surrounding lakeside properties. Heading up Highway 30, however, he and Matt had eventually spotted the sixteen-foot skiff on the front lawn of a house three miles south of Archville.

  Busting into the garden shed, they had retrieved its fifteen horsepower motor. Also in the shed they found a half-full ten gallon gas can, and a smaller can of oil for the two-stroke engine. The boat was already mounted on its trailer, and in a matter of minutes the two had hitched it up to Nate’s truck and driven it down to Greasy Creek.

  “At least we’ll be safer with Mason,” he told Matt. “You really want us stay here and keep beating off the gangs?”

  Though their camp was too small to interest the larger groups, there had been plenty of others keen to take their spot at the lake shore.

  Matt stared at him doubtfully. “You really think Mason is just going to hand over the lodge to us? That’s prime real estate.”

  “Why not? It suits both of us.”

  “Maybe he’s looking at taking over our group. You ever think of that?”

  Nate hadn’t. The notion startled him for a moment.

  “Because I for one wouldn’t like that,” Matt continued. “That guy is scary.”

  “Right now, life is scary. And in case you haven’t figured it out, we’re low on choices.”

  Matt sighed. “I guess so. By the way, what are you going to do about our three other hunters?”

  During the meeting, Nate had lied to Mason about the size of their group, telling him he had another three men out hunting at that moment. He’d felt Mason mightn’t be interested in any deal if he thought his group was too small for the task ahead.

  He grinned. “They all get killed tonight storming the camp. That’s okay. I never thought much of them anyway.”

  ***

  There was a curious look on Doney’s face as Mason steered the Canyon back up the forest track toward the highway. “Boss, you really plan on giving Nate the lodge?”

  Mason shrugged. “Why not? If they’re good fighters, no harm in keeping them close by. Besides, it’ll save us the hassle of having to defend it.”

  In return for Wasson Lodge and some provisions – courtesy of the lodge’s previous occupants – Nate had agreed to contribute his men to the attack on Camp Benton that night. During the negotiations, he’d noted how quickly Nate had agreed to ally himself to him. It didn’t surprise him. Competition was fierce at the lakeside, and a group their size would always struggle. He very much doubted whether Nate had several other men out hunting in the forest like he’d said.

  He cast his mind back to a discussion he’d had with Russ the other day. The survival rate for vPox was around two percent. Many had barricaded themselves inside their homes to escape the disease. It meant that perhaps tens of thousands could be wandering around Tennessee. Russ had been confident, however, that over the course of the next few weeks that number would quickly dwindle. Food stocks had already run out, and most people had no idea how to hunt or fish. Those pushed to the marginal areas by the larger groups would soon die off.

  Both had agreed that the key to survival was to control prime territory, something Mason was determined to do. It meant he needed to do everything in his power to make sure that tonight’s attack on the YMCA camp succeeded.

  They reached the highway. Mason swung right onto it, heading east in the direction of Archville.

  Doney raised an eyebrow. “Where we going now?”

  Mason grinned. “The day is still young. No reason why we can’t find another group to help us out tonight. Wasson Lodge is a hell of a prize in return for a lit
tle muscle.”

  Doney stared at Mason. “So how you going to decide who gets the lodge? Nate or the next group we find?”

  “Well now, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whoever fights the hardest.”

  A broad smile came over Doney’s face. “I like the way you’re thinking, Boss. Could be a fun night.”

  CHAPTER 6

  As soon as Cody and Walter returned to Camp Eastwood, Walter convened a meeting during which he explained what had occurred at Camp Benton to the group. Though he mentioned his own involvement with Mason back in Knoxville, he was careful not to say anything about Pete’s rash judgment that had initiated the connection with the bandit in the first place. Nonetheless, Cody could see how distressed Pete was to hear about the brutal murders at Wasson Lodge.

  “D-Did no one other than Liz survive?” he asked haltingly.

  “Perhaps Mark managed to escape,” Walter replied. “Liz isn’t sure.”

  “How come she didn’t come back with you two? Doesn’t she want to join us?”

  Walter shook his head. “I gave her the option. Guess she feels safer at the Benton camp.”

  “From what you say, don’t sound like this guy Mason cares too much for you, Walter,” Ralph said. “That going to be a problem?”

  “It could be. Back in Knoxville, Cody killed a couple of his men while he and Pete helped me get away from him.”

  “So what happens now?” Maya asked with a worried frown. “How’s this thing going to play out?”

  “I’m meeting Sheriff Rollins later today to discuss plans, so we’ll know soon.” Walter looked around the group. “Other than for myself, Pete, and Cody, this isn’t really anybody else’s fight. All the same, Mason is a merciless killer who has just murdered several good people. If anyone feels like volunteering to help get rid of him, it would be appreciated.”