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

by Mike Sheridan

  Ralph nodded his head. “Count me in.”

  “Me too,” Clete followed. “Looks like we’re involved in this whether we like it or not.”

  “Thank you,” Walter said appreciatively. “The sheriff will be happy to know he has five more men at his disposal when he needs them.” He glanced at Greta. “All right. Onto other matters. Now that there’s fifteen of us, I think it’s time for us to move down to the valley. We can’t hide up here in the hills forever.”

  ***

  The move took all day. While the actual packing and hauling of trailers took no time at all, the setting up of the farm’s defenses still weren’t finished by sundown. By now, though, most of the group had experience in building fortifications and good progress was made.

  Walter supervised the proceedings using the hard-won practical skills he’d learned from nearly twenty years in the military. He based his plans on OCOKA, the US military acronym that stood for: Observation; Cover and Concealment; Obstacles; Key Terrain and Avenues of Approach, and his detailed sketches integrated all five of these principles.

  Cody, Clete, Simone, and Jenny began the arduous work of constructing the defensive perimeter using the materials brought back from Dalton City the other day. Before joining them, Ralph and Pete drove off to a neighboring farm they’d passed on their way back from their Georgia trip. Wearing thick gloves, they uprooted fence posts and razor wire, also some paddock fencing that Marcie had asked them to find, and hauled it all back in the utility trailer.

  Within the perimeter, Walter, Greta, Emma, and Maya stacked sandbags around the farmhouse, building a guard post at each corner. On top of a tall barn, several more were hauled up to be used as cover for a sniper position.

  Rocks, barbed wire, earth-packed flower beds, and felled trees from the previous camp were all carefully interwoven to prevent vehicles from simply bursting into the property, and positioned to funnel any would-be attackers into several ambush points around the property that Walter had meticulously designed.

  Farm machinery, including a small combine harvester and a John Deere tractor, were driven into place to provide cover for the front and back of the farmhouse. On the east side of the property, the deep waters of the Connasauga River offered natural protection, and gunner positions were placed along its banks, ready to fire down upon anyone who tried to swim or row across.

  The group continued to maintain a lookout posted at the top of a nearby hill, from where both entrances into the Alaculsy Valley could be observed. Being farther away than before, the change of guard was slower, but armed with two-way radios, the information relayed was still instantaneous. As before, guards were changed on four-hour shifts.

  In charge of the farm work was Marcie, with young Billy second in command, the only two with “real” farming experience. Along with a begrudging Fred, a smiling Eric, and a chirpy Laura, the five set about the initial organization of the farm.

  First, they inspected the main farmhouse, which thankfully had no dead bodies inside. Though by no means modern, and slightly rundown, the four-bedroom building suited their needs perfectly.

  “Excellent,” Marcie said to Simone with satisfaction. “Tonight, let’s just pitch up our tents in that plot over there,” she said pointing out the window to a large field on one side of the farmhouse. “I’ll talk to Walter later about sleeping arrangements. Hopefully, he lets us and the children take these bedrooms. For the moment, we’ll just give them a good clean out.”

  The house had a big kitchen and dining room. Outside, there was a large vegetable patch in the backyard. It had an herb garden too, where Marcie identified basil, oregano, rosemary, sage, and thyme.

  The animals had all survived the trip from Gainesville. The chicken tractor was wheeled into the shade around the back of one of the work sheds, and a thirty-foot square area marked out that would be turned into a chicken pen. The rabbit hutches and nesting boxes were placed in another area, while the two goats, William and Betsy, were tethered on long ropes in an unused field where the grass grew high.

  The ducks were brought into the far corner of the backyard, where a stand of poplars offered some shade. A large plastic container found in one of the work sheds was filled with water from the river, and the team got great pleasure watching the five ducks and the drake splash contentedly inside it. On the group’s next scavenging run, Marcie intended on asking someone to source a plastic kiddie pool at a Kmart or a Target. That would suit them even better.

  Finally, two plots were measured out in a field where the tunnel hoops would be erected in the coming days. Once the soil was tilled, seeds taken from Billy’s farm would be planted. Later, they would prepare other areas of the property to grow vegetables, using the seeds Fred had brought with him from Maysville.

  By sunset, Walter was satisfied with the day’s work. “We’ve made a great start. Plenty more to do tomorrow, though.” He clapped his hands. “Right, everybody. Chowtime! Cody, start cutting steaks from that deer you bagged yesterday and get them on the grill. Nothing like honest hard work to build up an appetite!”

  ***

  Other than for the three guards on evening watch, the group ate in the backyard where Fred, Simone, and Jenny worked the barbecue, which had been brought onto the patio in the herb garden. The patio was covered by a large trellis, and underneath it was a wooden table and six chairs. It looked to have been a popular spot for the family living there prior to the pandemic.

  As well as delicious cuts of venison, potatoes and fava beans from Billy’s farm were cooked in the kitchen on a gas stove, and to celebrate the move to their new camp, precious tins of peaches and apricots were opened for dessert and served with condensed milk.

  The guards weren’t forgotten either. A plate laden with food was taken out to Clete, who sat in the bucket seat of the combine harvester. A similarly-laden plate was served to Emma at the back of the house, who sat perched on a stack of sandbags on the flat side of the barn roof.

  Simone had gotten the shift’s remotest gig as main lookout at the top of the hill. Nonetheless, food packed by Marcie in plastic containers was delivered by Billy, and the two friends sat together a hundred and fifty feet above the camp, eating their dinner hungrily.

  To the west, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, though it still shimmered along its crests. Below, the valley was covered in shadow. Though cooler, the night was warm and the two wore only T-shirts and shorts.

  Simone pointed to the night vision binoculars at her feet, which Walter had given her for the watch. They were still packed away in their hard case. “Once it’s dark, let’s check out these NVGs.” She grinned. “They’re the best that money can buy. They cost over four thousand dollars.”

  Billy eyes lit up. “That’d be cool!” he said, chewing on a piece of venison. “Maybe we can test how far away you can spot me.”

  “Great idea. Walter told me that, depending on the ambient light, they can detect anything moving up to five hundred yards.” Simone reflected a moment. “You know, Billy. I’m glad Pete managed to convince us all to come back with him.” She stared down at their new camp. “I think we made the right decision, don’t you?”

  Back at Willow Spring, it had taken a lot of persuasion for the group of five to leave the farm. Simone and Marcie had been convinced first, then Eric, and finally an obstinate Fred and Billy. Seeing as it was the farm where he had been raised, Billy had been the most distraught. Nonetheless, once everyone else had decided on traveling to the Cohutta, he knew he couldn’t face being alone again and had finally acquiesced.

  He nodded. “I didn’t want to at first, but now I’m glad I did. People here are nice.”

  “Yes, they are.” Simone smiled and looked over at him. “This is our new home now.”

  ***

  After they finished eating, coffees in hand, Walter took Cody, Pete, Ralph, and Clete up to the end of the garden, where a wooden bench was positioned beneath a stand of poplars. A few feet away was the plastic container that s
erved as the duck pond. There was no sign of the ducks.

  “What’s up?” Cody asked as he sat down beside him on the bench. Pete, Ralph, and Clete stood next to him.

  “I talked to the sheriff a couple of hours ago,” Walter told them. “The Bentons intend hitting the lodge tonight. No point in just waiting for Mason to attack them.”

  Clete nodded. “Makes sense. That way they can make better use of us.”

  “Exactly. Rollins wants to coordinate an attack from three different positions. The main force will come through the forest, another one will arrive by boat around the headland, and we’ll come at them from the south via Devil’s Point.”

  Ralph grunted. “Sounds like a plan. What time is kickoff?”

  “Three a.m. I told the sheriff we’d be down there by two. That gives us plenty of time to coordinate everything.” Walter looked around at the four men, a serious look on his face. “Get to bed early tonight. Try and get a couple of hours rest. I’ll be around to wake you all up at 1 a.m. Have your weapons ready and bring plenty of ammunition. It’s going to be a long night.”

  CHAPTER 7

  At 12:30 a.m., Nate gathered his men. The seven strode down to the lake shore, rifles slung over their shoulders, jacket pockets and tactical pouches stuffed with extra magazines. One of the men waded out to the skiff, drew up the twelve-pound anchor, and stowed it in the front hatch. Lowering himself back into the water, he pulled the boat closer to shore and the men clambered on board.

  Matt, the only member of the group with any nautical experience, started up the fifteen-horsepower motor and steered the boat out into deeper waters. When they reached the middle of the channel, only the pale moonlight to guide him, he turned west toward the Ocoee Dam. Though the night was warm, out on the lake the air was far chillier, and Nate was glad to be wearing a fleece jacket. With seven men on board, the skiff managed a steady twelve miles per hour as it chugged into a stiff headwind.

  Twenty minutes later, they turned south and headed toward the Baker Creek Inlet, where the YMCA camp was located on its western shore.

  A third of the way down, Cooper halved his speed, keeping the noise of the engine to a minimum. Though they were still over three miles to their destination, sound carried far over water. Cooper wasn’t exactly sure how far, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

  On their left, the shadowy blur of the lake’s eastern headland disappeared at the point where the mouth of the Indian Creek Inlet opened up. Cooper tugged the rudder and motored toward it. Once they reached the inlet, he steered the skiff toward the north shore, where a small wooden jetty protruded out into the waters. Twenty feet from it, he cut the engine and glided up to it, then expertly ran the dock line from a cleat on the boat to one of the pilings, and tied up.

  Nate clambered onto the jetty. He checked his watch: 12:55 a.m. He pulled out the two-way handset Mason had given him earlier and keyed the radio. Three miles from Wasson Lodge and over open water, the radio would be within range.

  “Mason, this is Nate. Do you read me, over?”

  He had to wait several seconds for Mason’s gruff voice to reply. “Read you loud and clear. Wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you again or not.”

  “Never any question about it. Me and my men are at the Indian Creek jetty waiting for the go-ahead. Over.”

  There was a moment’s pause before Mason spoke again. “Await my orders and be ready to move in ten minutes. Over and out.”

  ***

  At Wasson Lodge, a satisfied Mason tucked his radio back into the pocket of his combats. Combined with the gang he’d recruited after leaving Nate’s camp, he felt confident he could take Camp Benton.

  That afternoon he’d almost given up hope of finding more recruits when, around 4 p.m., he’d stumbled into a group of eleven men camped along a remote stretch of headland, accessible only by a forest logging road. The men looked like they’d been a rough lot long before vPox hit the streets, so much so that Mason and his team had almost tangled with them, and only some hasty communications between both parties averted a nasty firefight.

  After a short talk lasting less than fifteen minutes, their leader, Don Gatto, agreed to join Mason’s planned assault. Gatto had been a construction worker and was in his fifties. Broad shouldered, with shaggy gray hair and a harsh, rasping voice, it wasn’t only the promise of the lodge that sounded good to him; he had a bone to pick with the Bentons too. He’d previously rumbled with them at their roadblock and had been forced to turn back. From his camp, Cookson Road was the most direct way for him and his men to reach the cities of Cleveland and Chattanooga, and he resented having to take the long way around each time.

  Tania was sound asleep when Mason cinched his web belt, loaded with extra magazines in their Velcro pouches. Better that way. He neither expected nor wanted a goodbye kiss before he left for battle.

  He slotted his Sig Sauer P226 into its holster, grabbed his Heckler and Koch MR556A1 rifle, and headed out the door.

  His men were waiting for him outside, armed and ready. “All set?” he asked Doney, walking over to him.

  His bodyguard nodded. “All set, Boss. Ready to rock and roll.”

  The plan was to split the crew into two groups, one led by him, the other by Doney, and attack the Benton camp through the forest to either side of the driveway. Mason had a particular strategy in mind for coordinating all aspects of the attack between his four teams.

  He grinned. “Then what are we waiting for? Time to get this party started.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Since taking over Walter’s trailer, Greta had converted it into what looked more like a tactical medical facility than a recreational travel trailer. Other than for the bedroom, the rest of the space was exclusively dedicated for emergency medical treatment.

  The rollover couch in the living room had a vinyl cover placed over it, and in the cabinet next to it were the patient assessment tools used to evaluate, visualize, and measure vital functions. They included a stethoscope, a thermometer, and a blood pressure cuff, along with a battery-powered fingertip pulse oximeter for measuring blood oxygen saturation levels.

  On the overhead shelf space were the equipment and supplies to treat most battlefield injuries: trauma scissors and strap cutters for the removal of clothes and boots; 4x4 gauze to treat wounds; regular and hemostatic dressings of various sizes to dress wounds; a CAT tourniquet for hemorrhage control; and an assortment of heavy-duty tape, bandage wraps, and splints to patch people up.

  Across the aisle, the kitchen pantry was stocked with all manner of airway/breathing apparatus, such as oral and nasal airways, pocket masks, a manual suction device, and several endotracheal intubation devices. There was also a chest decompression catheter for patients displaying tension pneumothorax symptoms, typically caused by lung lacerations and one of the leading causes of death from chest wounds.

  On inspection of the trailer, Walter had approved wholeheartedly. It was vital to have such facilities at the camp, and the infirmary had already demonstrated its capabilities when the wounded men and women of Camp Benton had been treated the other night. Since vacating his trailer to room with Pete, Greta had most certainly put it to good use.

  ***

  Dressed in just a T-shirt and panties, Greta lay in bed under a thin cotton sheet. She stared up at the ceiling, a worried expression on her face.

  “I just don’t see why we have to get involved in this feud with Mason. It’s not our fight,” she said. She turned on her side to lean on her elbow. “You know, it’s not too late to contact the sheriff and tell him we want out. He won’t like it, but we have to put Camp Eastwood’s priorities first.”

  Lying beside her, dressed only in his boxer shorts, Walter shook his head. “This is something we go to do,” he said. “We got the Bentons into this mess, now we have an obligation to get them out of it.”

  The look of concern on Greta’s face grew. “Mason and his men are animals. People could get killed tonight. You might get killed tonight.”
She smiled weakly. “You know how much that would piss me off? I’ve only just gotten to know you…intimately, that is.”

  Walter grinned. “Since you lured me into your den under false pretenses, you mean?”

  Since they’d first gotten to know each other at Wasson Lodge, the chemistry between the two had been slowly developing. Two nights ago, while they were still camped in the hills, Greta had invited Walter to the trailer to show him how she’d set up the medical facility.

  Afterward, they’d sat outside at the table discussing their lives. The conversation had been good enough for Greta to bring out a bottle of white wine and two plastic tumblers. Before the bottle was finished, they’d brought it inside and headed into the bedroom.

  After making love, Greta’d confessed she’d been attracted to Walter since the moment she met him. Walter likewise confessed a similar attraction, though he felt guilty about the matter. It was only a little over two weeks since he’d buried his wife and daughter. Though Walter wasn’t one for making excuses, Greta learned he hadn’t gotten on with his wife for quite some time. The two had openly discussed they might separate as soon as their daughter had completed high school and went off to college. vPox had come first, however, and their plans, along with the rest of the world, had been shot to hell.

  “I’m serious, Walter,” Greta said, her tone more urgent now. “Don’t go taking any risks tonight. Let the Bentons do most of the fighting. Remember, you got young Cody to think of. From what you’ve told me, he’s a little too fearless for his own good.”

  Walter nodded. “You’re right, I’ll need to watch him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless. Still, that fearless attitude got me and Pete out of a bad situation that time with Mason in Knoxville.”

  Greta’s face clouded. “Damn Pete. This is all down to him. What on Earth was he thinking of joining Mason’s gang like that?”