“Roger that, Sheriff. We’ll be waiting for you. Over and out.”
***
Crouched behind a large pine tree, Walter shoved his radio back in his pocket. Yards away, two of Mason’s men lay dead on the forest floor. Fifteen minutes earlier, Walter had parked the Tundra on Cookson Road, hiding it between a gap in the tree line thirty yards before the entrance to the Benton camp. From there, the five men had jogged through the forest to the camp’s southern post, where they had soundlessly moved in on Mason’s men and clinically dispatched them.
He crept over to where Cody and Pete had taken position behind a nearby tree. Ten yards away, Ralph and Clete had done likewise, and he ushered them over.
“Listen up, Mason’s taken the camp,” Walter told the four once Ralph and Clete arrived.
Cody and Pete stared at him, aghast.
“You serious?” Pete finally uttered. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Walter said grimly.
“So what now?” Ralph asked, his tall figure crouching next to him.
“We need to get back to Eastwood and return with vehicles to evacuate them. Looks like Eastwood is going to be a refugee camp for a while.”
***
At South Beach, the scene was frantic as men, women, and children clambered into the waiting skiffs. As soon as one filled up, its captain pulled back on the throttle of its outboard motor and headed full speed into the bay.
Earlier, at gunner posts along the fallback route, Rollins and his team had fought alongside Mary Sadowski’s QRF squad, desperately keeping Mason’s men pinned back until the last of the evacuees had passed along the extraction route. Then the two teams retreated from one defensive position to the next until they reached South Beach, and took up positions behind a line of sandbags at the very tip. Their final line of defense.
Soon all the boats had left, bar one. Only Rollins, Mary, Colleen, and three other Benton men remained on shore. Colleen had point blank refused to leave, hoping in vain for her husband Jonah to show up. Since he didn’t have a radio, it was impossible to know what had happened to him.
So far there had been seven confirmed deaths, and Bert Olvan, Ray Faber, and Jonah were missing. Since going into radio silence, there had been no word from Olvan.
Crouched behind a sandbag parapet, Rollins keyed the radio one more time and tried to contact him. “Bravo Four, this is Bravo One. Bert, do you read me over?” Yet again, there was no answer. Finally, with the gunfire intensifying, Rollins grasped Colleen firmly by the shoulders and in a low crouch, the two sprinted over to the last remaining skiff where a Benton man had already started the engine.
Reaching the boat, Colleen broke free from Rollins grip. She spun around and shouted out, “Jooonah! Where are you!”
“Colleen!” Rollins yelled, spinning her back around. “Jonah isn’t going to make it here. The place is swarming with Mason’s men. He’s probably hiding somewhere.” He grabbed her arm and herded her toward the boat.
“He better be,” Colleen said tearfully as she stepped into it.
Rollins, Mary, and the last two men jumped in, and the skiff, selected to leave last because of its powerful fifty horsepower motor, roared out into the bay. All five passengers laid down cover fire as Mason’s men emerged from the forest and rushed down to the jetty, firing on the fleeing vessel.
The shooting soon dissipated as the skiff skimmed across the lake’s glassy surface and headed out of range. Rollins took one last look to see torchlights crisscrossing South Beach, and Mason’s men fired their rifles jubilantly into the air. He turned away, sick to the stomach. They had lost Camp Benton.
CHAPTER 14
Over on the north side of the headland, Jonah trudged through the forest. By now, other than for some sporadic shooting, the gunfire had stopped and he could hear whoops of celebration coming from the direction of the main camp. He smiled. The intruders had been chased away with their tails between their legs. What had they been thinking? The camp was too well-defended to be taken over by a bunch of mangy skangers. Sure, hadn’t he just taken out three of them himself?
He reached the main trail and quickened his pace, fervently praying that Colleen was unharmed. He just wished he had a radio so that he could let her know that he was all right.
He emerged from the forest and out onto open ground. A hundred and fifty yards away, kerosene lamps flickered in the windows of the cabins around the square. When he got to within seventy yards, he slowed down. Between the cabins, he could see that a bonfire had been lit in the center of the square. People swarmed around it, some firing their weapons in the air, others laughing and high fiving. Something about the swagger of the men didn’t seem right. He certainly couldn’t imagine the likes of Sheriff Rollins or Ned Granger firing their weapons off like that.
He halted uncertainly in his tracks, and was about to dart into the cover of the forest when a group of three men emerged from out of the shadows and marched quickly toward him. It was too late to hide now.
When they reached him, Jonah didn’t recognize a single face. His heart sank. “Oh my good jaysus,” he muttered under his breath.
A burly, tough-looking man with shoulder-length gray hair stopped in front of him, his two companions on either side. “You one of Matt’s men?” the man asked in a harsh, grating voice.
“Eh…yeah,” Jonah replied, his mind reeling as he struggled to come to terms with the situation. Matt had been the name one of the men he’d killed back in the forest. It made sense to go along with the misapprehension for the moment.
The man nodded. “Nate told me three of you had to stay back in the forest.” He looked behind Jonah. “So where is he? And the other fellow?”
“They got clipped in the forest. I’m the only one to make it.”
The man glanced at his companions. “Aw, that’s too bad. Lost a couple of good men myself.” He stuck out his hand. “Don Gatto is my name. People just call me Gatto. How about you?”
Jonah clasped his hand. “Jonah Murphy. Please to meet yeh, Gatto.”
Gatto stared at him quizzically. “That’s a hell of an accent you got there, Murph. You’re a long way from home, ain’t you?”
“Yep, long story.” Jonah glanced over at the camp. “What happened to the Bentons? They at the square?”
“Nah, we killed a few, the rest managed to escape by boat.”
A sense of relief flooded Jonah’s body. He prayed that Colleen had been among those who fled. “So most of them got away?” he asked as casually as he could.
“Yeah, they had an escape route that runs all the way down to the south bay.” Gatto grinned. “If it had been me, I’d have burned all the boats and made my men fight to the very last man. This camp is a helluva prize.”
Jonah forced a weak smile. “Bunch of yellow bellies. No wonder we took it so easy.”
Gatto stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm. “Come on, Murph. Let’s go find Nate. He’ll be happy to see you. Then we celebrate. Mason just brought a bunch of beer crates down from the lodge. Whiskey too, I hear.”
Jonah looked at him in alarm. He needed to avoid this Nate guy at all costs, or his cover would be blown. “Eh, how about we grab a beer ourselves first? Nate can wait a little longer.” From the square, maybe he could slink off into the forest and make good his escape.
Gatto chuckled. “I can see where your priorities lie. Typical Irishman.” He put his arm around Jonah’s shoulder and ushered him toward the camp. “No, we better let Nate know you’re okay first. I’m sure he’s worried about you.” He winked at his men, a sly expression on his face. One that made Jonah uneasy.
He and his three new companions walked through a gap in the line of sandbags that made up the Ring’s defensive fortifications, then headed down one of the narrow footpaths between the cabins and entered the square. Mason’s men stood around the bonfire with bottles of beer in their hands. Jonah counted nine or ten men, and presumed more would join soon.
Gatto nudg
ed him in the ribs and pointed forward. “This way. Nate’s up at the car park.”
“Really…right now?”
“Yeah, Murph. Now,” Gatto grabbed Jonah’s arm tightly and led him across the square. Glancing behind him, Jonah saw that his men followed close behind. It didn’t look like there was any way out of this.
He thought hard. Parked in the graveled lot was his Nissan. He had the keys in his pocket. Perhaps on the way, he could take out Gatto and his two friends. He might have to kill this Nate too. With the element of surprise though, he might get away in his truck and escape down the driveway.
The four walked around the southwest corner of the square. Instead of heading to the lot though, Gatto ushered him over toward the forest. Glancing behind him, Jonah saw that Gatto’s men had drawn their pistols. Both were trained on him.
With a gut-wrenching sense of alarm, he knew he’d been rumbled. Gatto had been playing with him all this time.
“Ah now, w-what’s all this about?” he stuttered.
“Easy there, Murph,” Gatto said in a grating whisper, the menace in his tone plain to hear. “Nate is waiting. Come on.”
They reached the edge of the forest. Gatto stopped and pointed ahead. “See? There he is.”
Jonah peered into the forest but couldn’t see a thing.
Gatto chuckled. “Murph, look down.”
On the forest floor, ten yards away, Jonah made out four bodies lying sprawled on the ground. They were all very, very dead.
He spun around, his eyes widening. “Look, Gatto—”
Gatto waved a hand, cutting him off. “As you can see, it’ll be me and my group taking over the lodge, not Nate. Listen to me good, Murph. I like your style, so I’m going to give you two options.”
Jonah stared at him. “Yeah, headerball. Like what bleedin’ options?” Gatto was fucking with him, and he was determined not to show any fear. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Gatto looked at him appreciatively. “Option one. Join Nate and his crew.” He grinned wickedly at Jonah. “Not much future in that.”
“No kidding.”
“Option two, you can join me and my crew. You look like the kind of guy I could use. What do you say?”
Jonah glanced down at the slain figures in the grass. “Besides the fact I barely knew the geezer, I’d be a fool to join a dead man, now wouldn’t I? Yeah, Gatto. I’d be over the moon to join you and yer crew. Yeh won’t regret it either.”
Gatto’s smile broadened even farther. “Who says personality don’t count for nothing in these times? It just stopped you getting offed.” He grabbed Jonah roughly around the neck and swung him around in the direction of the camp. “Come on, Murph. Let’s you and me go get a beer, or even two or three. It’s not like we don’t deserve it. In fact, I say we party all night!”
“I’m game for that,” Jonah blurted hoarsely. “Yer a sound man, Gat. I’ll say that for yeh!” Weak-kneed, he staggered forward, walking lockstep with Gatto. One thing his newfound friend was right about. He badly needed a drink.
CHAPTER 15
At Eastwood, the mood in the camp was somber. Thirty minutes ago, the surviving members of the Benton group had been rescued at the Harris Branch in four pickup trucks and transported to the Alaculsy Valley. They were taken to the farmhouse, where the children were brought to bed, many still sobbing. Downstairs, the men and women sat around the living room with shell-shocked looks on their faces, devastated by the loss of their camp.
On his return, Walter posted extra guards around the camp perimeter, in case Mason somehow got wind of their location. While unlikely, given the events of the past week he was taking no chances.
After making his rounds, he entered the farmhouse and walked down the hall. Inside the kitchen, he found Sheriff Rollins, Ned Granger, Mary Sadowski, and Henry Perter sitting around the table, deep in conversation.
“Where’s Bert?” he asked, coming over to the table. In the confusion of the past few hours, he’d yet to receive a full update on the night’s events. “Didn’t he make it?”
“We lost radio contact with him on South Beach,” Rollins replied. “Hopefully, he managed to get away through the forest.”
“I hope so. Bert’s a good man.” Walter hesitated before broaching the next subject. “How many did you lose tonight, Sheriff?”
“Seven dead, three missing, including Bert.”
Across the table from Rollins, Mary Sadowski’s face contorted with rage. “This is all your doing, Walter. If you hadn’t brought Mason to the Cohutta, none of this would have happened.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. “I’m sorry, Mary. We had no idea—”
She stood up abruptly, knocking her chair to the ground. “I don’t care whether you meant to or not,” she snarled. “You brought him here all the same. Thanks to you, we got seven dead, three missing, and twenty-four homeless people. I told you, John. We should never have let these people stay at the lodge. They’ve been nothing but trouble.”
Before anyone could reply, Mary marched out of the kitchen and down the hall. Moments later, the front door slammed closed after her.
“I’m sorry, Walter,” Granger said quietly. “She’s upset, that’s all.”
Walter shook his head. “No need to apologize, I can’t blame her for how she feels. In the meantime, until we figure this out, your group is welcome to stay here as long as you like. You have my word on that.”
“Thank you. One thing I can tell you is we’re not going to just sit around and cry. We’re already making plans on how to take back the camp.” Granger stared Walter firmly in the eye. “When we’re ready, we’ll be expecting your help.”
Walter nodded. “When the time comes, everyone at Camp Eastwood will be involved. We’re all in this together now. How big is his group? You say he recruited more men?”
Granger scrunched up his face and did a quick calculation. “Hard to tell. We killed five or six of his men. Perhaps thirty or so.”
“Well there’s over forty of us here now. So long as we remain vigilant, he won’t take this camp.”
“That’s what I thought too, until tonight. I felt sure our defenses would hold.” Granger shook his head bitterly. “I should have done better.”
Rollins patted his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. Mason and his men are brutal, cold-hearted killers. That’s hard to defend against. Thank God you prepared a well-designed escape route, or it could have been a lot worse.” He pointed to Mary’s overturned chair. “Walter, why don’t you sit down and help us plan on how to retake Camp Benton. Like Ned says, we’re not going to just sit around and cry. We may be down but we’re by no means out.”
CHAPTER 16
It had been two hours since Jonah had been almost “offed” by Don Gatto. Arriving back at the square, his first priority had been alcohol, and he’d gratefully gulped down two beers in quick succession to calm his nerves. A bottle of Jim Beam was doing the rounds and he’d taken a slug from that too. The alcohol did its job, and a more relaxed Jonah quickly ingratiated himself with his newfound friends while he figured things out.
He soon learned that Mason had sanctioned the hit on Nate. Mason had promised Wasson Lodge to two separate gangs and told Gatto that he was his preferred choice to move in. So Gatto had disposed of the competition, “to save any bad blood between us,” as he had put it.
“Join Gatto or take a permanent nap in the woods. Some choice,” one of Gatto’s crew, a man by the name of Paul Webb, muttered sarcastically as the two stood drinking Coors.
As skangers went, Webb wasn’t such a bad bloke. He was certainly far less unsettling than the bloodthirsty Gatto, and had confided in Jonah that he’d never been in favor of invading the camp in the first place. Once Gatto had made the decision, however, Webb’s only option had been to join in or wander the lakeside on his own. Choices were tough in these times.
Beer in hand, the two stood at the northeast corner of the square. Over on the far s
ide, Gatto and Mason talked animatedly. Other than for being introduced to Mason briefly, Jonah had stayed well away from him. The huge bandit exuded a dark menace that he was anxious to stay clear of. While Gatto was bad enough, Mason was your worst nightmare. Thankfully, Webb felt the same and the two had discreetly moved away from the gang leaders so they could talk more freely.
As they chatted, Jonah racked his brains trying to figure out how he could possibly find Colleen and the remaining Benton survivors. He knew that the fleeing boats had headed south down the Baker Creek Inlet, but had no idea where they’d landed, nor where the group had gone from there.
Though risky, his best bet would be to drive out of the camp. At least, that way, he stood a chance of finding them. On foot it would be close to impossible. Now that he was part of Mason’s gang, he felt comfortable he could bullshit his way past any checkpoint. After all, he’d be leaving the camp, not breaking into it.
He checked his urge to leave right away, though. It was too soon to make his break. He needed to wait a few hours when he wouldn’t be missed. In the meantime, he continued to do what he did best. Drink.
Breaking off in mid-sentence, Webb stared over Jonah’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on over there? Something’s up.”
Jonah gazed across the square where the crowd had started to whoop and holler as a group of three men made their way to the bonfire at the center.
Webb nudged him. “Come on, Murph. Let’s check it out.”
The two headed over. Peering ahead, Jonah checked out the new arrivals. They consisted of two of Mason’s men, who held a third man roughly by each arm. His hair was disheveled and his face was bruised and bloody. As he drew closer, Jonah saw that the man was Ray Faber. He’d been on patrol with Bert Olvan that evening.
“Look what we found hiding in the woods, whimpering like a pussy!” one of his captors, a large barrel-chested man wearing a short-sleeved camo shirt, yelled triumphantly. “Looks like he missed the last boat out of here!”
On The Edge: Book Three in The No Direction Home Series Page 6
