An ice-cold fury surged through his veins. “You’ve no right to use my wife like this!” he hissed. “Keep her out of it, or so help me God, I’ll walk out of here right now and kill the bleedin’ lot of yis. I’ve enough blood on me hands now, it makes no difference to me.”
“Jonah! It’s not what you think! Emma and Greta will be involved tomorrow too. It’s what being part of this group entails. One thing I can tell you is that your help will greatly improve both hers and everyone else’s chances of surviving. What do you say, over?”
Jonah wrestled with his emotions. All day long he’d been waiting to make contact with the Bentons so he could arrange to get the hell away from Mason. Instead, it appeared he was being coerced into yet another dangerous situation. The Bentons had stitched him up like a little kipper.
“Will you do this for us?” Olvan pressed.
“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Jonah said, his voice grating harshly. “But I tell yeh this, soon as this is done, me and Colleen are leaving the Cohutta. I’ll have nothing more to do with the Bentons. I’m sick of yis.”
“I hope you feel different about this tomorrow,” Olvan replied gently. “Right now, it’s important you listen to me very carefully. The success of tomorrow’s operation depends entirely on you.”
CHAPTER 36
Early that evening, Walter was in the bunkhouse of the travel trailer he shared with Pete, packing his things. He’d been living in the nineteen-foot Venture Sonic Lite for over a week, ever since he’d donated his own trailer to Greta when the newly-formed Eastwood group departed from Wasson Lodge. Of course, things had been a little different back then. He and Greta had barely known each other.
He removed the last of his clothes from the closet and placed them in his backpack. “Well, that’s it, partner,” he said, zipping it up. “Time for this rambler to move on. I need to go find me a pallet on someone else’s floor.”
“You won’t be sleeping on no floor but in the arms of a beautiful woman,” Pete replied a little wistfully, watching his friend from the hallway. “Wish I knew what it took to find somebody like that.”
Walter grinned. “Here’s a tip. Lend your trailer to the next pretty woman that shows up at camp. Wait a few days, then insist on moving in with her. Worked for me.”
The previous night he and Greta had talked into the early hours of the morning, and decided it didn’t make sense for him to continue bunking with Pete, especially seeing as everyone at the camp now knew of their relationship. Although they hadn’t been together long, Walter was surprised by how good he felt about the decision.
Attractive and highly intelligent, Greta had a set of moral values that he’d come to respect. And despite her haughty nature that was at times imperious even, in private she was surprisingly warm and affectionate. Walter liked that. In fact, he liked it a lot, and the two realized that in these uncertain times, they had to make the most of their lives. If things worked out, great. If not, so be it.
He picked up his pack and threw it over one shoulder, then pointed to the remainder of his gear he’d stowed neatly in one corner. “I’ll have the porters pick up the rest of my things in the morning.”
Pete laughed. “If I haven’t sold them first, that is.” He escorted Walter to the door, looking at him awkwardly as he pushed it open for him. “Guess I’ll see you around. It’s not like you’re going far. Can’t be all of five hundred yards.”
“If that. And you’ll see me soon enough. Tomorrow morning we’ll be heading out of camp bright and early. There’s a certain party down by the lake we’re both invited to, remember?”
With those parting words, Walter grabbed the rifle he’d left by the doorway and, laden down with his gear, trod carefully down the trailer steps.
Instead of going through the front garden to get to Greta’s trailer, he headed around the back of house, walking parallel to the side fence. He felt awkward carrying his gear, and preferred as few people as possible saw him as he made his move to Greta’s.
Reaching the corner, he walked by the back-garden fence, and a few minutes later entered the far field where Greta’s trailer sat parked in the middle. Fifty yards away, under a stand of apple trees, three tents had been pitched belonging to their new recruits Marcie, Simone, Jenny, Laura, and Billy.
Thankfully, only Billy was around. He sat on a blanket outside his tent reading a large hardback book. Seeing him coming, the boy gave him a solemn wave.
Walter waved back at him. “What you reading there?”
Billy raised the book to reveal a cover with plenty of green on it. “The Resilient Farm and Homestead!” he yelled back. “It was one of my Dad’s favorite books.”
Walter nodded appreciatively. “Resilient, huh? I like that. Keep on reading.”
He reached the trailer and came up the steps. Knocking lightly on the door, he pulled it open. “Honey…I’m home!” he called out, trying to dislodge a sudden nervousness that had come over him.
He peered down the hallway to see Greta poke her head out of the kitchen area. In one hand she held a large box of bandages, which she set down, then walked quickly over to him. “Welcome home, darling. How was your trip?” Laughing, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips.
“Pretty uneventful. Traffic was light,” he replied once she’d let him go of him, feeling his awkwardness melt away. “Where shall I put my things?”
Pulling away from him, Greta wagged her finger and headed toward the bedroom. “Follow me. I have some closet space all set up for you. Once you’ve settled in, we need to talk. There’s been a change in staffing for the med center tomorrow. Don’t worry, nothing that will cause any problems”
“All right. After that we should relax. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day.” Walter grinned. “I got something in mind that ought to help us loosen up.”
CHAPTER 37
Early the following morning, hands in his pockets, Jonah strolled down the camp driveway in the direction of the main checkpoint, previously known to the Bentons as Papa Three. It was 6:25 a.m. and a pink-tinged dawn was breaking in the skies above him, heralding the arrival of yet another beautiful day.
Another day in paradise, he thought to himself grimly. Shame I’m about to go through hell again.
To anyone who might be watching, Jonah appeared relaxed, his shoulders slack, his gait nonchalant. But that was just a show. On closer observation, an onlooker would detect how drawn his face was, the corners of his mouth tucked down in a stiff grimace. For once, none of this was due to a hangover either. The previous evening, Mason had opted for a quiet night in with Tania, and Jonah had been grateful to stay alone in his cabin. With what was coming up, he hadn’t wanted to risk betraying to anyone just how anxious he felt.
He walked around the bend to see the eight-wheeler parked across the driveway. Four of Mason’s men were on duty. Two sat on stools placed on either side of the truck, while two more sat up on the flatbed, smoking cigarettes. All four carried pistols by their waists, their semi-automatic rifles resting against the side of the truck. Jonah took a gulp of air and steadied his nerves.
“How’s it going, lads?” he said affably as he approached them. “Mind if I join yis?”
“What brings you here so early?” a man named Sal, one of the two sitting atop the flatbed, responded gruffly. He was a hatchet-faced man with a sallow complexion and spiky black hair who shared the same cold-eyed demeanor as most of Mason’s crew. “Changeover’s not until eight.”
Jonah grinned. “I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Thought I’d come down and make sure yis were all awake.”
Sal gave him a look. “Listen, Murph, we don’t want to hear any of your bullshit stories. All that Irish baloney don’t truck with us.” He turned to the guard sitting next to him who leaned against the back of the cabin, one leg dangling over the side. “You know something, Howie? Murph reminds me a little of Russ.” He took a last drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt into the fore
st. “A mouthy fucker who spends the whole time brown-nosing Mason. What do you think?”
An unpleasant smile came over Howie’s face. “Now that you mention it, Russ was kinda mouthy too, all right.” He looked at Jonah. “Before your time, Murph. Let’s just say, things didn’t turn out so good for him.” Sal and the two guards sitting at each end of the truck broke out into wry chuckles. “Us boys were real sorry about it too.”
Actually, Jonah knew quite a lot about Russ. He’d witnessed his execution the other morning. He stretched his hands out lazily in the air and yawned. “Russ, you say? That the weaselly little geezer who peed his pants when the Bentons executed his ass?”
Sal’s face immediately hardened. “Who the hell told you that? Mason?”
Jonah looked around. Something should have happened by now. Placing his hands in the air had been the agreed signal to commence the attack. He realized that standing so close in front of Sal, perhaps the spotter in the forest couldn’t see him. He stepped back a few feet. “Eh…yeah. Must have heard it from Mason. Can’t think who else,” he mumbled, then raised both arms again and awkwardly mimicked a second yawn.
Sal and Howie exchanged puzzled glances. “The fuck you acting so weird for, Murph?” Sal asked suspiciously. “Are you—”
He broke off as the thin crack of a rifle shot rang in the air. The back of Howie’s head exploded, and pieces of bone fragment and blood sprayed across the side of Sal’s face. “Holy fuck!” he yelled, jumping down off the side of the truck. A moment later, Howie’s body teetered over and landed beside him with a soft thud.
Ignoring his dead companion, Sal peered anxiously over the top of the flatbed down the driveway. Jonah whipped out his Glock and crouched alongside him, while the two other guards sprung to their feet and grabbed their AR-15s. All four warily scanned the area in front of them.
To either side, the reports from more firearms broke out in the forest. Along the perimeter, Mason’s men called out to each other before returning fire at the intruders.
Sal reached into his pocket and pulled out a two-way radio. “Better call Mason,” he said. “Looks like the Bentons want to fuck with us.”
“Got that in one, Sal,” Jonah said quietly, squatting beside him. “Guess what? Payback is a bitch.”
Sal glanced over at him. His eyes widened as Jonah’s Glock turned to point at him. Before he could react, Jonah squeezed the trigger and planted a 9 mm slug dead center in his forehead. With a look of astonishment still registered on his face, Sal keeled over.
Swiveling to the right, Jonah shot the guard squatting by the truck’s tailgate. Only ten feet away it was an easy shot, and he buried two more .45 ACP rounds in the side of the man’s head.
The remaining guard, positioned by the truck’s front wheel, was a young man named Ricky. In his early twenties, Jonah had talked to him briefly at the square the night Mason stormed the camp. Though perhaps a little dull, he didn’t appear to be the same caliber of cold-hearted killer as the rest of Mason’s crew.
Clearly panicked, Ricky leapt to his feet. Making no attempt to shoot at Jonah, he ran around the front of the truck and sprinted toward the forest.
Jonah chased after him and popped off two shots. One caught Ricky in the thigh. He staggered, then fell to the ground. Jonah lowered his pistol. He didn’t have the heart to finish him off. The young man scrambled to his feet and hobbled into the forest. A moment later, he disappeared behind the tree line.
Jonah turned on his heels and raced back to the truck. His job wasn’t finished yet.
***
Mason woke up with a jerk to the sound of a single gunshot. He sat up in bed and checked his watch. It was 6:35 a.m. A moment later, sporadic gunfire broke out. It sounded like it came from along the camp’s main perimeter.
He grabbed his radio from off the bedstand and keyed the mic. “Mason to perimeter. What’s going on up there, over?”
Almost as soon as he released the Talk button, one of his men came over the channel. “Mason, this is Curtis. We got a couple of people shooting at us in the north forest. Nothing we can’t handle, over.”
“Copy that,” Mason replied, breathing a little easier. A moment later, he received a similar report from another senior guard named Joey at the south forest post. It appeared that the Bentons were engaging his men, but nothing that resembled a full out assault. With his men occupying the well-constructed posts the Bentons had kindly built for him, he was confident that any attack would be easily repelled. Or perhaps this was a fakeout, he thought in sudden realization, and they were planning their main invasion from the beach. If that was the case, he was ready for that too.
Instructing Tania, who by now had woken up, to go back to sleep, he got out of bed. He put on his shorts, then reached over to a cabinet drawer and pulled out a fresh t-shirt and socks. After lacing his boots, he strapped on his holster, grabbed his rifle, and exited the trailer.
His men were likewise emerging from their trailers and nearby cabins. A sleepy Doney skipped hurriedly over to him, buckling his gun holster as he walked. “Everything okay, boss?”
Mason nodded. He took out his radio again. “Sal, where the hell are you?” he yelled impatiently. No one had reported back from the main checkpoint yet.
Only a low level static hum answered him for reply.
“That’s not like Sal,” Doney said, frowning. “Maybe his battery is dead.”
About to try and raise him once more, Mason’s radio crackled to life. It was Curtis, sounding a lot more urgent this time. “Mason, Ricky’s just shown up at my post. He says that Murph’s gone crazy! He killed Sal and everyone else at the main checkpoint. What do you want me to do, over!”
Mason looked at Doney, his senses reeling. In what felt like slow motion, he understood that somehow the Irishman was involved with the Bentons. In the next moment came an even worse realization. The Bentons had no intention of making a lakeside assault. He knew exactly what they were going to do.
***
When he got to the eight-wheeler, Jonah stepped over Howie’s body and yanked open the driver’s door. He climbed inside the cabin, and was relieved to find the key in the ignition. It would save time searching four dead bodies. He cranked the heavy diesel engine, then reversed back until the truck’s front wheels were fully off the driveway.
Job done, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his radio. “Bert, this is Jonah. Blitzkrieg is a go!” he said breathlessly, giving the signal Olvan had issued him to indicate that the driveway was clear. “Repeat…Blitzkrieg is a go!”
“Roger that, Jonah,” an unfamiliar voice responded moments later. “This is Walter. We’re on our way. Over and out.”
Jonah killed the engine and clambered out of the cabin. After dragging the three dead men to the side of the road, he picked up Sal’s AR-15. If Mason’s men arrived before the Bentons, he would need it.
He waited anxiously, crouched behind the truck’s left front wheel. In the forest to either side of him, the sharp crackle of gunfire continued. The Bentons had positioned shooters there to occupy Mason’s men while he took out the checkpoint.
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, which in reality was no more than a minute, the sound of engines roared up the drive from the direction of Cookson Road. The next moment, a white pickup truck tore around the bend. A dark blue truck followed right behind, then another truck. He counted five in total, each crammed with armed men.
According to Bert, the plan was to make a daring assault directly down the camp’s main driveway. With Jonah’s previous intel that Mason hadn’t posted any guards along the roadside behind the Papa Three checkpoint, it left a clear route all the way to the parking lot. With the element of surprise, Olvan had assured him they would quickly take back the camp. Knowing Mason, Jonah wasn’t quite so confident.
When the first pickup reached him, Jonah walked out onto the driveway and waved it down. In the load bed, several men crouched on either side of the bed panel, the
ir rifles pointing outward. Behind the wheel was a black man with cropped hair and a short goatee beard. He stared past Jonah at the three dead men lying along the side of the road.
“Nice work,” he said, then jerked a thumb toward the back of the truck. “Get in. Somebody wants to say hello to you.”
Jonah turned his head to see a girl in combat fatigues leaning over the truck panel. Pretty, with short, wavy blonde hair, she smiled at him. A giddy feeling swept over Jonah. He broke out into a huge smile, then took two strides and hopped over the side of the truck.
Crouched down, he and Colleen hugged tightly. Overjoyed to see her, all the words Jonah had been saving up to tell her came out in one babbling, incoherent rant. Luckily for Colleen, the truck took off again with a jerk and she broke off their embrace. She looked him firmly in the eye. “Save the romance until later. We’re about to blitzkrieg the living daylights out of Mason.”
Jonah grinned back at her. “Achtung baby! I love it when you talk dirty like that!”
CHAPTER 38
Walter raced up Camp Benton’s driveway, checking his mirror constantly to make sure the rest of the convoy followed close behind. Beside him in the passenger seat, Cody sat with his SR-556 Ruger carbine poked out the window, watching the side of the forest warily for any movement.
So far, everything had gone according to plan. Jonah had performed his part to a T. Now time was imperative. They needed to reach the Ring before Mason rallied his men.
The previous afternoon, Walter and Ned Granger had drawn up their ambitious plan. Thanks to Jonah’s intel, they knew the sandbag positions along the side of the driveway were unmanned. Mason had opted to deploy extra men across his perimeter instead. Now they had every chance of bypassing his defenses and make a lightning strike at the very heart of the camp.
On The Edge: Book Three in The No Direction Home Series Page 14
