Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5)

by Arthur Bradley

Winchester Road eventually forked left and right. To the left was Midland Avenue, and to the right was East 3rd Street. After a quick look at the map, Leila and Mason agreed that it made sense to veer left onto Midland. The first building they passed was a long sheet metal warehouse, smashed flat to the ground. Hundreds of green PVC pipes lay scattered all across the company’s parking lot, some of them sticking out of car windshields or shoved deep into the wreckage.

  The body of a heavyset man sat leaning against the building. His face and arms were black and blistered, but not from the virus. His injuries were caused by exposure to heat from the blast. Mason couldn’t tell if he was still alive, but it didn’t really matter. Even the burn center at Johns Hopkins wouldn’t have been able to save him.

  They continued ahead, saying nothing. Soon, they found themselves stepping over brick pavers, piles of stones, and sections of wrought iron fencing that had spilled out into the road from a nearby landscaping company. But a much bigger obstacle lay ahead. A three-hundred-foot-long concrete building had collapsed, and the enormous pile of rubble now blocked their way. Only ten percent of the structure remained, but that included a small service entrance with a sign that read Herald-Leader.

  Mason stared up at the mountain of wreckage. All sorts of printing equipment poked out from between concrete slabs, including an elaborate printing press that must have weighed five thousand pounds. Scaling the debris would be both difficult and dangerous, but if they veered around it and lost sight of what remained of the road, they risked losing their way entirely.

  By the look on Leila’s face, she shared similar concerns.

  Mason unfolded the map and placed it on the hood of a nearby car. He ran his finger along Midland Avenue until he found the Herald-Leader newspaper company.

  “We’re here,” he said tapping the map. He slid his finger over a few inches to the northwest. “We need to get there.”

  “If it’s this bad a mile out, how are we even going to find the museum?”

  He studied the map for a moment and then smiled.

  “Look what’s next door to it.”

  She leaned in and read the map.

  “The Lexington Financial Center. Why’s that important?”

  “It’s known as the Big Blue Building on account of the entire structure being covered with blue-tinted glass.”

  “How’s that help us? The glass will surely be broken.”

  “True, but the building is thirty-one floors high, and that means there’s a framework of steel behind it. Even close to the blast, some of the steel structure will surely be standing.”

  “You really think there’ll be enough left to guide us in?”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” he said, folding up the map.

  Leila stared off to the northwest, trying to locate the financial center. All she could see was the huge pile of debris from the newspaper company.

  “We’ll need to get by this before we can see what’s left of the skyline.”

  “Let’s go around. It’s too dangerous to try to go over.”

  They started across a grassy field, hoping to find an easy way around the crumbled building. They entered a subdivision of small single-story homes, nearly every one of which had collapsed. The nuclear explosion had done what the virus could not. It had destroyed mankind’s footprint, reducing houses and possessions to piles of junk that would slowly degrade into the earth.

  Even though the entire neighborhood had been destroyed, the debris field was still navigable with a little caution. The gas and electrical services had long since been lost, so the biggest threats were nails, broken glass, and other sharp objects. Despite not having any idea of where they were going, Bowie led the way, occasionally glancing back to make sure they were still following.

  After traversing a few hundred feet through the subdivision, Bowie stopped and began scratching at a pile of boards.

  “I think he’s found something,” she said.

  Mason hurried over and squatted down to inspect the debris. Other than a child’s doll, he saw nothing of interest. He pulled the doll out, brushed it off, and held it out to Bowie.

  “Is this what you want, boy?”

  Ignoring the doll, Bowie stuck his nose down into the hole, sneezed, and then continued digging.

  Mason stood up. The only thing Bowie liked more than toys was food. Odds were that he had caught the scent of someone’s dinner.

  “Come on,” he said, turning to leave. “We’ll eat later.”

  Bowie watched as he walked away but didn’t follow.

  “You coming?”

  The dog whined loudly and then turned back to continue his search.

  Mason returned to Bowie and looked again at the small hole. Even after pushing a few things out of the way, he saw absolutely nothing of interest.

  “Are you sure?”

  The dog said nothing as it continued scratching at the debris.

  He sighed. Every minute lost was another minute they fell behind the soldiers. On the other hand, Bowie was a trusted member of the team, not to mention one that weighed a hundred and forty pounds. If he insisted they stop, there was little Mason could do to make him follow.

  He looked over at Leila.

  “Give me a hand, will you?”

  “We’re going to dig up a collapsed house?”

  He tilted up a piece of a rafter and shoved it over.

  “We’re going to see what’s so interesting.”

  They dug for nearly ten minutes, lifting out lumber, a kitchen countertop, and several cabinets. Mason was sweating and about to insist that they abandon the search when he heard a cry for help coming up from the rubble. It was so unexpected that, at first, he thought it might be an artifact of the wind whistling through the wreckage.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Leila set a board down and listened.

  “Someone’s down there.”

  Mason leaned down into the hole and shouted, “Hold on! We’re coming.”

  They continued digging for another ten minutes, finally hauling out a large panel of sheet rock that revealed a two-foot gap leading down into a dark hole.

  A teenage girl’s voice called up to them.

  “Help us!”

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, but we’re trapped.”

  “We? How many of you are there?”

  “Just me and my little brother.”

  “Lift your brother up to the hole, and I’ll pull him out.”

  There was a pause as she considered his offer.

  “I’m a deputy marshal. I’m only here to help.”

  “Okay, Marshal, give me a second. I’ve got to put him on my shoulders.”

  After a moment, small hands poked up through the hole. Mason grabbed them and carefully pulled the boy out. He weighed about forty pounds and was probably four years old. His brown hair was coated in dust from the sheetrock, and he had the biggest, brightest eyes that Mason could ever remember seeing.

  “You okay, son?”

  “I’m fine. Are you really a marshal?”

  Mason smiled. “I am.”

  “Can I see your badge?”

  Mason unclipped it from his belt and handed it him.

  “How about you hold it for me while I get your sister out.”

  “Cool!” he said, staring at his reflection in the shiny silver star.

  Mason turned and motioned to Leila. She quickly stepped forward and scooped him up.

  Turning back to the hole, Mason said, “Can you find something to stand on?”

  “I’m in a basement, and there’s nothing down here.”

  “How far is it up to the hole?”

  “Maybe three feet. Too far for me to jump.”

  “Okay, hang tight. I’ll lower down a rope.”

  He set his pack on the ground and fished out the bundle of paracord. With a tensile strength of over five hundred pounds, it was plenty strong. The problem was that the cord was only as big around as a pencil, which ma
de it difficult to climb. He would have to make a ladder.

  Mason used his knife to cut off about twenty feet of the cord. At intervals of every twelve inches, he tied an alpine butterfly knot, leaving a sturdy loop in which to place a hand or foot. It wasn’t ideal, but it was easier than trying to pull her out.

  He secured one end to a refrigerator lodged in the wreckage and lowered the other end down into the hole.

  “Here it comes,” he said. “Use the loops to climb out.”

  The cord grew taut as she put her weight on it. After a few seconds, a head full of curly brown hair poked up through the hole.

  Mason stepped closer and helped to pull her out. The girl was in her mid-teens and dressed in a pair of white jeans and a black sweater. Both were covered in dirt and sheetrock dust. She also had a large baby carrier strapped across her back. When she got to her feet, Mason saw a Ruger SP101 .22 revolver stuffed into the front of her waistband. With an eight-round capacity and little recoil, it was the perfect gun for a girl her size.

  She leaned in and hugged him.

  “Thank you. I didn’t think we were getting out of there.”

  “Bowie’s the one to thank,” he said, patting the big dog’s side.

  She leaned over and kissed Bowie on the nose.

  “Thank you, Bowie,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “We owe you our lives.”

  “You’re safe now,” offered Mason.

  “No,” she said with a sad smile, “but at least we’re not buried.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’m Annie, and that’s my brother Flynn.”

  Flynn looked up from the badge and waved.

  “I’m Mason,” he said, “and this is Leila.”

  Annie turned to her and nodded.

  “Is this your house?” asked Leila.

  “No. It was abandoned. We were staying here for the night on our way down to Florida.”

  “What’s in Florida?”

  “Disney World!” cried Flynn.

  They all laughed.

  “Other than that?” she said, smiling.

  “Our grandmother, we hope,” said Annie.

  “It’s just the two of you?” asked Mason. “No mom or dad?”

  Annie shook her head. “Not anymore.” She looked over at Flynn who was using his dirty t-shirt to shine Mason’s badge. “We’ve only got each other now.”

  He nodded. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am!” said Flynn, handing him the freshly polished badge.

  Mason picked up his pack and led everyone to a small clearing between houses. He dragged over several dining room chairs from the remnants of a nearby house, and they all settled in like they were having a Fourth of July picnic.

  Digging through his backpack, Mason said, “I’ve got some spaghetti. How would that be?”

  “I love pasghetti,” Flynn said, clapping his hands.

  “Spaghetti would be great,” added Annie. “We haven’t eaten in almost a full day.”

  Mason cut open two MRE pouches and unpacked the contents. Once he had everything laid out, he poured a little bottled water into the flameless ration heaters. The water quickly combined with the powdered magnesium, iron, and table salt to create an exothermic chemical reaction. He propped the heaters up with a thin block of wood and gently placed the bags of spaghetti on top.

  “Let’s give it a few minutes,” he said. “MREs are better warm.” He opened a second packet and tossed Annie a chunk of bread that resembled a Pop Tart.

  Annie broke it in two and passed half to Flynn. The little boy sniffed the bread, shrugged, and took a big bite.

  Leila dug into her own pack and pulled out a bag of dried fruit.

  “How about some fruit to go with it?” she asked.

  Flynn stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth and said, “Yes, please.”

  She poured a small handful of fruit for each of them, including Mason.

  Chewing on a dried apricot, Mason turned to Annie and said, “How were you planning to get to Florida?”

  “We’re sort of hopscotching our way down. We left Boston more than two weeks ago.”

  “The roads are no place for kids,” said Leila.

  “I know, but once our food ran out, we really didn’t have a choice.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The truth is, I don’t even know if our grandmother is still alive. We just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Mason nodded. In many ways, surviving the pandemic had been the easy part. The survivors now had to learn to function in a world without safety nets.

  “I don’t suppose…” Annie started.

  “What?” said Mason.

  She shrugged. “I was going to ask if you might be headed in the general direction of Florida.”

  Mason looked over at Leila.

  “Right now, we’re going deeper into Lexington to look for someone. After that, I’m not really sure where either of us is headed.”

  Bowie whined, and everyone turned to look at him. He was eying the spaghetti, his nostrils flaring as he tried to inhale every bit of the food’s odor.

  “Here boy,” Flynn said, holding out a dried cherry.

  Bowie reluctantly left the spaghetti and moseyed over to see what he was holding.

  As the giant dog sniffed the offering, Annie said, “He’s a really big dog.”

  “Are you kidding? He’s gi-normous!” exclaimed Flynn. He looked over at Mason. “Does he bite?”

  “Only bad people.”

  Flynn reached out and carefully stroked the dog’s head.

  “I used to have a dog, but we had to let her go when we ran out of food.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes,” he said with a sad smile. “Izzy was a great dog. She would dance on two legs if you held up a hot dog.”

  Mason smiled. “That is a great dog.”

  “Does your dog do any tricks?” Flynn held up the cherry, but he couldn’t get it higher than Bowie’s head.

  “I’m not sure you could call them tricks. Bowie’s more like a person than a dog.”

  Flynn put his face up to Bowie’s.

  “I bet I could teach him a few tricks.”

  Mason lifted one of the pouches of spaghetti off the heater and handed it along with a plastic spoon to Annie.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have more to share,” he said.

  “This will be plenty. Thank you.” She scooped out a spoonful of the spaghetti and fed it to Flynn. Then she took a bite herself.

  Mason poured some of the spaghetti from the second pouch onto a piece of wood and motioned to Bowie. The dog hurried over and began eating. He offered the rest of the pouch to Leila, but she shook her head.

  “It looks like you get one of your own,” he said, handing it to Flynn.

  The little boy smiled and clapped his hands.

  As they were finishing up, Leila glanced at her wristwatch and gave Mason a subtle nod. Her message was clear. They were losing daylight.

  Mason looked over at Annie and Flynn. They had no chance of making it to Florida on their own, of that he was certain. They might not even get out of Lexington in one piece. Despite his mission, he would have to keep an eye on them. It certainly wasn’t ideal to have a couple of kids in tow, but he couldn’t very well leave them behind either. As odd as it was, the debt between rescuers and those rescued went both ways. Until Annie and Flynn were safe, he had an obligation to them.

  “If you two want to follow along, I can get you to a town once my business here is done.”

  “Really?” Annie said, her eyes lighting up.

  He nodded.

  Annie tipped up the pouch and quickly finished off the last drops of spaghetti.

  “We won’t be any trouble, Marshal. I promise.” She turned to her brother and squatted down. “Climb on, Flynn.”

  Flynn wiped his mouth with the front of his shirt and climbed onto his sister’s back. He slipped both legs through the straps of the baby carrier and grabbed ahold of he
r shoulders. All in all, the rig was pretty clever, allowing her to carry him efficiently without tying up her hands.

  Annie stood up. “Ready.”

  “Okay,” said Mason. “Let’s get to it.”

  Chapter 18

  Tanner and Samantha were forced to march for about a half-mile, skirting the cornfield, but never going into it. When they finally stopped, it was at the edge of a large clearing, beyond which lay sprawling fields of corn in every direction. The only break in the corn was a single dirt road that presumably wove its way out to the highway.

  Positioned in the center of the clearing was a fortified rectangular compound constructed from boxcars stacked on top of one another. The boxcars served as both exterior fortress walls as well as interior living space. The sheet metal was rusted and stained, and while sturdy against the elements, Tanner wasn’t sure that it offered much protection against gunfire. Cutouts were covered with clear plastic sheeting to let light in, and a ten-foot gap had been left at one corner to allow for both foot and vehicle traffic.

  To the left of the compound was a sprawling greenhouse framed with PVC piping and covered with more of the plastic sheeting. Beside it sat a wire pen, bustling with goats and chickens. On the opposite side of the fort, an assortment of clothes and linens hung from extension cords stretched out to act as makeshift clotheslines.

  As they got closer, both Clancy and Peterson stopped to salute a dingy American flag painted above the compound entrance.

  “Where are we?” asked Samantha.

  “You’re at the Citadel,” said Peterson, “our home.”

  “You live in those rusted boxcars?”

  Before he could answer, Clancy nudged her with the muzzle of his rifle.

  “Just move.”

  They continued on until they arrived at the gap in the boxcars. A guard stood in the shadow of a small awning, wearing a white baseball cap and sucking on a homemade cigarette. He held an AR15 in both hands but was careful to keep the muzzle pointed at the ground.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “We caught them poking around the cornfield.”

  “We were only going to the bath—” started Samantha.

  Clancy bumped her again, harder this time.

  “Ouch,” she said, rubbing her shoulder.