Moosehill Militia (Book 1): INFECTED

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Moosehill Militia (Book 1): INFECTED Page 5

by Paul Christian


  “Well Mr. Maggert, I don’t know if the world will end in 593 days or not, but I’ll talk to Mary about saying such things to other students.” Mike said. “In the mean time you must be near retirement age soon?” he continued.

  “Why yes I am, the new school superintendent is really pushing for younger teachers and she is making it quite hard to stay for us older teachers. Let’s just say the senior teachers or most of the teachers for that matter are not fond of the superintendent. There I go probably saying too much. You will keep that between ourselves Mr. Mohan won’t you.” He said with a worried look.

  “Of course Mr. Maggert, I heard the same from other sources already. If things get too much for you or the other teachers and are forced out of the system come see me I can always use experienced help, I value that quality.” Mike shook Mr. Maggert’s hand firmly and wished him a good day. When Mike and Mary were in his truck driving away from the school, Mike told Mary. “Sweetie, you can’t keep telling people those type of things you’ll draw attention to yourself and cause problems and we don’t know what’s going to or if anything will happen in 593 days. Promise me you will stop doing that at school, we will try and work something out with your friends at that time, Okay?”

  “Sure Dad, I’ll behave.” Mary told Mike.

  “Hey, how about we head over to the Museum, we have some new vehicles that are in?” Mike said.

  “Cool Dad! Let’s do it.” She replied.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Marauders

  Day -423

  The girl ran through the woods with no perception of which way she was going or what she was doing, all she knew was she had to get away or she would kill herself at the first opportunity. Seana was running blindly through the woods at night with just enough visibility to avoid smashing into a tree trunk, she couldn’t see the smaller branches that wiped her face, arms and legs. They all stung from the abuse the Forest was dishing out on her body, but it was nothing compared to the abuse she has been taking to her body and soul. Seventeen years old and Seana felt she was fifty. She had one opportunity tonight to run and she took it.

  In the distance she could hear men trampling through the woods yelling back and forth to each other. Seana wasn’t sure how long she was at the farm as they all called it. She ran away from an abusive home she thought. Her parents were too strict and wouldn’t let her do anything, when her friends were going out all the time partying and having fun. Seana suddenly missed a step and tumbled down an embankment landing in shallow water on the edge of a large lake. “Shit, she whispered.” Afraid to speak to loudly. All she was wearing was dirty jeans and a loose blouse that use to be nice, now it was stained and smelled. They only let her or the other girl’s bath before they were brought up for entertainment.

  The water was too far across to attempt swimming she realized, Seana started to head right, seeing just enough buy starlight to follow the shore in that direction.

  “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

  She whispered to herself from what she remembered from Church, from her Irish Catholic upbringing, one of those things you never forget.

  “There’s no forgiveness for you girl.” She heard from her right above her on the banking, just as a flash light caught her in its beam. Seana screamed and started to run through the shallow water, it was no use as a large bearded man in a leather vest caught her within twenty feet. Laughing he slapped her with his open hand across the face with some force, knocking her off her feet into the water.

  The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled up till she was screaming and on her feet. “Stop you screaming bitch.” Accompanied by a lighter slap. “Or you’ll be passed around to everyone tonight instead of just me.” Got it the large man told her. Petrified she nodded and was dragged back to the farm.

  ***

  Revenge as the saying goes is a dish best served cold. Mike was seething, it’s been two weeks since his Last Chance Gun store was robbed and one of his employees was shot and still in critical condition barley holding on to life. The Police had his store closed for a week going over it with forensic teams from the Local Police and State Police, with hardly any evidence to speak off. The employee who was shot, the evening manager was forced to open the safe in the back officer where seventy thousand dollars was taken and a large selection of rifles and mostly semi-auto pistols were taken over the course of two hours that they were in the store. What concerned Mike the most was some items taken from the back room boxed up that had just come in that wasn’t quite legal. The recording system was trashed and tapes from the recorders was also missing. The Manager was shot in the chest after opening the safe. Before that he must have resisted because his little finger on his left hand was cut off. Mike, Mac and several other visited the hospital every day to see if Phillip Gordon would wake up.

  Mike was furious and the anger was building inside him. He could care less about the money. The crooks made one mistake No make that two mistakes, Mike thought. Robbing his store and hurting his employee was the first. The second was not knowing that his cameras footage was also backed up to a hard drive continuously off the premises. He turned those tapes over to the D.A.’s office the next day, keeping a copy for himself. He was in his truck with Mac driving to the D.A.’s office in Worcester Massachusetts for a meeting with an Assistant D.A. about the case.

  Mike parked his truck in the garage across from the DCU center and along with Mac for moral support walked the quarter mile to the county Court house for the meeting. Mike’s contribution to the D.A.’s Rourke’s programs and re-election campaign was the only reason he was getting this meeting he realized. Most crime victims hardly get to meet with the D.A. until the day of their case is brought to trial, or a deal was being cut. Usually victims of crimes deal with a victim witness advocate. Mike wasn’t satisfied with that and let it be known through sources from his police days.

  They were shown into a conference room where they were meeting with Assistant D.A. Justin O'Connell. “Mr. Mohan I took this meeting to keep you apprised of the investigation at the urging of D.A. Rourke. He told Mike a little testily. “Thank you Justin I appreciate it. Now tell me what you’ve been doing.” Mike replied back just as short.

  “There’s not a lot on the tapes, all five men involved wore black full face masks and non-describable clothing.” The only thing we have is on one of the man’s hands is a partial tattoo which looks like a Capital M and possible a number one and a percent sign. Focusing in that much makes the picture very blurry, we sent the tapes off to the State Police labs to see who much they could enhance those pictures.”

  I have another question for you Mr. Mohan. Do you know a Seana Mohan by chance?” he asked. “Yes I do, my cousins daughter, I haven't seen her in five or six years I think. Why do you ask?” Mike asked concerned.

  “Well, the name just struck me. We are looking into a missing persons her car was left at the old Buzzards Pub toward Greenfield along Route 2 about two weeks ago and she hasn’t been seen since. I guess she has been giving her parents a hard time and staying at friends’ houses for a night a two here and there. Her parents reported her missing twelve days ago, and her old Camry was found at the pub two days later. I just wondering if you were related and if you knew about it.” Justin O'Connell told Mike and Mac.

  “Thank you, I didn’t. Will you let me know of any further developments please?” He asked.

  “Of course Mr. Mohan. Anything for a former respected Police officer.” He stood, along with Mike and Mac and shook hands. They left the building without speaking and waited, a mile down the road, Mike asked Mac. “What do you think?”

  “I think you know more then you said in there. Am I correct?” Mac said.

  “You are.” We have to go review tapes from ab
out a month ago. I was stopping in to discuss some details with you and two men dressed in colors came into the shop and were looking at some guns, looking around. They sent my internal radar off. One of them had hand tattoos. I’d like to check the video and see what we see.” He told Mac, who only nodded.

  Three hours later back at Mike’s house, they found the tape and were reviewing the video. “There, Those two.” They watched the video to the end when the two males left the store without buying anything. It was late right before closing. Looking back at it now they were definitely casing the place. They started the video again and started to pick the two apart. Zooming in when they asked to see some knifes in a case they got a pretty good close up of their faces, there jackets boasting a Marauder motorcycle gang rocker on the back of their leather coats. One also had a hand tattoo with a capital M and what looked like a one percent tattoo. “This is it, those are our men.” I’ll hand this raw video over to the police in the morning, in the meantime spread the photo of these two around our contacts in the Police communities on the QT. I thought I remember a bulletin about a new Chapter house for a motorcycle gang starting somewhere up around the north end of Quabbin reservoir.” Mike said. “I think I can research that and find out where it is. It’s not like there trying to hide or something.” Mac stated.

  ***

  Next morning Mike turned the new tapes over to the D.A.’s office with an explanation that their meeting yesterday jogged his memory about the earlier visit.

  Mike met with Mac for Lunch at Tiny Tim’s diner in Rochdale, one of his favorites for lunch.

  They sat down and ordered. After the waitress left, Tim yelled at them for not eating here enough. While Tim cooked in the open kitchen they discussed events of the last day. “I have it.” Mac told Mike smiling. “In New Salem, the Marauders have a Chapter house at the end of east Main Street. Their house or more like a farm from what I can tell from Google maps, boarders up against the Quabbin reservoir on the West side, about a half mile through woods from the water.” He told Mike. “Okay, I turned over the unedited tapes and pointed out the interesting parts. It’s still going to take them a week or more to act on this with applying for search warrants and bureaucratic red tape. They have those two M60’s of ours, if that gets out where in trouble.” Mike told Mac.

  “I know. What’s you play?” he asked. “All depends Mac, how far you willing to go?” Mike asked. “It’s too late to back our now, we need to act to protect our investments and plans.” Mac stated the obvious. “I agree. Tomorrow night we take action. Just you and me.

  The rest of that day and the next morning Mike and Mac made plans for their night time excursion. Sunset was around six twenty p.m. Around five thirty Mac pulled up to the end of Old North Dana Road in Petersham and got out, cut the lock and drove his truck in and replaced it with another master lock. They drove down to the end of the dirt road, about a thousand feet down a trail to the edge of the water. Mike exited the passenger side of the truck and quickly dressed in a black ankle to neck lightweight wet suit. He put on similar foot gear and carried two water tight bags similar to what he would have used on the Seal teams. The two shook hands. “I’ll wait here until five a.m. same time the morning after that if you’re a no show. If you don’t show by then I will figure your dead and I’ll take action my way.” He told Mike. Mike just nodded and started walking down the path to the lake, he didn’t want to arrive on the reservoirs shore until dusk. He went over his plan in his head. Swim the thousand feet across the water, then hike across Moore Island. Mike then had to enter the water again cross swim across to Pittman Hill on the peninsula sticking out south from the north shore, swim across a narrower cove, maybe a little less than a thousand feet, pulling and carrying his equipment while doing it. Mike was in good shape, he’s been running and working out steadily since he was shot and felt good, not up to top seal team shape but not far off either. So he gave himself three hours to traverse the water and land to the other side.

  Around six thirty Mike entered the water towing his two water tight bags using flippers to power himself across. The water was fairly calm and cold but soon warmed up inside his suit, he propelled himself across the thousand feet or so on his back using his legs and flippers checking he was on course every five minutes. If he heard any engine noise at all he would stop and drift until he was sure it wasn’t related to him. Soon he was pulling himself up onto Moore Island which he had to cross, a thousand feet or so according to the maps. His biggest worry was running into a bear or other large wild life. They all roamed the Quabbin reservoir lands. Mike was soon entering the water again to crossover to Pittman Hill on the Peninsula cross that piece of land then back to the water for a short stretch which he did in around fifteen minutes.

  By this time it was dark. The kind of dark you only get when you’re in the deep woods with no moon. Mike dressed in his black BDU’s and stashed his wet suit in the bag that held his gear he was putting on. BDU’s, black boots load bearing vest with a light weight ballistic panels inserted in it. He put on a pair of night vision goggles over his black face mask, before the mask he painted his face in black and green just in case he had to remove his mask. Next he screwed on his suppressors onto his M-4 rifle and his M & P .45 caliber both barrels were altered to fit the suppressors too as you couldn’t just pick one up at your local gun store and he wanted no records of it. The actual suppressors he and Mac made in his Machine shop in Mac’s Garage. It’s a hobby of his. Using subsonic rounds he figured he was good for around forty rounds each before the noise level became noticeable again. Anyone could still hear the actions on the guns, the suppressor only stopped the crack from the gas escaping at sonic speeds, the suppressor slowed down the gas escaping in baffles in the suppressor cutting down the noise to something and average person’s ear would probably mistake for something other than a gunshot.

  He took a moment and breathed in a controlled manner. Time to move, he got to his feet and after checking his GPS he marked his location on his device and moved into the forest slipping between the trees with hardly a sound. Everything was in hues of green, it was enough for him to move through the woods silently. Ten minutes he should be on the perimeter of the Marauders chapter house. From what info they could gather at any one time there were between four to twelve members present at any one time. Mike was in the operational mode now, he could see lights at a compound, and it looked like two buildings a house with a fairly large barn and a shed behind the house.

  Mike circled the perimeter completely crossing the road to check the other side out toward the front of the house and back again around the other side until he was to the rear of the barn. He could hear a whimpering coming from the barn, Mike had a bad feeling about this, but he was committed. Observing a bulkhead cellar door entrance to the basement of the barn, he listened for a full fifteen minutes. Other than the occasional whimper he heard nothing. Circling around to the side of the barn again to observe the house he could see shadows pass the lit windows a few times. Looking at the house it was an old farm style with wrap around porch with two floors and a steep roof on top of the second floor, maybe twenty eight hundred feet of floor space. Eight motorcycles were parked in front of the porch. He figured at least eight, probably a few more maybe with some girlfriends too. It’s a lot, he was concerned. Mike went back to the rear of the barn and listened for a few more minutes, with no sound he gently lifted the bulkhead cellar door and listened again, he then entered. Pitch dark darkness greeted him with just a little ambient light from outside the bulkhead his night vision goggles enabled him to see enough to see the interior. Four cages were built between support posts and sleeping in each cage, which was around eight by eight with maybe five feet of headroom were at least three girls to each. They had metal collars around there necks with a chain attached to the bars on either side.

  One of the girls whimpered out loud, recognizing the whimper he heard earlier. These F*&#k’s were human traffickers he concluded right away. A burn
ing fury was building in him while starting to come up with a plan. Mike read and knew about human trafficking, but it was something removed from America, rationalizing like most people. He should have known better, being familiar with such things in the slums of the Middle East. In the past, Mike compartmentalize those things when he came home from deployment.

  Analyzing the situation, nothing has changed he could still follow the Plan. Backing out of the barn he checked the shed next. It was just a shed with equipment in it. Mike guessed even shit heads like these had to do yard work. Pulling a small gun out of his back pack and inserting a barrel then hooking up the CO2 cartridge and presto he had a dart gun with an accurate range of fifty feet in the hands of an expert, and no mistaken, Mike was an expert.

  The M-4 rifle with its suppressor hung from its three point strap, his suppressed 45 was in a specially built holster on his right side slung low and tied off to his leg. He carried his dart gun as his primary weapon with an injectable tranquilizer dart strong enough to put down a horse. He hoped he didn’t kill any on them by accident, but he needed enough medication to put them down fast and silent. Looking at his watch it was nine p.m. he had a little wait ahead of him. Someone passed in front of the window and he could see that they were drinking, Mike smiled and hunkered down in some bushes near the side of the barn.

  Three hours later most of the light in the house were turned off. Two shadows exited the house and started to walk across the gravel yard toward the barn. Mike could see they were both male about his size or so. Times up he thought, they must be going to check on the girls, he was surprised they didn’t have guard on them.

  Mike could hear them talking as they approached without a care in the world. “Hey man, that Seana was some hot piece of ass.” Mike exploded in fury, coming out of the bushes in a silent rush, shooting the closest in the left side of his neck from four feet away as he ran past drawing his knife from his vest, slicing down the second shit heads right arm because chances were he was right handed, and reversing the handle in the same move punching into the back of his head just above the neck as he passed. Both subjects were down and silent behind Mike as he faced the house with rage fueled adrenalin pumping through his arteries. He observed the house and there was no motion. Nobody heard the commotion, what there was of it. He dragged both unconscious idiots around the side of the barn and injected the one he cold cocked with a Tranquilizer to make sure he stayed out. Two down uncertain number of jackasses left. Mike told himself.

 

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