Whether it was his confident tone or just mindless rage, something set them off, and all three suddenly charged, whooping like jackals on the hunt.
He flipped the muzzle up and shot Marko at nearly point blank range. The full load of buckshot hit him in the chest, flipping the boy backwards. Tanner swung right and fired a second shot. The blast ripped a chunk out of Dwayne’s thigh, but he continued ahead, smashing Tanner against the barn door. Before he could free himself, Dwayne leaned forward and bit savagely at his forearm, forcing him to drop the shotgun.
Tanner ignored the burning pain and hit Dwayne with a rabbit punch to the base of his skull. The blow was short but incredibly powerful, and the young man’s legs buckled. Tanner managed to get two good boot stomps to his head before the last of The Lost Boys barreled into him.
They tumbled out onto the dirt road, and Tanner felt his knee twist as he fell. David landed on top and began hammering down with uncontrolled rage. A blow hit Tanner on the cheek and another in his good eye.
Desperate to stop the relentless pounding, he grabbed David by the neck and pulled him in close. The boy struggled, pushing against Tanner’s chest as he struggled to get enough space to fight. Tanner reached up with his right hand and grabbed a handful of hair. He braced his left hand under the young man’s chin.
Sensing that he had been given a little slack, David started to sit up. When he did, Tanner drove both hands in opposite directions, twisting the young man’s neck violently to the side. Vertebrae gave way, and his neck snapped in two. Tanner waited a moment and then jerked a second time, twisting his head nearly all the way around.
The rest of the walk to the Hochstetlers’ farm took Tanner twice as long, even though the distance was about the same. For one thing, his leg hurt from being knocked to the ground, and for another, he didn’t feel a pressing need to hurry. Tanner had always felt comfortable in the dark, and without anyone to worry about but himself, he walked at a leisurely pace—albeit with a slight limp.
When he finally arrived at the Hochstetler house, he nearly had to break the door down to convince them to let him in. In the end, they released Timothy to him, but only after the grandfather insisted on using the family buggy to drive them back to the Yoders. His family begged him not to, but he would not be dissuaded. Tanner didn’t have the heart to tell him that the bloodthirsty teens were no longer a threat. He had found that, when a man has decided upon a brave deed, it was best not to take that from him.
Early the next morning, Tanner and Samantha loaded the children onto the school bus, checking off their names as they got on board.
“That makes fourteen,” Samantha said, as the final youngster climbed aboard.
Isaac walked over, leaving Miriam standing on the porch with their two sons. He shook Tanner’s hand.
“I trust you will have a safe drive to Salamanca.”
He shrugged. “One can hope.”
“I appreciate what you did last night.” He paused. “Getting Timothy, I mean.”
Tanner nodded. “It’s what I do.”
Isaac touched Samantha on the head.
“You’re lucky to have such a good man as your... father.”
“Yeah, he’s okay,” she said, glancing at Tanner before turning and climbing into the bus.
As Isaac turned to walk back to his wife, Tanner stopped him.
“I wonder if I might ask a favor?”
He turned back. “Anything.”
“Do you happen to know an English woman named Grace? I’m not sure what last name she’s using now. Could be Raines.”
A smile lit up his customarily somber face.
“Indeed, I know her.”
“She’s alive then?”
“Very much so. She teaches at our school three days a week. By all accounts, she’s a hardworking woman, which for the Amish, is about the nicest thing we can say about anyone. It’s not far out of your way if you want to stop by and see her.”
Tanner thought about it a moment and then shook his head.
“Maybe another time. When you see her next, could you give her a message for me?”
“Sure, English. What would you have me tell her?”
“Tell her that her son is alive. That’s the one thing she’d really want to know.”
Isaac bowed his head slightly.
“I’ll tell her today. You have my word.”
Tanner nodded his thanks and climbed aboard the school bus. He took his seat behind the oversized steering wheel and glanced back at the kids. They all looked as if they’d been hypnotized by Jean-Martin Charcot.
He looked over at Samantha.
“What’s up with them?”
“I think you scare them.”
“Me? Why?”
“Are you kidding? You look like you just killed a werewolf with your bare hands, bite marks and all.”
“Well, get them to sing a song or something. They’re creeping me out.”
Samantha walked down the aisle of the bus, saying something to each child. When she got to the back, she turned around, and they all started singing.
“The wheels on the bus go round and round,
round and round, round and round…”
Tanner dropped the transmission into drive and punched the gas. It was going to be a long drive home.
CHAPTER
22
With the help of Vince and Don, Mason was able to clean up most of the mess in short order. The helicopter would have to stay where it was, but the bodies were gathered up and tossed into the nearby ravine. The cabin hadn’t taken any damage, so all it needed was a little hosing down to get the blood off the porch. By the time they finished, darkness was quickly approaching, and Mason could tell that his two friends were eager to get home to their loved ones.
He extended his hand, and each man shook it firmly.
“Marshal,” said Vince, “we’re terribly sorry about what happened to Ava. If we’d have known, we’d have brought the whole town to help her. Just like before, you know?”
Mason nodded. “I know.”
“If you ever need anything...”
“Anything at all,” seconded Don.
“I know that too.”
“All right, then,” Vince said, reaching down and petting Bowie one last time, “we should probably roll.”
“Be careful going back.”
The two men turned and walked back to their cruiser. Within seconds, the only evidence that they had ever been there was a small dust cloud that snaked its way down the driveway.
Mason turned and took a long look at the empty cabin. There was still a little blood spatter on the door, and the place felt dark and cold. He was halfway tempted to hop in his truck and follow the deputies back to Boone, maybe stay a night or two at the old church with Father Paul.
Bowie moved up next to him and licked the back of his hand as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
He squatted down and hugged the huge dog.
“Yeah, I know. You’re with me all the way.”
Bowie pressed up against him, whining softly.
After a moment, Mason stood back up. He felt better, and the cabin looked a little warmer than it had a moment earlier.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the generator fired up and bring a little life back to this place.”
Mason turned on his amateur radio and checked the power and antenna settings. It was still tuned to the 20-meter band from the last time he had used it. He keyed the microphone.
“This is KB4VXP, looking for WA4RTF, over.”
He waited a few seconds and then repeated the call. As soon as he let off the microphone the second time, someone answered.
“This is WA4RTF. How are you, Marshal?”
Mason recognized the voice as that of Jack Atkins, a prepper who lived in Gloucester, Virginia.
“Hey, Jack. Good to hear your voice.”
“It’s been a few we
eks, Marshal. I was afraid something might have happened to you.”
“No, I’m all right. I’ve just been out assessing the situation. How are things on your end?”
“The missus and I are fine. Although we did have a run-in with a neighbor last week.”
“What happened?”
“He was hungry, like everybody. He thought it only fair that we turn over some of our supplies.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out so well.”
“I ran him off with a shotgun. I only hope for his sake that he doesn’t come back around.”
“Just stay safe, Jack. Desperate people do desperate things.”
“I’ll do my best. What about you, Marshal? What can you tell me now that you’ve had a chance to check things out? Are things as bad as they look?”
Mason’s thoughts flashed past everything that had happened over the last few weeks—run-ins with militias, convicts, mercenaries, and petty criminals, not to mention the hordes of bloodthirsty infected survivors.
“Worse, I’m afraid.”
“That’s what I figured,” mumbled Jack. “You got any kind of good news to report?”
“I’ve seen some towns pulling things together,” Mason said, thinking of Boone, York, and now Chester. “Also, I heard a broadcast saying the government is planning to establish a few colonies.”
“We heard that as well. One of them is going to be over in Norfolk, barely thirty miles from us.”
“Are you planning to move there once they get it set up?”
“Probably not. A place like that will draw all sorts of unsavory folk. We’ll take our chances out here in the real world.”
“I can’t say as I blame you. History has shown that, when desperate people seek government handouts, there tends to be a lot of chaos.”
“Our thoughts exactly. Anyhow, what can I do for you, Marshal?”
Mason smiled. Jack had been around long enough to know small talk when he heard it.
“I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I’m looking for anything you can find on a General William Hood.”
“Never heard of him, but I can ask around. I’ve made contact with plenty of service folks over the past few weeks. Someone’s bound to know something.”
“Thanks, Jack. And be careful when doing the asking.”
“I appreciate the warning. Did this fella cross you, Marshal?”
“In more ways than one.”
“It sounds like you’re looking to pay him a visit.”
“I am. But first, I need to find him.”
“Understood. I’ll do a little digging. A general shouldn’t be too hard to locate. I guess you already heard the news about President Glass.”
“What news?”
There was a pause as Jack chose the right words.
“She was killed today.”
Mason sat up in his chair.
“Come again. Did you say the president was killed?”
“That’s what’s being broadcast. Details are sketchy, but the scuttlebutt is that she was assassinated by someone in her own government.”
“Any chance it was Vice President Pike?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said, laughing. “He was sworn in about an hour ago as the new President of the United States.”
“Oh, man,” Mason said, rubbing his chin, “that’s not good.”
“I wouldn’t think so either. Pike always struck me as a bit of a loose cannon.”
He might be a lot worse than that, thought Mason.
“Thanks, Jack, I appreciate the head’s up.”
After they signed off, Mason sat in the radio room for several minutes, thinking. Nakai had said that he suspected Pike might be involved. But it was just an unsubstantiated hunch. Perhaps General Hood was as high as it went.
Then again, maybe it went all the way to the top.
After finishing dinner, Mason headed into the bedroom. A large handwritten note lay neatly folded in the center of his bed. He quickly unfolded it and saw his father’s signature at the bottom of the page. Tanner had never written “Dad” in his entire life, preferring instead to pen his first name.
Mason carried the note, along with a lantern and what was left of his coffee, out onto the porch. He leaned back in his favorite rocking chair, and Bowie came over to lie at his feet. He took a moment to breathe the cool mountain air before turning his attention to his father’s words. It was written in simple clean lettering.
Mason,
I wasn’t at all surprised to hear that you were alive and out saving the world. I would have expected no less. While I have never been guided by the same moral compass, I have always respected you. I’m free now, not only from prison, but from everything. I hope that men coming from two different walks of life can meet in the middle to make a difference. I’m sure that our paths will cross soon enough. Until then, know that you are in my heart.
Tanner
The words hit Mason harder than he thought they would, and he had to sip the coffee to get the lump out of his throat. It had been more than a year since he and his father had last spoken, and their conversations were never without contention. The fact that their paths had crossed in such a violent and tragic way did not at all surprise him. Violence traveled alongside his father like his oldest and dearest friend. Not always of his own making, perhaps, but it was there nonetheless, waiting patiently in the shadows for any opportunity to step out into the light.
His father was right about the two of them being different. Mason had chosen to follow a path of justice, to instill order where there was chaos. Whereas Tanner felt compelled to fight every type of authority, to rely on no one but himself. Their differences had at times kept them apart or even at odds with one another. But as Mason looked over at the bullet-ridden helicopter, he accepted that he was still his father’s son. Both of them were willing and able to fight with vicious purpose when situations dictated the need.
The death of Agent Sparks and his men should have brought a sense of closure. But as he sat listening to the millions of insects telling their own tales of woe, he realized that it hadn’t. There were still questions to be answered, people to be held accountable. Getting to a man like General Hood would not be easy—let alone President Pike, should it come to that. They would be well protected, not to mention dangerous.
Good, he thought. It’s better that way. There was no room in Mason’s heart for forgiveness, and having adversaries deserving of his rage seemed only fitting. The situation with Hood would not be resolved in a day or a week, but the closure he sought would eventually come. One day, he would stand beside Ava’s grave and tell her that justice had finally been done. Of that, he was certain.
To accomplish his task, he would need help. Not only from good men like Vince and Don, but also from men who could walk the ledge of the pit without falling in, matching every ruthless deed with one of their own. Men like that were rare indeed. But as he looked down at the paper one final time, Mason thought he might know of one such man.
Until then, he would continue putting the nation’s house back together, one brick at a time. Some fights would be won, and some would be lost. The losses would always be painful, but he would persevere, no matter the setbacks. Mason was perhaps the nation’s last living marshal, and as such, he was determined to do his God’s honest best to make the Service proud.
Look for the next book in the Survivalist series, coming Summer of 2014.
Also, if you enjoyed this book, drop the author a note at:
[email protected].
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