Still on the ground, Samantha looked over at Tanner. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Why is it that destroying stuff makes you so happy?”
“Some men were put here to build. Others to tear down.”
“What is that, some kind of Buddhist proverb?”
“Nope, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
Tanner grabbed Samantha’s arm and led her away from the dam to escape the roar of the rushing water.
“We’re going to have to hurry.”
“I thought you said this road was above the water line.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He pointed toward the plant. “Look.”
She turned and saw that water was quickly filling the huge depression in which the plant had been constructed.
“The whole plant will be underwater soon.”
“That’s right. And once the Watchmen realize this can’t be stopped, they’ll make a run for it. I plan to be there waiting when they do.”
“We don’t have to fight them. You know that, right? We could just cut through the trees, grab our truck, and go.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll try this again. And next time, we might not be around to stop them.”
She nodded solemnly. “What are we going to do?”
“You’ve done your part. Let me take care of Hardin and his men.”
She shook her head. “You need me. I’m a very good shot.”
“I know you are. But this is going to get ugly, and ugly is what I do.”
“I do ugly too sometimes,” she said softly.
He stopped and put his hands on her shoulders.
“You do when you need to, but this isn’t one of those times. I can handle Hardin without your help.”
Her eyes were drawn to the dried blood around his nose, to the swelling of his cheeks, and to the scary spiderweb of veins occluding one eye.
“No,” she said with a resigned tone. “We’ll do this together.”
“Why?”
She reached up and touched a scrape that ran along his chin.
“Because they hurt you.”
Tanner felt a lump form in his throat.
“You sure?”
She nodded. “As sure as you would be if they had hurt me.”
“All right,” he said, starting down the road. “Let’s see if we can teach the Watchmen a little something about payback.”
The water level rose more quickly than Tanner had anticipated. By the time they neared the intersection that led down to the nuclear plant, the ground to the south was already a foot underwater.
The sound of engines could be heard roaring in the distance.
“They’re coming,” she said, throwing him an anxious look.
“Time to get behind something solid.” He quickly scanned the trees, finally settling on a thick oak that had recently fallen. “There,” he said, pointing.
They hurried over to the tree, and he used his hands to scoop out dirt along its base. When he was finished, he had created a firing port roughly eighteen inches across and ten inches high.
Samantha lay down and fed the barrel of her rifle through the narrow hole.
“Can you see well enough to shoot?” he asked.
She pivoted the rifle left and right, making sure that she could cover the road.
“Yes. Go find a place to hide. Hurry!”
Tanner sprinted about fifty feet away before settling in behind a large moss-covered boulder that had probably served as a hiding spot for Indians, Civil War soldiers, and bootleggers alike. He brought the X95 up and anchored it against a small notch in the rock. His position wasn’t as well fortified as Samantha’s, but he didn’t think it would matter much. The Watchmen were going to be caught in a bad spot, the severity of which they probably wouldn’t even fully appreciate until it was too late.
The lead truck was a big sand-colored Land Rover. A convoy of pickups followed behind, perhaps fifteen or twenty of them in total. They were moving slowly so as not to flood their engines.
Tanner lined up his sights and fired three shots. The first two went into the Land Rover’s radiator, and the third took out one of its front tires. The truck jerked to the side until its blown tire dropped into the water-filled gulley lining the road.
Another series of shots rang out, this time from Samantha’s position. Both front tires on the next truck exploded, and it dove nose down into the water, smashing into the back of the Land Rover. A third truck tried to edge past, but Tanner adjusted his aim and put three shots through the windshield. It too swerved to the side, this time ending up nose down in the opposite gully.
With three trucks now blocking the road, the rest of the convoy ground to a halt. Men jumped out into knee-deep water, scanning the trees for shooters. A few blindly fired off shots, but nothing came close to Tanner or Samantha. Hardin scrambled out of the Land Rover and motioned for his men to help clear the road.
As the Watchmen rushed forward to push the trucks out of the way, Tanner began to shoot them, slow and careful. The X95 only had thirty rounds and he had no spare magazines, but they didn’t know that.
While he methodically set about convincing the Watchmen that the trucks were there to stay, Samantha disabled the next three vehicles. The Watchmen fired back, but shooting from a raging river of what was becoming waist-deep water was not an easy thing to do.
Hardin shouted something, and his men began wading toward higher ground. What they quickly discovered was that the current forced them to lean heavily at the waist, slogging their way forward, inch by treacherous inch.
Tanner shot five more men and watched as the bodies were swept away by the river of muddy water.
Those close enough to their vehicles returned, desperate to seek cover. Those who weren’t tried to escape, but one by one, their feet were taken out from under them, if not by Tanner, then by the water.
By the time he stopped firing, the water was easily four feet deep. Men had retreated to the hoods or roofs of their trucks, fearing the water even more than the bite of a sniper’s bullet. Trucks sloshed sideways, sliding off the road, some tumbling over to toss their inhabitants into the deluge while others became hopelessly lodged in the trees.
There wasn’t an ounce of fight left in any of them.
Tanner leaned around the boulder. “Throw your weapons into the water!”
Hardin shouted for his men to comply, and within seconds, every rifle and pistol lay four feet underwater.
“We’ve done what you said!” shouted Hardin. “Now get us out of here!”
Tanner stood up and emerged from the trees. The highway leading toward the bridge, as well as the one heading west up to Kingsport, remained dry. It seemed utterly surreal that only fifty yards south, a river was raging. With his rifle pressed to his shoulder, he walked toward the men. He slogged out into the water up to his knees—any further and the water might pull his feet out from under him.
“The rope!” Hardin shouted, spotting the towrope coiled around Tanner’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, toss me the rope!”
Tanner pulled the rope off his shoulder, tied a small lasso in one end, and flung it out toward the Land Rover. To the big man’s credit, Hardin caught it on the first toss.
Before anyone else could use it, he slipped the rope around his waist and shouted, “Hold tight!”
Tanner gave him a quick thumbs up and gripped his end with both hands.
Hardin stepped to the edge of the Land Rover and plunged into the fast-flowing water. He briefly went under and then bobbed back to the surface just in time to see Tanner toss his end of the rope into the water.
Hardin splashed violently as he tried to fight his way back to the Land Rover. But it was not to be. The next time the big man went under, he disappeared for good.
“Ask me how I’m feeling now,” muttered Tanner.
The Watchmen who remained atop th
eir vehicles shouted and waved their fists. Tanner ignored them as he turned and stomped his way back to higher ground.
Samantha stood at the edge of the trees, her clothes covered in mud and her rifle held loosely at her side. As he approached, she offered a short nod, and he returned the gesture. Without saying a word, they started walking west along Watts Bar Highway, the shouts of the Watchmen slowly fading in the distance.
Tanner steered the Power Wagon off the small dirt road, turning north toward Spring City. They would have to travel all the way up to Kingston in order to cross the river. It was a roundabout way of getting home to be sure, but bridges were few and far between.
They drove for a time without saying anything, content to have the violence behind them.
Samantha eventually broke the silence. “Do you think any of them survived?”
“Sure they did.”
“How many?”
He shrugged. “A dozen, maybe two. Not enough to do this again.”
“It’s over then.”
“I’d say.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I didn’t shoot any of them, not even one.”
“I know.”
“I would have though… if I’d had to.”
“I know that too.”
She looked up at him. “Tanner?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we the good guys?”
He offered a reassuring smile. “Of course we are.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know right from wrong, and what those men were doing was wrong.”
“Because they killed people?”
“That was part of it.”
“We killed people too.”
Tanner took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“There are those who believe you can defeat evil with love and kindness.”
“Like Gandhi? And Bono?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, like them. And maybe they’re right. Maybe holding hands and singing We Are the World can solve any problem. But not before a whole lot of people suffer first.”
“And you’re not willing to let that happen.”
“That’s right, I’m not.”
“So, instead of showing them love, you fight them.”
“With everything I’ve got.”
“And is that, you know, okay?”
“It is for me. You’ll have to figure out what works for you.”
Samantha nodded, turning to look out the window. She thought back to her fight with young Carver. Upon learning of his injuries, she had been filled with regret. But now, she found herself asking what might have happened if she hadn’t acted. Would young Flynn have continued to suffer taunts and bruises? Would his sister Annie have taken matters into her own hands, or worse, given in to the boy’s demands?
“I don’t think I can watch people suffer either,” she said. “Not when I can do something to stop it.”
Tanner felt a profound sense of pride that he didn’t dare try to put into words. While it was true that Samantha had someone else’s blood flowing through her veins, by God, she was every bit his daughter.
Chapter 20
As Mason and Bowie stepped clear of the barge, they spotted Brooke sitting on the hood of the big dually, her legs kicked out like Daisy Duke. Her reaction was roughly what Mason had expected, a frenzied jerk of her head as she frantically searched for a way to escape.
Unless she was planning to do a high dive off the bridge’s railing, there weren’t many options. She turned and took a few steps toward the Smithfield side of the bridge and then stopped.
“Go ahead,” hollered Mason. “Bowie needs a little exercise.”
She spun around, her expression defiant.
Mason detoured over to the cupcake truck and retrieved his M4, slipping the sling over his head so that the weapon hung down across his back.
As he started toward Brooke, he drew his Supergrade and leveled it at her.
“Get on your knees.”
“The hell I will.”
He shifted his aim to her legs.
“You can go down easy or hard. Your choice.”
She slowly dropped to her knees.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You played me for a royal fool, and that’s not something many people can say.”
Brooke said nothing, her eyes fixed on the muzzle of the pistol.
“While I was down there, praying that Bowie wouldn’t die, I remembered the guard who left the cafeteria in such a hurry. He was one of the men who were threatening you when we first met.” He shook his head in disbelief. “This whole thing was staged from the very beginning.”
“Mr. Locke had heard good things about you. You should be flattered really.”
“Why? Because he sent his prized whore to seduce me?”
Brooke’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think I am? A whore?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what you are. All I know is that you pulled one hell of a long game on me. And for what? To have my gun do Locke’s bidding?”
“Good men are hard to find.”
“So are good women, believe me.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Mason.”
Hearing her say his name caused his heart to skip a beat, and that angered him. Not so much because of what she had done, but because he realized she still held sway over him.
“And Cash?”
“What about him?”
“Was he really your fiancé?”
“He was a problem that needed to be cleaned up. That’s all you need to know.”
Mason shook his head, as disgusted at himself for being the pawn used to kill Cash as he was at Brooke for setting it up.
“Why expose the whole operation by bringing me to the freezer?”
“That part was Locke’s idea. He said we needed to know if you could be brought in. I told him you weren’t ready yet.”
Mason took a moment to let all the pieces slowly settle in place. It was convoluted at best, but he suspected it was as close to the truth as he was ever going to get.
“Tell me one thing—and be honest for once in your life.”
Brooke met his gaze. “What?”
“Was any of it real? Between us, I mean.”
“No,” she said in a cold voice. “It was all an act. Every single second of it.”
Mason thought he saw the glint of tears in the corners of her eyes. What was it? Fear? Regret? Something else? Who could say for sure with a woman like Brooke?
She looked away, ready to receive her justice.
“Just do it already.”
He stood there with the gun aimed at her head for a long moment before saying, “Go on. Get out of here.”
She looked up at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re letting me go? Why?”
He holstered the Supergrade. “What can I say? I’m a sucker through and through.”
She got to her feet and began backing toward the truck.
“Give Locke a message for me, will you?”
“What message?”
Mason nodded toward the boat. “Tell him that I hold him responsible for what happened to those men down there.”
“He won’t care.”
“Not today maybe, but one day he will.”
“You think he’s going to be afraid of you? He’s got a small army protecting him.”
“That he does. But ask yourself a question.”
“What?”
“If you had your choice of enemies, would you pick me?”
She stared at him. “He’ll kill you if you come back.”
“He’ll try. Besides, what’s it matter to you?”
Brooke said nothing as she swung open the truck’s driver-side door and slid onto the seat. Her eyes lingered on him.
“Just go somewhere far away. He won’t come after you. Why would he?”
“I’ll go when things are made right. Not before.”
Not wanting to give her the satisfaction of having the last word, Mason turned and started hiking in the opposite direction. Bowie stood for a moment longer, looking back and forth between the two. When it became clear that this was goodbye, he hurried to catch up to his master. They both heard the truck’s engine start and the wheels crunch across broken glass as it slowly turned around.
Neither of them looked back.
They continued the long trek across the James River Bridge, and with every step, Mason’s heart felt a little lighter.
He looked down at Bowie and found the dog studying him.
“Don’t look at me like that. Women are complicated.”
The dog seemed unmoved.
“What do you want me to say? That I have bad judgment when it comes to the fairer sex? Fine. You got me.”
Bowie seemed satisfied and turned his attention back to the road ahead.
Despite his tough talk with Brooke, Mason knew that it would be smarter to walk away from a fight with Locke. If Governor Stinson was really involved, it meant that the New Colony and The Farm were tied at the hip. Going against one would mean going against both, and that was not a fight he was likely to win.
Even if Stinson was not involved, Locke would have no trouble convincing him that Mason was a dangerous fugitive. That would make it impossible for him to openly return to the New Colony until he had cleared his name—assuming such a thing were even possible after what he had done to four of their security officers.
He sighed and looked down at Bowie.
“Maybe she was right. Maybe we should let this one be. We could head back to Boone and let this play out. What do you think, boy?”
Bowie’s tail began to wag, not because he agreed with what Mason was saying but because he liked the sound of his master’s voice.
Mason thought of the people in the New Colony suffering from the Craze, the children growing up eating the flesh of monsters. Then there was the matter of Beebie, Dix, and the others. None of it sat right with him.
No, he thought, he wasn’t finished with Locke just yet.
A faint subconscious whisper asked, Are you sure it’s not because you want to see her again?
Mason stopped and shook his head.
Dark Days Page 25
