“Yeah, that hadn’t escaped me either,” Hughes said.
“How many you think we should take?” Kinsey asked.
“Take? I figured y’all would just drop me off with some gas. I can’t ask anyone else to do this; it’s my family.”
“You’re not asking, I’m volunteering, as have all the others. You don’t know what you’ll find, and my guys are the only ones with any weapons training. I figure I’ll take two guys and leave four here for security. Your folks can supplement them with the extra weapons if need be.”
“That’s very generous, Chief Kinsey,” Hughes said. “I don’t know what to say. I just sort of figured when we got here … well, actually, I don’t know what the hell I thought was going to happen. I don’t even know what we’re going to do with folks when we bring them on board. We sure don’t have room for everyone.”
“We’ll play it by ear, Captain. And I want to get over to Louisiana as soon as I can, and I’ll definitely be bringing my family back if I can get them to come. My guys all feel the same way, but their folks are scattered up and down the coast from here to Corpus Christi. As far as what’s gonna happen, all I know is Pecos Trader is the lifeboat with all the provisions and we’re in a shit storm. None of us really want to stray too far. Now what do you say? Is four enough?”
Hughes shrugged. “I’d say it has to be. We have to get wheels, and we have to have room to bring Laura and the girls back.”
“You’re the local, so where do we get a ride?”
“Anything we find abandoned is unlikely to have keys, so unless we have someone who can hot-wire a car, that’s a nonstarter. I figure a car dealership or auto repair shop is our best bet; some place we’re likely to find both vehicles and keys. The closest are along the main drag in Nederland. Maybe three or four miles from the river through mostly good residential neighborhoods. The boat can drop us off across the river at the refinery dock, just downstream.”
“So we grab a couple of cans of gas and hump it to the main drag on foot and go car shopping?” Kinsey nodded. “Sounds doable.”
“We might not have to hoof it,” Hughes said. “They keep bikes for the dock workers to use when they’re working a ship. When the lights went out, everybody probably just went home, just like Wilmington. I can’t see anyone coming back down to the river to scavenge a bunch of old bicycles. I’m betting they’re still there, and they all have big deep carrying baskets for tools, so we can each carry a gas can.”
Kinsey grinned. “Sounds good to me. If I was fond of walking, I’d have joined the infantry.”
***
Fifteen minutes later, Hughes and his little shore party were headed downriver in the patrol boat, a Coastie at the helm and another manning the bow machine gun. Nothing moved on the river and the refinery dock came into view as soon as the boat cleared the inlet. Kinsey directed the helmsman to the middle of the river, and they were running abreast of the dock five minutes later, checking it out. There was an empty tank barge riding high at the extreme downstream end of the dock, but no signs of activity. Hughes pointed out a vertical ladder midway down the tall dock, and they moved toward it.
Kinsey motioned to one of his men, who scampered up the ladder, his M4 slung beside him. The man disappeared and moments later he returned to sound an all clear. The other three men scurried up after him. Hughes brought up the rear, a coil of rope over his shoulder, which he shrugged off when he gained the solid footing of the dock. He tossed one end of the rope back down to the waiting boat, where one of the remaining Coasties tied it to the first of the red plastic gas containers so Hughes could haul it up. They repeated the process and all four gas cans were lined up on the dock when Kinsey returned, a grin on his face.
“Bunch of bikes parked next to the dock office, just like you said. Ready?”
“Almost,” Hughes said as he tossed the end of the rope back over the side. Minutes later he dragged it up, and a crow bar and a large pair of bolt cutters hit the concrete dock with metallic clangs.
“Can’t forget the precision instruments,” Hughes said.
Kinsey nodded, then leaned over the side and ordered the boat back to the ship.
“Think we should do a comms check?” Kinsey asked.
“Negative,” Hughes replied. “We don’t know who’s listening. The ship’s walkie-talkies have limited range anyway, so I think we should limit transmissions to calling the boat back when we get within range inbound.”
“Agreed,” Kinsey said, just as the other two Coasties appeared, each guiding a bike with either hand.
“Let’s get loaded up and find us a ride,” Kinsey said.
The bolt cutters made short work of the lock on the dock gate, and they pedaled two abreast down the cracked asphalt of the long road between the refinery and the tank farm. The Texas heat and humidity was already oppressive despite the early hour. The total lack of traffic combined with the eerie silence of the abandoned industrial area created a pervasive air of unreality.
“This is friggin’ spooky,” said one of the Coasties. “Not a soul in sight.”
“Count your blessings, Jones,” Kinsey said over his shoulder. “There are a lot worse things than spooky.”
“Yeah, like friggin’ hot! I’ll be glad to get in a vehicle and crank up the AC!”
They emerged from the tank farm to cross Twin City Highway and took Canal Avenue south, running through residential areas showing the beginnings of decay, with what were once obviously manicured lawns now overgrown. Far from opposition, the people they saw on the streets took one look at their guns and uniforms and disappeared behind locked doors.
“Something’s not right,” Kinsey said. “I mean, I expected things to be screwed up, but these people act terrified.”
Hughes nodded and picked up the pace, thinking of his family.
They had their pick of places on US 69, and Hughes turned directly off Canal Avenue into the lot of a Ford dealership. They rolled to a stop in a lot half full of new cars, with gaps in the rows indicating someone might have had the same idea. There was an equally large stretch of ‘pre-owned’ vehicles beyond that, with fewer vacant spaces.
“Looks like someone got here first,” Kinsey said.
Hughes nodded. “I suspect anything left has had the gas siphoned out. Pickings are probably better over in the used-car section. Y’all go pick out a likely vehicle, maybe a big SUV,” Hughes said. “I’ll bust in to the building and see if I can find keys, providing previous shoppers left the keys for what they didn’t take.”
“How far is your place?” Kinsey asked.
“About twenty-five miles. Say sixty or eighty miles round trip by the time we get back to the refinery dock, depending on detours. Why?”
“We have twenty gallons of gas, so I’m for taking a car and a backup. Two is one, and one is none, as they say. If we somehow get disabled or break down near your place, it’s a long hike back to the river. “
“Good point. Pick ‘em out and get the VIN numbers while I try to rustle up the keys.” He started for the dealership showroom, the crowbar over his shoulder.
He found the double glass doors ajar, and the showroom itself looked like a storm had hit it. The tile floor was carpeted with slick four-color sales brochures and all the drawers in the desk in the reception area were standing open. Hughes started down a long hallway, open doors on either side revealing Spartan cubicles where salesmen haggled with customers in better times. The further he got from the glass-windowed showroom, the darker it became, until finally he fished a small flashlight from his pocket.
At the end of the hallway in a larger office he found what he was looking for, a large key cabinet, the door torn off and hanging by one hinge. A glance inside and his hopes plummeted at the sight of empty hooks. He sighed and turned away but something crunched underfoot, and he smiled as his light illuminated a litter of discarded keys. Moving quickly, he dumped the contents of a nearby wastebasket and began scooping the keys into it. Five minutes later,
he and Kinsey stood at the reception desk, searching for VIN numbers on the key tags in the better light of the glass-walled showroom.
“Here’s the SUV,” Kinsey said.
“Go get it gassed up while I keep looking for the pickup keys,” Hughes said.
“All right,” Kinsey headed for the door. “When you find it, throw the rest of those keys back in the trash can and let’s take them with us. No telling when we might have to come car shopping again.”
Hughes nodded absently and kept looking.
Ten minutes later, Hughes was at the wheel of a big Ford Expedition with Kinsey riding shotgun as they turned south on the access road for US 69. The two other Coasties trailed them in a full-size Ford pickup. There were scattered cars on the road, mostly on the shoulder, and Hughes passed them without slowing. He braked as they approached a deserted mall and swung right on Highway 365 as it passed under US 69.
“It’s all rural roads from here,” Hughes said as he accelerated, “and this wouldn’t have been a road to attract refugees. We should make good time.” He pushed the Expedition up to eighty-five and glanced in his mirror. The Coasties were right with him, eight or ten car lengths back. He accelerated to ninety-five and stared at the road ahead, running flat and straight through the coastal pastureland. His mind wandered as the SUV ate up the miles. With his myriad responsibilities, he’d compartmentalized worry about his family, because to do otherwise would have rendered him unable to function. But scant miles from home with an open road in front of him, all of his worries and fears came crashing down as he blasted down the blacktop, both eager and terrified of what might await him.
“You won’t do your family any good if you hit a pothole at a hundred and ten and wrap us around a telephone pole. Besides, you’re losing the pickup.”
A quick glance in the mirror revealed the pickup some distance back. Hughes eased off the gas.
“Sorry,” he said.
Kinsey shrugged. “Understandable. Are we making better time than you figured?”
“Yeah, but we’re about to lose some. If I stay on this road, we’ll pick up Texas 124 in Fannett, but that more or less parallels I-10 and I’d like to avoid it. I also want to miss Fannett and Hamshire, so we’ll be taking to the back roads in a few miles.”
“This isn’t a back road?”
Hughes laughed. “Not by a long shot.”
True to his word, a few minutes later he pulled off the highway on to a narrow path that ran due south through pastureland along a barbed-wire fence, little more than two graveled wheel tracks with weeds a foot tall growing between them.
“Doesn’t look like anyone has used this lately, which is a good thing. We have maybe fifteen miles of this, and I’ll have to do a lot of zigzagging and backtracking, but it will keep us off the public roads. We’ll come up to the house from the back side, across the pastures. We should be pulling up behind our barn in half an hour. Be ready with those bolt cutters, we might have to ‘unlock’ a few gates along the way.”
***
Laura Hughes stood partially concealed behind the white wood fence and studied the approaching dust plume.
“They’re in a hell of a hurry, whoever they are,” she said softly, then louder, “What do you see, Jana?”
Jana Hughes stood beside her twin sister, wrists braced on the top rail of the fence to steady the binoculars.
“There are four of them, Mom, and they’re wearing some sort of uniforms. Not like the deputies, these are blue, but it looks like they’ve all got on that black army stuff. You know, like vests. And there aren’t any markings on either the car or the truck.”
Laura considered the possibilities. Given their recent encounter, the fact the approaching men wore uniforms was alarming, and the lack of any markings on the vehicles further supported the idea they were some sort of rogue element. Only by chance had they been working in the garden and spotted the approaching dust cloud across the wide expanse of the mostly treeless pasture. An armed group approaching across private property was obviously intent on avoiding detection. Nothing about the situation spelled anything but trouble, and if she waited to find out what they were about, Laura had no doubt she and the girls would be easily overpowered. That wasn’t happening.
“Well, whoever they are, they shouldn’t be on our property. And there’s no way I’m letting ‘em get close enough to hurt us.”
She looked over at her daughters. “We’ve only got the .30-.30 and the .308 that are effective at this range. I’ll take the .30-.30. Julie, you’re the best shot of the three of us, so I want you to take the .308. I’m going to try to stop them and I want you to take them after they’ve stopped, either through the windows or as they get out of their cars.” She paused. “Can you do this, honey?”
Julie swallowed hard and bobbed her head once in response.
Laura fought down an urge to sweep both her daughters into her arms and run to the house and hide, but hiding and waiting for the authorities was no longer an option. She brought the .30-.30 up and steadied it on the fence rail, wishing for the hundredth time Jordan had gotten around to fitting the scopes still in their boxes in the gun safe. She crouched a bit and took aim through the iron sights. The SUV turned slightly and she couldn’t see in for the glare, but she focused on the windshield where she knew the driver’s body would be.
“Okay, Julie,” Laura said, her rifle still on the approaching target. “Take a deep breath and calm down. Take your time and let me know when you’re ready.”
She heard what sounded like a deep sigh, then, “Okay, Mom, I’m ready.”
“All right, I’m going to take out the driver of the SUV. Don’t fire until you hear me shoot, but when I do, the pickup may slow or stop. You try to get that driver first. After that, we both just fire at whatever targets we’ve got. Clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Laura refocused, then took a deep breath and exhaled as her target made a slight change of direction and the glare off the windshield dissipated. She took another breath and held it as she slowly squeezed the trigger.
Beside her, Jana screamed, “MOM! DON’T—”
She felt the recoil of the unpadded stock into her shoulder as the gunshot echoed across the pasture.
“IT’S DAD!”
Even at a distance, she heard the crack as her bullet shattered the windshield, and watched horror-stricken as the SUV veered off the dirt track to come to rest in the field. Then tears flooded her eyes and nearly blinded her as she dropped the rifle and fought back great racking sobs, to rush across the pasture, screaming her husband’s name.
Warden’s Office
Federal Correctional Complex
Beaumont, Texas
Day 17, 9:00 a.m.
“Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?” Spike McComb glared at Snaggle as the smaller man squirmed in the chair.
“Missing, that’s all. They went out in their cruiser yesterday and they didn’t come back, and they ain’t answering the radio,” Snaggle said.
“Who was it again?”
“Willard Jukes and Kyle Morgan.”
“Wait a minute? Ain’t those the two assholes doing all the bitching?”
Snaggle nodded. “The same.”
“You don’t think they did a jackrabbit, or maybe decided to go into business for themselves?”
“Well, maybe, but it don’t seem likely. They’d have to know we’d find out, and then they’d be dead either way. Besides, I think they’re both from around here somewhere, so I can’t see no place for ‘em to jackrabbit to. I think it’s more likely they ran into trouble,” Snaggle said.
McComb shook his head. “It don’t matter. Only two things could have happened. Either somebody took ‘em out, or they took off on their own, and we gotta deal with it either way. If someone took ‘em out, we gotta find ‘em and deal with it publicly so everyone knows not to mess with my PO-lice. And if they really did jackrabbit, especially after running their motormouths, we DEFINITELY have to b
ring ‘em back and make an example of ‘em. We can’t have the rest of these assholes gettin’ ideas.” McComb paused. “Where was they working?”
“Last radio transmission said they was headed west toward the county line.”
“All right, knock half the boys off whatever they’re doin’ and cover that area like a blanket. Find those assholes! And if they turn up dead, make sure people nearby know it ain’t nice to piss off the PO-lice, but leave enough alive to spread the word.”
“What if someone took ‘em out and we can’t figure out who did it?”
McComb released an exasperated sigh and shook his head.
“Jesus H. Christ, Snaggle! Do I have to do all the thinkin’ around here? It don’t MATTER who did it. You think we’re gonna have a trial or something. Besides, why should I care who iced those ungrateful shitheads. This is damage control. Just pick a few people nearby, SAY they did it, and kill ‘em as an example. Got it?”
Snaggle nodded and rose from his chair.
“Wait a minute. You found that ship yet?”
“Not yet. The boys been having trouble getting the boat started, but last report I had said they should be on the river this morning. They’ll find it. It’s kind of hard to hide a ship.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cape Fear River
West of Wilmington, NC
Day 17, 9:00 a.m.
Singletary studied the chart intently, anxious to mask the fact he didn’t have a clue where they were going. It backfired.
“For a guide, you sure got your nose buried in that map. You know where you going?” Jermain Ware asked.
“It’s a chart, not a map, and around this next bend is the intersection with the Brunswick. We pass it by and stay right in this channel and go under the railroad bridge,” Singletary said, hoping he was reading the damn chart right. He was on pins and needles as the boat turned left and it was all he could do to contain a relieved sigh as the railroad bridge and intersection came into view. Instead, he fixed Jermain with a superior look.
“What was that you was sayin’?”
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 34
