by D W McAliley
"Do you think Jacobs did this?" Marcus asked, shocked at the thought.
"Probably not," Commander Price answered with a slight shrug, "but we can't rule it out just yet. In a way, though, it'd almost be better if he did die by his own hand. At least that way there's a slim chance he was working alone. If he was murdered, though, then you're correct in that he probably wasn't part of the plan. But it also means there has to be more than one other person who was involved because the thief that stole Petty Officer Jacobs' print card and used it wouldn't have been so sloppy as to kill him this quickly."
Marcus suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "So you mean instead of one spy or assassin or whatever on the loose, we might have a whole team? Hell, why not a whole army?"
Commander Price gave him a cool, calm look. "Why do you think I brought in and built a special forces company, Lieutenant Commander? Why do you think I suddenly drafted the staff? If there's a war coming, and I am just about positive there is, the first place to see fighting will be right here."
Suddenly the Commander's face grew hard, and he leaned forward. "And I mean to win."
Ch.29
The Price That's Paid
The sun was gone, and the western sky was fading slowly from a deep golden red to a pearly gray that radiated a hint of violet at the edges. Venus hung low and bright in the sky like a taunting reminder of the sun's brightness only a few hours before. In the east, stars were beginning to pop out of the velvety backdrop of the early evening. Joe moved silently through the trees, slipping from shadow to shadow with ease. He was downwind from the small camp site now, and he could smell the smoking beef. If he'd had a smaller lunch, his stomach might have growled and given him away.
Joe dropped to a low crawl as the fire light began to grow brighter through the trees ahead. He could smell horses, too, and hear their soft chatter to each other off to the right. He'd already introduced himself to the horses, so they didn't make a fuss. He'd smeared peanut butter and raisins along the rope that was strung between two small pine trees and served as the crude picket line. Even if they didn't nibble through the rope and free themselves like he hoped, they'd be licking the peanut butter off for a while at least, and that would keep them quiet.
Joe crawled forward slowly on his belly until he could see around the roots of a large pine tree that towered over all of its neighbors. He had a clear view of the camp and could see a middle aged man with a few days stubble on his cheeks. The man had receding hair and deeper lines along his eyes and mouth than a man his age should have. He looked accustomed to long hours in the hot sun and the biting cold. To his left was a rough wooden rack made of bent saplings and limbs that hung over a bed of smoking coals. Strips of beef hung on the rack in the thick smoke that billowed up from the coals.
To the man's right stood an oak tree with a lever action rifle propped against it. At his feet were two massive Rottweilers. One of them was looking his way with its ears perked curiously. Joe carefully settled himself behind the tree and sited in on the dog looking at him.
"Hold onto your dogs!" Joe called out loudly, and suddenly both dogs shot to their feet. The man cursed and grabbed their collars, one in each hand; then he looked back toward the lever action rifle. "Make a move for that gun and I'll have to kill the dogs," Joe called. "Then I'll probably have to shoot you at least once"
The man looked like he was mulling it over anyway, but finally he turned his head and spat. "All right, I'll hold 'em. But you gotta come where I can see you."
Joe stood and worked his way around to the left, making sure to keep a tree between him and the man behind the fire. The dogs, both alert and intent on his every move, followed his progress with a low growl building in their throats. The man said something Joe couldn't hear, and both dogs sat in unison, though they seemed ready to charge at his command. True to his word, the man held on to the two collars.
Moving forward slowly, carefully, Joe kept his rifle ready and his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard in case he had to move quickly. He stepped just inside the light of the fire and nodded to the man. "If you've got a way to tie those dogs up, I'd appreciate it," he said. "That way we can have a relaxed conversation."
The man looked pointedly at the rifle in Joe's hands. "Relaxed, huh? I think I'll hold onto them for now. They're behaving good enough at the moment. Who are you?"
"Fair enough," Joe said, "but understand that if I even think one of them is coming at me, I'll drop 'em both. I've seen what dogs like that can do to a man and it ain't pretty. You alone or you got someone with you?"
The man hesitated and tightened his grip on the dogs' collars. "I'm alone. Who are you?"
Joe snorted. "You got some balls on ya—I'll give ya that. I'm the man whose cow you're smokin. Who are you?"
The man shook his head. "Nah, you ain't Mr. Thompson. I work at my uncle's processing shop out in West Bennett. I see Mr. Thompson two or three times a year when he's in the shop, and you ain't him."
Joe relaxed a bit, but kept his rifle ready. "You're right about that. I'm not Mr. Thompson. But if you know the man who owned this herd, then you know you ain't him either. So that still leaves the question of why you've killed and smoked half a cow that you know ain't yours."
The man's jaw clenched a few times, but after a moment he heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his eyes. "My name's Daniel, but everyone calls me Danny. I need the meat for my family. Everything we had went rotten after the blackout. My uncle's got his well, but we still need to eat."
Joe watched intently as the man spoke; he didn't seem to be lying, so Joe dropped the barrel of his rifle a touch and motioned toward the dogs. "Your friends are still making me nervous. My name is Joe Tillman, and you have my word that I won't hurt you. Now, can you please put them on a leash or something?"
"Orson, Wells," Danny said, tugging on each collar, "Off threat. Down." The two massive dogs relaxed and lay down, their tongues rolling out of their mouths like long pink ribbons. "I train security dogs when I'm not working my uncle's processing plant. These boys were star pupils and I kept them for myself."
Joe nodded and kept his finger near his trigger. Trained dogs like that could be switched on with one word sometimes, and he didn't want to get caught with his guard down. "What I said before about this being my cow, I wasn't lying," Joe said pointing at the strips of smoked beef. "I knew the Thompsons, and they're gone now. I'm in a partnership with their son, and I've got half interest in his herds. That means half the cow you've got laid out on that rack is his, and half is mine. But ain't a bit of it yours."
"Son?" Danny asked, "Where's he at? If the cows are his, why ain't I talking to him face to face?"
"Because you're talking to me," Joe said, "and since you killed that cow without permission, I guess that means you're willing to pay whatever we ask for it. Otherwise people might think you meant to steal it from us, and that would cause problems."
Danny's eyes narrowed. "Now wait a minute, Mister," he said, pointing to the beef. "I told you why I killed the cow. There's people starving back in West Bennett, and my family's among 'em. We need this food."
"I understand that," Joe said calmly, "and if you'd come asked for the cow, we might have given it to you. But you didn't come and ask; you snuck up on the back side of the new Mr. Thompson's property and you poached it. Like I said, if you were to take that beef without paying for it, people would think you stole it from us. Now, I know you don't want people thinking you're a thief, and I can't have people thinking it's okay to just come in here and steal our cows out from under us. So that's a problem for the both of us. So the way I see it, you can pay for the cows and there's no problem. Or we can go the other road."
"What's the other road?" Danny asked, meeting Joe's hard stare head on.
"I shoot you and your dogs right here," Joe said calmly. "We'll bury you out by the road, and people will get the message that it ain't okay to come in here and poach our cattle. Either way, I'm happy, so you tell me which way you
want to do this."
"What's the price?" Danny asked after a long moment of silence. His face twisted at the bitter taste of the words coming out of his mouth.
"The two horses and their saddles," Joe said pointing back through the trees toward the picket line. "You leave them here, and you're good to go with the beef—as much as you can take."
"Hell, that's robbery!" Danny shouted back, and both dogs made a deep growling sound.
Joe's rifle was up and leveled at the nearest dog before Danny could blink. "If they move, they're dead and you are too, got it?" Joe asked and waited for Danny to nod before he continued. "You knew the Thompsons were dead. You didn't even bat an eye when I mentioned it, and the smoke from that house burning was visible for miles around a couple of days ago. You had to put two and two together. So you knew there were people there at the house, and you didn't even try to make a deal for the cow. You saw an opportunity to take something, and you took it. As far as I see it, you're a thief, plain and simple. You're right, there's a lot of people dying right now cause they ain't got food. And you poaching our cattle is just like you taking food out of my family's mouth. Well, that dog don't hunt, Danny. So you give us those horses and saddles and be on your way, or I swear to Christ I will bury you and your dogs by that road and I won't lose a wink of sleep over it."
Danny swallowed hard, and for a moment he looked like a trapped fox trying to find his way out of the chicken house. Finally, his shoulders slumped in resignation, and he nodded. "I was going to use the horses to carry the meat back, though," he said dejectedly.
"You still got the dogs, " Joe said, "and we'll leave you the saddle bags. Take all the meat you can carry on your back and fit on those dogs. They look strong, so you should still get a good bit of it. Me and the boys will help you load up tonight, and you'll leave at first light in the morning."
Joe leaned forward and fixed his eyes hard on Danny's for a moment. "If you try to run, I will track you down and put a bullet in your back before you make it home. And if you come back this way, it better be to buy a cow and not to poach one. I catch you or anyone else poaching our cows again and I'll kill every last one of you. I don't mind selling extra beef if we've got it to spare, but someone tries to take what's ours and I won't stand for that, you understand?"
Danny nodded, but he didn't speak. Joe whistled for Eric and Brant to come up through the woods. They helped Danny stuff the saddle bags with some of the meat he'd already salted and smoked along with some jerky he'd salted and seasoned then dried in the sun. In the end there was a good thirty to forty pounds in each of the saddlebags, and they bulged like a hamster's cheeks.
"I could leave now," Danny said hopefully.
Joe shook his head. "First light, and not before," he said. "We'll be in the area, so don't think you can slip out without us seeing you. And we'll go ahead and take our horses and saddles, thank you very much."
"I still think this is robbery," Danny grumbled.
"It very nearly was," Joe agreed. "If you don't like the price, then next time negotiate it before you steal. Remember, take only what you can fit in the saddle bags and on your back. Leave the rest on the rack and we'll take it ourselves. I'll see you at sunrise to say goodbye."
Eric and Brant untied the horses and led them away from the campfire. Joe walked with them, and when they were out of ear shot of the camp, he leaned close to them and whispered. "Take the horses back to our place. Circle around wide and then head to the highway. Ride the horses if you can, otherwise just walk with them and they should follow you. Brant, you come back with Tom and we'll set up a watch to keep an eye on Danny. We're going to have to keep an eye out too in case Danny's uncle isn't happy when he comes back with no horses."
Brant nodded and the two boys moved off through the woods. Joe circled wide to the left and crept as close as he dared through the woods. He climbed up into a leaning deadfall and wedged himself into a pocket between the fallen trunk and two other pines that were bent nearly double from the weight of the fallen tree. He made himself as comfortable as he could and watched through the trees as Danny sat staring into the dying flames. Joe didn't really like the idea of letting this guy go since he clearly knew how to reach the pastures and he knew the size of the herds. But all of the other options ended in bloodshed, and he liked them even less.
Besides, Joe was certain that there would be enough blood shed in the days to come.
Ch.30
Ahead of the Storm
Mike looked up at the sky, only to see a heavy blanket of low clouds that hid the moon and the stars. There was a time when clouds like that would radiate with the orange-yellow glow of high powered sodium vapor lamps. There had been enough lights in and around Charlotte to turn a low hanging cloud bank into a massive nightlight that was almost bright enough to read by.
But now, the low and heavy thunderclouds were dark and ominous. They shrouded everything, lit only briefly by distant flashes that randomly punctuated the near-total darkness. The lightening was still far enough to the northeast that Mike couldn't hear the thunder, but judging by how quickly the flashes were increasing in frequency and intensity, he guessed it wouldn't be long before the rumbles of thunder would be echoing across the water.
All of sudden, a massive concrete pillar materialized from the dim inky soup around them, and Alex cursed softly. "What happened?" he asked, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to whisper.
Mike looked at the twisted rubble between the spans to their left. He opened his mouth to answer, but Alyssa beat him to it. "A bomb hit the bridge," she said in an oddly calm voice. "It must have been a big one to bring down the entire center span with one hit."
Silence settled over the lake and, like the darkness overhead, it was a testament of the turmoil that had just passed and a foreboding portent of troubles ahead. After a long moment, Alyssa turned to Mike. "That's where my mother died?"
Mike nodded but wasn't really sure she saw him clearly enough to tell. “Yes,” he said in a bare whisper, “she was on the other side and with friends. She didn't die alone.”
"We all die alone," Alyssa said, half to herself. Her eyes had a far off look in them as if she were trying to pierce the darkness and see the spot where her mother had been impaled by a jagged piece of the bridge’s steel. As if on cue, a long flickering flash of blue lightening lit up the sky behind them to the northeast. For a moment, the opposite side of the bridge was visible in the intense light. What Mike saw made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Parked near the edge of the jagged, gaping hole in the bridge were two vehicles that looked like tanks, with two rows of huge black wheels instead of tracks. The gun was shorter too, but not by much. As the light from that flash faded, the first dim rumble of thunder rolled through the darkness.
Alyssa and Alex clearly saw them as well. "We need to go, now," Alex said, his voice barely restrained, and so the three of them began paddling again. At first Alex put as much power behind his strokes as he could while still keeping them quiet. Off to their right they could hear dogs barking in the distance, but those sounds were dim echoes compared to the thunder that rumbled closer and closer. Nothing moved along the shore, and there was a foul smell that rose off the lake like a mixture of soured meat and strong fuel fumes.
Alex had sharp eyes, and he used the lightning flashes to judge the distance back to the ruined bridge. When he guessed they were well out of earshot, he slowed his pace and allowed Mike and Alyssa to catch up. "We've got to get off the water," he said. "In a half hour, maybe less, that storm's going to break, and we don't want to get caught out in the middle of that."
Mike nodded. "I agree. Between the wind and the lightning, we'll get flipped over, and I'm pretty sure this water isn't the kind you want to go swimming in right now. I've seen some dead fish floating by, and that's usually a pretty bad sign. But where do we go? We've still got four miles south to get even close to your sister's neighborhood."
"So we go the rest of the way on foot,
" Alyssa answered. "I don't want to get fried like a bug zapper if the lightning hits the water."
"There's a big housing development down about a mile and a half on the north shore," Alex said. "Right next door to that one is the land that was going to be a sister-neighborhood by the same builder, but the builder went belly up a few years back. The city ended up making the land a nature preserve or something. We can land there and get off the lake at least long enough to ride out the storm."
"How do you know about this place?" Mike asked, a little suspicious.
"A group of us liked to go up and down the river and camp along the way," Alex replied with a slight shrug. "You find little places like this every so often along the lake and the river. Up the river a little way from the Whitewater center are the ruins of an old shipping company or something. It's up past Hickory where they used to load up furniture to ship out to the rest of the country. The buildings are mostly under water now and make great places to catch fish. The artificial structures give them a break from the currents, so they crowd in there."
"You're sure this place is isolated?" Mike asked, still suspicious.
"As sure as I can be," Alex answered honestly. "Normally, you'd never see anyone down there ‘cause there just isn't anything there. It's all scrub brush and undergrowth from the forest slowly reclaiming land that was originally meant for executive style water-front properties. These days, with things the way they are, who knows? Half of Charlotte might be down there throwing a bonfire party."
"Well, if they are let's see if we can beat the rain and crash the party," Mike said, as they began paddling again. It took them longer than it should have to cover the distance, but Alex was navigating solely by the small ball compass set in the bow of his kayak. They reached the other shore to find broad grassy lawns manicured right up to the water's edge. After a few minutes following the shore to the right, the yards stopped and the woods began. It was almost like someone had drawn the division with a straight-edge.
