Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2

by D W McAliley

  Ch.33

  First Light

  The deep, ruby-red sliver of the sun had just barely broken the eastern horizon when Joe walked into Danny's campsite. The two Rottweilers stood and growled deep in their throats as he stepped out from among the tree trunks. Their hackles were up, but they weren’t ready to lunge at him like the night before. Perhaps they recognized his scent and knew that he'd already been allowed to come and go. Or maybe they just weren't as cautious in the daylight. Either way, they were clearly not as aggressive this morning, and Joe was thankful for that.

  Still, he kept a hand on his rifle, just in case. "Good to see you're up and ready to go," Joe said to Danny as he pointed up to the low-hanging clouds that glowed like embers. "Looks like we might get rain today. Hope you make it where you're going before the bottom falls out."

  Danny grunted. "It'd be a lot easier to stay dry if I was riding one of my horses," he grumbled.

  "Yeah, it would," Joe agreed sagaciously. "Look, any of this gear that you have to leave behind, if you want it back you can come and get it any time. I'll have it over at my place, and we can discuss any trading you might be interested in as well. Mr. Thompson will be there to deal with, and we can haggle terms out to your satisfaction. But this stuff you're leaving behind is yours, and I'll consider it yours until you tell me otherwise. Far as I'm concerned, the horses paid for the cow and the misunderstanding."

  Danny frowned. "Why are you doing this, Mister Tillman? Most people would've just shot me for poaching or they'd have been too scared to even try and stop me. Why are you going out of your way like this?"

  Joe met Danny’s gaze with a look of steel. "Times are hard, and they're only going to get a lot harder," he said. "It's going to take hard men to survive the hard times coming, and I mean to survive. But I also mean to keep who I am, my principles, my integrity, and my honor intact. If I can help anyone else do the same, then all the better. If you're interested, you know the road this pasture borders. Head east on it until you come to a cross roads with Spring Dale Church Road. Take a left and go about a mile and a half. You'll see Cutler's Run Road off to your left. Someone will meet you there at the stop sign."

  Joe offered his hand, and Danny shook it firmly. "Don't try to go past the sign at Cutler's Run until someone meets you," Joe said, his tone serious. "That's a close knit community, and there's some might not take too kindly to strangers coming in unannounced, if you catch my meaning. And if I catch you trying to sneak in somehow, I'll just go ahead and assume you mean to do no good."

  Danny nodded, but didn't say anything as he bent and tied the saddlebags on the broad backs of the two dogs. When he straightened, he shouldered what looked like a heavy hiking pack with grease stains on the bottom corner. Without a word or a glance back, he picked up his lever action rifle and set off into the woods with the two Rottweiler's trotting by his side. When they were out of sight, Joe turned and started breaking down the camp so it would be ready to pack out when the others got there.

  Eric, Brant, and Tom came walking through the trees about a half hour after Danny left. The sun had risen enough to be completely hidden by the low blanket of clouds. "You got the horses to the house?" Joe asked, and Eric nodded. "Good, let's get this stuff to your tents, Brant, then we've got to talk."

  Joe and Tom started packing away the strips of beef that were still hanging on the wooden rack over the now dying embers of the smoking fire. Brant and Eric split the load of the tent, bedroll, and cooking utensils between them. It took only a few minutes, and they had the entire camp broken down and on their backs ready to go. Joe and Tom kicked dirt over the cold fire and tested the embers with their hands to make sure they were cool enough to leave safely. Satisfied, Joe stood and nodded toward the trees. The four men set off through the trees for Cutler’s Run.

  The group didn't speak much as they walked through the woods and around the edge of the upper pasture. They crossed the road, and Brant paused by the ashes that had been his home. The other three kept walking, and after a moment, Brant caught up to them. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were red and his jaw clenched.

  They walked through the lower pasture and crossed the fence into the river pasture. Brant led them out of the long grass and back into the woods. After thirty yards or so, they came to a small clearing in the trees where Brant and his two friends had set up their tents. The three pup tents stood on the edge of the clearing and a circle of stones held a small campfire out front where Oscar and his brother Justin met them with water and food.

  Warm bottled water and cold toaster pastries had never tasted as good to Eric. While the rest of them ate, Joe stood and paced back and forth in the area around the small campfire. After a while he took a long drink of his water and stopped. "We've got a problem," he said without preamble. "That man Danny knows where the herd is, and he knows we're out here looking after it. We're going to have to watch them closer than before. Two people watching the upper herd and two watching the lower."

  "Do you think he'll be back?" Tom asked.

  Joe shrugged. "Can't be sure, but I don't think his uncle will be happy about losing more than half the cow and his two horses. Besides, if he gets desperate again, he knows there's meat here."

  "Then why did you let him go?" Tom asked quietly.

  Joe fixed him with a cold, hard stare. "He wasn't a threat. And we don't know that he's going to be trouble yet. He poached a cow, but he was desperate. If he does it again, that's one thing, but right now there just ain't cause enough. Besides, if he comes back to trade, we might be able to build a good relationship out of it."

  "What do you mean?" Brant asked. "What kind of relationship?"

  "There's going to be things we need, Brant," Joe said. "Only way to get those things is going to be trade for them, make them, or go looking for them. If we can trade with someone for those things as much as possible, then that means it's less time we have to spend looking for what we can't make."

  "And if he comes back looking for trouble?" Tom asked quietly.

  "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it, Tom, just like always," Joe replied, "but I'm not going to just kill a man for trying to feed his people. It's no less than I would have done if my back was against a wall. Are you really saying you'd have done it differently?"

  Tom shook his head as he met Joe’s stare. "I just want to make sure you've considered the possibility is all," Tom replied. "Make sure these boys here understand what that means, too. Could come down to blood being shed, and they need to know why."

  Joe was quiet for a moment. "We'll have two people on the upper herd," he said finally, "and two people on the lower at all times. If you see anyone, and I mean anyone, send a runner back to the house and regroup here. Do not engage unless they engage you first, and try to stay out of sight when you're on watch. Someone could show up that's not connected with Danny, and they might not be as honorable as our poacher."

  Joe looked at each man in turn, making eye contact with each individual. "Tom, you and Oscar take the upper herd. Brant, you and Justin watch the lower. Chris or Eric will come out with relief around sun down. We've probably got a couple of days at least before we can expect to see Danny or any of his friends back here, but keep your eyes peeled anyway."

  Joe handed his unopened pastry back to Brant. "You're probably going to need a snack before I will." Brant started to turn away, but Joe caught his arm for a moment. "Some people might have lashed out and tried to hurt someone they caught poaching like that, Brant. You did the right thing coming to get me first. But if someone draws a gun on you, or starts shooting at you first, you don't hesitate. Do what you have to and you survive. You understand?"

  Brant nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.

  Joe released Brant's arm. "Ya'll keep your guns close just in case. Danny and his uncle ain't the only people that know who lived here and what they had. And don't assume you can trust someone just because you know who they were before this all happened. You might not know who they are now
."

  There were nods and serious looks all around. With nothing left to say after that, Joe and Eric left and headed back along the road. Every few hundred yards the road curved around a bend or headed down a small hill, and Joe would lead Eric into the trees. Except for random fields and houses, the trees grew right up to within a few yards of the road, and the two travelers could be out of sight under the canopy in a matter of seconds.

  It was a dense, compact kind of growth, half-way between young saplings and early maturing adult hardwoods and pines, the leftovers from decades old clear cuts in several tracts. Tightly spaced trees and lingering underbrush made for good cover as they doubled back along their trail to make sure they weren't being followed.

  "Never can be too safe," Joe told Eric softly. "The last thing you want to do when you're in questionable territory is lead an enemy right up to the gates of your base without knowing it. There can be times when it's useful, but if you don't know he's there, then you can be the one that turns out getting used."

  "Why would you want to lead an enemy to your own base?" Eric whispered, confused by the apparent contradiction.

  "So you can force him to fight you on your own turf," Joe whispered back. "Or you might have an ambush laid on the way. Spring the trap when he gets close and use a rear guard to pin him against your defenses. Or maybe you're just in a hurry. Point is, the only time you want an enemy to follow you back home is when you know he’s there, and you never want one to follow you when you don't know he’s there."

  Eric nodded, thinking it all over. He started to ask another question but Joe suddenly dropped to one knee and held his right hand up. Eric knelt also and scanned the shadows around them for any threat. Joe put one finger across his lips, and then pointed to the road.

  Eric, his pulse pounding in his neck and his temples, crept forward just enough to peek past his father's right shoulder. A large doe with two small, spotted fawns tottering on wobbly legs crossed the road they'd just walked down, using the narrow power line cut through as a ready-made game highway.

  "If they're going across behind us," Joe whispered, "not much chance we've got anyone following us. Still, if you don't stay in the practice of looking every time, one day you'll be slack. And I guarantee that will be the one day you’ll have someone you didn't know about behind you. It's kind of like hunting, but you've got to think like the hunter and the deer."

  They made their way back to the road and trotted along in silence for a while. The next time they took to the tree line, Joe stopped and turned to his son. He put one hand on Eric's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "You did good getting out of Charlotte the way you did, son. But there ain't gonna be any running from here. You remember two things, son: Don't shoot first, and don't give up what you've got. I chose this life and it took me years to really prepare myself for it. You've had it shoved on you at the flip of a switch."

  Joe squeezed Eric's shoulder again. "I'm proud of you, son."

  Eric tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. He stubbornly refused to shed a tear and simply nodded instead. They passed the rest of the way back to the farm without speaking, the comfortable silence seeming a precious thing to shelter as long as possible.

  Ch.34

  Person of Interest

  Lieutenant Commander Marcus Attledge waited patiently outside the door to Jacobs' quarters. The night shift had ended a good half hour ago, and the people from that shift were filtering through the hallways bit by bit. A few paused or slowed down long enough to frown in the direction of the Lt. Commander and the two armed security personnel standing on either side of him—rifles ready. But any who looked long at the expression on his face or noticed the black armbands saying 'MP' on the upper arms of the two security personnel thought better of loitering and moved on quickly.

  Marcus didn't like what he was doing. It left a foul taste in his mouth, and it made his skin crawl. The only reason he had taken this stand was because he knew it was the only way to accomplish what needed to be done.

  Still, he didn't like it.

  The tall seaman rounded a corner in the hall and stopped short when as he saw the Lt. Commander. He paled visibly as he took in the uniforms and weapons of the MP's standing on either side of Marcus. "Shit," he said under his breath.

  "Seaman Hamilton, you are hereby placed under arrest under suspicion of murder," Marcus said formally, as he swallowed the bitter taste of bile. "You have the right to have an advocate present at any questioning. The MP's will escort you to a holding cell immediately." Rooted to that spot, the tall young man didn't speak, but trembled slightly as Marcus spoke. The MP's had to gently turn him back down the hallway before he would start walking.

  Marcus watched the three men slowly walk away, and he fought the urge to be sick. The MP's were the same men who had guarded Jacobs’ cell, though there was no way Hamilton could know that. They'd been shown pictures of the lanky young man and both confirmed that he wasn't the one who'd poisoned Jacobs.

  Commander Price was convinced that Jacobs’ murder was a clear indication he had been a part of whatever clandestine group was operating within the base. Marcus, however, had some serious doubts. Regardless of Jacobs' guilt or innocence, even Commander Price agreed that Hamilton was almost certainly innocent. Marcus had been ordered to arrest him in public to set him up as bait.

  The two MP's had been instructed to stand guard the same as before, but under no circumstances were they to allow anyone past them into the cells except Marcus or the Commander himself. They were to take the name and serial number of anyone trying to gain entrance, not that it was likely whoever was responsible would be stupid enough to use poison twice. Still, with no other access to the lower cells, it might be the only option to a would-be assassin.

  Even though Commander Price was convinced of Hamilton’s innocence, he was equally convinced that someone would try to kill him. Such an attempt would make it easier to believe Jacobs, and, at the same time, confirm his theory that a lone assassin was trying to cover his tracks.

  When the men were out of sight and Marcus was sure he was alone in the hallway, he turned and unlocked the door behind him. He quickly stepped into the quarters, shut the door, and locked the deadbolt. He flipped on the lights and saw that Jacobs's belongings had already been cleaned out of the drawers and the cabinets. Everything was packed neatly in the open foot locker that stood at the foot of his bed, an unopened note on top addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs.

  Hamilton had packed his things personally.

  Most personnel reports from people who knew them said that Hamilton and Jacobs were good friends. As with any closed community, there were few secrets, and the smarter Jacobs was known to stick up for Hamilton when others came down hard on him.

  Marcus ground his teeth and reminded himself that he was there to do what needed to be done, whether he liked it or not.

  He reached over the doorway and pressed a small camera into place just above the frame. The tiny fiber optic lens would offer a view of the entire room, and the miniaturized transmitter would send that video feed back to the central computer system. Another camera in the far left corner captured a clear view of both foot lockers and dressers. When he was done, Marcus flipped off the lights and left as quickly and quietly as he'd entered, locking both locks behind him.

  Even if Hamilton wasn’t a target for elimination by a lone assassin, one of his accomplices would definitely try and get in his quarters to find out what he did or didn't know, and Marcus wanted to make sure that he got a good look at whomever opened that door.

  Ch.35

  Dry Feet

  Mike stirred instant coffee into tepid bottled water. He drank it as quickly as he could and made another. He had slept the night before, but not well. There wasn't any way for him to lie down without waking Alyssa once she was asleep in his lap, and he didn't want to risk her pulling away. So he'd slept sitting up, and his back and neck were stiff and sore from it. To make matters worse, it hadn't eve
n been a very restful sleep. Every time Alyssa shifted or groaned, Mike awoke with a start. Between her and the unfamiliar sounds outside the open window, Mike spent most of the night awake, sweating, and alert to any possible threats.

  It was going to be a long day, but at least he had on dry, comfortable clothes, including a pair of fresh boots waiting by the door. The one thing he didn't have was a clean, dry pair of socks. Mike sipped his second cup of cold instant coffee as he tried to come up with a solution to the problem.

  Alyssa came out of the bathroom with a sour expression on her face and the toilet bucket held at arms' length. She made her way down the hall and out the back door to a small hole Mike had dug in the back right corner of the fenced in yard. When she came back inside, she held the bucket even further away, her face pinched in a painful grimace. Still, she managed to get the bucket into the back bathroom and close the door. Mike chuckled as she subconsciously wiped her hands on her shirt.

  "You ready?" Alyssa asked anxiously.

  Mike wiggled his toes. "Almost, I just have to figure out what to do about getting dry socks. Last thing I need right now is a case of trench foot hobbling me up so I can't walk."

  Alyssa turned and opened her pack where it leaned against the wall. In the bottom, wrapped in a thick, black trash bag was an opened pack of athletic socks. She handed it over to Mike. "Here, put a pair on, and let's go. I want to see my sister."

  Mike frowned at the socks which, besides being men's socks, were clearly several sizes too big for Alyssa's feet. He started to ask here where she'd gotten them but decided to save the question for later. Mike opened the pack and took out a pair, feeling the thick warm cotton between his fingers. The socks were well-made and bone dry. He hesitated for a moment, then handed the pack back to Alyssa. She shook her head and wouldn't take them.