“I know, honey. Until we figure out what’s happening, your boyfriend will have to settle for visits at the farm, and you and your sister will be here. We can’t chance what they’re going to do, and I don’t want you to venture into town. For now, we need to stay here.”
“But Mom . . .”
“You can shop on the internet, but my darling girl, if you don’t seek my approval of what you’re buying, you and I are going to tangle.”
Dad hollered in a voice they had not heard, and in a tone that frightened them.
“Pay attention! We are a family, and you will do as you are told,” he boomed. His intensity was startling. Everyone, his wife included, sat and listened.
“You, each and every one of you, will do as you are told. We are in survival mode. We don’t know what they will do, and what they are capable of.” He had their attention.
“Boys, you will take your hunting rifles. You can sight the situation through your scopes. If anyone threatens our livestock, and I expect that they will, you will shoot them down. Do you understand me?”
“You mean, I might have to shoot somebody?” Rory was the next in line of consanguinity, and it was his turn to speak.
“You got your first buck with that gun. I know you can shoot. I don’t want you to have to, but if it means us over them, yes, son. Don’t ask me for permission. You shoot.”
“Dad, I . . .”
“I’ll be there for you, Rory. I’ll take the shot if need be. But if I’m not there for some reason, you need to decide.”
Rory took stock of the situation. “Dad, shooting a deer is a lot different from shootin’ a man. I don’t know . . .”
“I know, son . . .” He walked across the kitchen and hugged his son, so young; and on the precipice of being a man. Behind him, the rest of the family converged. They were together in mind and spirit, and the group hug was comforting and warm. They held each other for a long time, not speaking, just holding. Finally, Dad broke the silence and spoke.
“This is a tough time for all of us. We didn’t bring this on, but we have to deal with it or stand to lose all that we have. We need to protect what’s ours, and by God, that is what we will do.”
CHAPTER 76
F
abio was surrounded by the only members of his neighborhood gang that decided to leave. The city was on fire. People were talking about some plague that came from the rats, and the power was out. The trucks that brought food had stopped
coming. The cars didn’t work. His apartment didn’t have heat, and he had eaten all of the leftover Chinese food that lingered in his refrigerator. He relied on Guido’s or Chin Ho’s, the restaurants down the street, to fill his belly most days, and they were closed. He had decided to hop on the train when his neighbors, the Sovieros, locked their apartment next to his. They walked out into the January sun with their winter coats and what they could carry.
“Where ya goin’?”
“We can’t stay here no longer,” said Anthony, who huddled in the middle of the street with his wife and two young children. “You need to think about what’s about to come. Once that fire hits our building, where are you gonna go? It can only get worse. People been talkin’ about them rats, the Gambian ones, that’s bigger than a cat. No way we gonna stay here with the rats and the fire and all. You need to man up and get outta here while you can. We’re taking that train.” They turned and walked away, toward the train station that emitted the whistle every few minutes. It was the only sound other than the crackling of the fire that was aggressively consuming the building at the end of their street.
The city was dead, and those who tried to cling to the way things used to be would die along with the past. Fabio stood in the empty street, watching his neighbors disappear in the distance. He realized that he had never been anywhere than the city, and the thought of leaving New York was frightening to him. All he had was the city, and now it was like a lifeless corpse. All that he had and everything that gave him comfort was going up in flames. There was nothing he could do about it, and he had to go.
“Come on,” he announced to his only remaining friends, Arthur and Frankie. They had considered themselves a gang, a mutual protection society created in childhood and a stronger alliance than his loose-knit family. When their parents passed away, the gang became the only family they had, and their loyalty to each other was a bond that could not be broken. They retreated to their apartments and gathered up their possessions of value and clothes they thought they would need, and appeared in the street a few minutes later. It turned out that they were traveling light. There wasn’t much to save.
“Frankie, you can’t take your Xbox. The bomb broke it. It don’t work no more,” explained Fabio. “Bring what food won’t go bad, and some clothes, and the warmest coat ya got.”
“But Fabio . . .”
“Ya can’t bring nothin’ that runs on electricity, understand? It ain’t no good no more.”
“OK, I’ll just bring what you told me . . .”
“Hurry,” said Fabio, as the roof of the building next to his apartment erupted in a roar of flame and smoke.
CHAPTER 77
B
radbury stood in his Pentagon office facing the split-screen monitor that occupied one wall. The doors were locked, and his staff was given strict instructions that he not be disturbed. His orders would be followed without question. Like the general, his
staff had risen through the ranks, and disobeying the command of a superior officer would have resulted in a busting of rank. The interior of Pryor’s massive great room occupied the left side of the screen, and the right side showed a glitzy high-rise hotel in Las Vegas. In the great room stood Pryor, dressed in an ornate military uniform, more grand than the general himself. He has become a military man now, has he? I’ll have to have a few tense words with the Society about this. We have a madman steering the ship.
There was another presence in the room. He could see the back of the man’s head and that he had dark hair, but that was all. He held a cell phone in his left hand. “Mr. Pryor,” the general began. “I informed you at the last meeting of the members that when it came time to impose martial law that you would have my full support. The combined forces of our military would be under my control, and the commander in chief would be removed from power until order is restored. I conditioned that support upon the premise that there would be no collateral damage of American citizens.” General Bradbury paused, anticipating that Pryor would loudly protest his opening comments, and he was right.
“General, I want you to see how we deal with deal breakers. If you will focus your attention on the tall building on the right side of the screen, you will get an understanding of our situation.” Pryor ignored Bradbury’s comments. He was wallowing in his megalomania; his illness had rendered his mind incapable of entertaining a thought that differed from his own.
That son of a bitch thinks that dressing up to look like me makes him a military leader. If he ever served, it was stateside behind a desk. He never looked into the eyes of a man facing death at his own hands. He doesn’t have the guts or the discipline to pull the trigger himself.
“Before we begin, I want you to understand the events that led us here. What you see is the tallest residence in Las Vegas, the Apex. In the penthouse of that building is a traitor to our cause, along with his crew. We know him as Bob, and we have been sending him around the country installing our little EMP bombs for us. This one is just a dummy device, with a big surprise. This will be his last assignment, for poor Bob couldn’t keep his mouth shut and do as he was told. He tattled on us, general, and we can’t have that, can we?” Pryor nodded to Darkhorse, who punched three numbers into the cell phone. A second later, the top of the building exploded in a bright fireball.
Bradbury took the explosion as his opportunity to terminate the connection.
The duty of a soldier is to live and fight another day. If someone doesn’t take him out before I get the chance, I’ll perso
nally kill him with my bare hands.
CHAPTER 78
I
’m hungry, and I need meat.” Fabio and his cohorts sat huddled in the canvas tent, a remnant of wars past. It had been preserved for unknown future use by government bean counters, who could qualify the old relic as “in use.” That way, the drafty shelter
could be checked off on audit forms as useful, and the taxpayers could see their money in service. It didn’t keep out the cold, though, and whenever the wind blew, it was as comforting as a miniskirt in a blizzard.
“We been here for a full day, and all they fed us is granola bars and water. The coffee sucks, and I ain’t seen no real food since I left the city,” Fabio complained loudly to whoever chose to listen. Most people came to the food tent to fill their bellies and trade gossip. He came out of boredom and the need to cause a ruckus.
He was still their leader, despite their change of location, and they shared the misery. The people who came by train to this temporary home had nobody they could rely upon to take them in; no relatives, and no money to pay for their keep. They were America’s orphans, transported from the familiar to a place they didn’t want to be. Fabio thrived on his mini-leadership status. He ventured out of the tent with Arthur and Frankie in step, intent on creating enough mayhem to set himself apart as a badass. He brandished his switchblade, sharpened until it doubled as a razor. Whenever it emerged from the internal pocket of his leather jacket, it provoked fear in anyone within slashing distance.
“I am the master of my world, and you are my slaves!” He spun, the blade extended at arm’s length. The crowd backed away in silence, and he stood in the middle of the clearing, the sun gleaming off the metal of his weapon.
“Put that thing away or put it to good use,” exclaimed a voice from the back of the gathering.
“Who said that?”
“I did.” The crowd parted, and a man in his late seventies stood alone, a defiant look on his face. He wore a black ball cap that signified he had seen combat in Vietnam, and his tattered khaki coat bore the insignia of the First Battalion, Ninth Marines. The symbol on his patch was the Grim Reaper. His battalion was known as The Walking Dead for the high number of casualties sustained in jungle combat, and he had survived. That feat had officially qualified him as a badass among his fellow marines, and he had proudly carried that reputation throughout his long life. He was a man that Fabio was ill prepared to confront.
“I already have a few scars I picked up in Laos, and I’m willing to bet that I can wrestle that pig sticker out of your hand and poke a few gushers in you before I’m down and out,” he announced.
“You think so, old man? You think so?” Fabio moved forward and swept the knife in a menacing arc. Many of the observers backed away from the threat, but the unarmed marine stood solid with his arms at his sides.
“I ain’t gonna stand down to no punk with a knife who never had cause to use one except to clean the crap from under his fingernails.” He moved closer in a menacing motion, into the range of the knife. Fabio took two steps backward, and several people laughed. He was all bravado, and the marine had determined early that his opponent had no expertise at hand-to-hand combat. Worse for Fabio, the young man had no desire for anything more than intimidation, and the old marine could see it in his eyes.
“I’ll show you, I can use this to cut you up, but I won’t bloody it up on some old vet. You’ll see. I’m gonna get me some meat.”
“Hunting with a four-inch blade? You intend to sneak up on Bambi and cut his neck?”
Fabio sputtered. Without words and lacking the ability to respond, he had been stripped of the small amount of control he maintained. He had nothing.
The laughter spread, and Fabio fled, followed by his two obedient stooges. They ran until they were out of breath and the sound of the laughter had dissipated in the whipping wind. “I’ll show them. They’ll see,” he proclaimed. Arthur and Frankie stared at him, needing guidance and getting none. They shivered and waited, without a plan and without a clue.
CHAPTER 79
T
hirteen-year-old Rory Stableton looked through the sights on his .30-06 rifle at the tent city. His companion was his eleven-year-old brother, Jonathan. Both boys carried a backpack containing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches their mom
had prepared before dawn, along with an apple and fresh brownies that still emitted the comforting aroma that had lured them to the country kitchen the night before, long before the baking was done. It had worked every time, that luring scent. It comforted them, the familiarity of it, and they moved confidently toward the stone wall that would be their post. Before the sun came up, the boys were off on their assigned tasks, intent on their mission.
Between their observation point at the top of the hill and the canvas home of displaced New Yorkers, was the winter pasture of the Stableton herd of dairy cows. Beneath a thin layer of snow, there was the leftover hay of summer, once six-feet high, that now lay brown and flat on the ground. In the organic remains of the previous harvest season was food for the production of milk, and with it, the start of cheese, and the nutrition the cows needed to survive the fallow months before spring. There were thirteen of them, placidly grazing in the sun. It would only take a ring of the dinner bell at the cow barn, and their simple minds would lead them ambling slowly back to shelter for the night. But there was no time.
Off in the distance, Rory sighted three dark figures closing in on a yearling that stood at the low end of the pasture. They were still over a hundred yards apart, but he could see the sun glint off metal in the hand of the leather-jacketed figure in front. He was in a crouch and moving slowly toward the small herd of Jersey cows.
Rory looked down at his little brother, who was trying to quietly swallow the last of Rory’s brownie. He had already finished his own, and the guilty look on his face was enough to convict the young boy in any court in the land. Normally, Rory would have taken the opportunity to thrash him and take back what was left of his lunch, but he didn’t care about that now. He needed guidance.
“Johnny, get the phone and call Dad.”
“Where is it?” the boy replied, his speech garbled by the prodigious amount of brownie that had not left his mouth.
“Look in your pocket, you ass.”
“I’m tellin’,” he responded.
“Johnny, if you don’t hurry up, that guy down there is going to kill one of our calves, and then I’m telling on you . . . hurry up, you turd.”
Fumbling on the outside of his pants, Johnny felt the familiar outline of the cell phone. He pulled it out and quickly handed it to Rory, who flipped it open and said, “Dad.”
CHAPTER 80
F
abio stood in a half crouch, his knife in his right hand. “Here, boy.” He slowly crept toward his prey and whistled. “Fab, I don’t think that’s a boy cow. It has those milky
things down there. I remember them being bigger on TV . . .” “Shut up, Frankie. Here boy.” He took another step in the calf ’s direction, prepared to run at the first sign of aggression. It was the closest he had been to a living animal that large outside of a zoo, and his heart was pounding with adrenaline. The heifer raised its head and continued to placidly chew its hay.
“Look how big its eyes are. I never saw such big eyes . . .” Arthur had expressed what his cohorts were thinking. “Are you gonna kill that cow?”
“Both of you just shut up.”
He didn’t move forward, deliberating his next move. “I’m going to cut us up some steaks, and then we’ll be eating better than those assholes down there. Then who’s the hero?”
Fabio took another tentative step toward his prey.
“Maybe you oughta milk it.”
“Do you know how to milk a cow, Frankie? I sure don’t. Why don’t you just crawl under there and start milking, and when you’re done pulling on those tits, I’ll get me some meat.”
“I’m not touchin’ those things.”
&nbs
p; Fabio turned his head, intent on continuing the ludicrous argument. “You freakin’ idiot. You’ll scare it away.” The young milk cow sensed danger in his voice, and raised its ears. They froze in their tracks and stepped back. The trio moved backward in synchronized movements, holding their arms in a mock surrender posture.
Arthur had never been out of the city, and his gaze was intent on the animal’s eyes, just like he had seen in countless movies when the main character encounters a wild animal in the jungle. If he had been paying attention to where he was stepping he wouldn’t have stepped into the steaming pile of cow manure. The scent hit his nostrils and he yelled, pulling his leather-soled street shoes up in an attempt to extract both feet at once. He succeeded until gravity took over, and came back to the ground in a stomp, still in the center of the cow pie. The manure splattered all over the jeans of Fabio and Frankie, who immediately concluded that he had done it on purpose. They took off in his direction, startling the calf, who began a quick amble in the opposite direction and the protection of the herd.
CHAPTER 81
D
ad, Dad!” Rory had entered panic mode, and Johnny was already hysterical. “He’s getting closer,” he screamed. “Tell me what you see. How many are there? Do they all have knives?”
Rory looked through the sight of his hunting rifle at the unfolding emergency over two hundred fifty yards away. “Three of ’em. First, two of them were chasing the third man around, and then the one with the knife started chasing the heifer again.”
“He’s gaining on her!” Johnny was standing erect, his young eyes intent on the chase.
“Set your sights on the one with the knife. Can you make the shot?”
Rory had become proficient with the hand-me-down .30-06 rifle, having bagged his first buck when he was the same age as his little brother, but this was a person, and he was running, and they were now six hundred yards away. He had never intended to do any shooting, just looking through the scope while his sisters used the only two pairs of binoculars from their bedroom windows.
No Corner to Hide (The Max Masterson Series Book 2) Page 24
