“Any movement from the house?” Gerard’s muted voice came across the radio clearly.
“Negative sir.”
“Squad One, move in. Squad two, find the man, I don’t want a lone wolf sniping us. Squad three, you’re lookout. Keep where you are and protect our flank. Move.”
No one replied, but the squad tics on the radio were all the acknowledgement that Gerard needed.
+++++
“Now?” Bobby asked, a fuse in his hand and a lighter in the other.
“No, something’s going on,” Duncan told him.
“How can you tell?” Corinne asked, lying by the two men.
Duncan pointed to the earwig that he had plugged into the radio.
When one of the rogue guard units had turned tail and drove into their kill zone, they had almost pulled the trigger.
“Are you sure?” Duncan asked what appeared to be no one. “Ok then.”
“Stand down Bobby,” he looked at the young man, “those aren’t the bad guys. Not anymore.”
“But…”
Duncan tapped his earwig, “base called, and they are on the horn with someone who has been listening to their encoded conversations. Those guys are the good guys, and they might just be allies.
“I hope you’re right,” Bobby said and put the lighter down, his hands shaking.
Chapter 6 -
Pinhoti Trail, Alabama
The dreams of fleeing the suburbs wake Michael. He almost cried out loud, which would have awoken everybody. The cave was warm with their combined body heat. Slowly, Michael stood and tip toed across the sleeping forms and went outside to stretch and water a tree. It’d been a long time now since he had lived out here in the wilderness and wondered if it was safe for them to go back out. Even if the Chief’s men were still after them, could they even get to their remote location?
After he was done with his watering, he walked back to the stream that connected to the river and sat down. He hated the dream, he still could see the faces of the men he killed. The lives he saved only offset that guilt a small degree. Someday he’d have to tell Linny and Bret the truth, but not today.
Michael stared into the water, letting his mind go back in time, reliving the day.
John and Michael had ridden to his house on the quad. Michael had packed up everything he thought he might need for roughing it. They had originally planned on going into town first, but when they stopped at Michaels House, he didn’t say anything.
“We have to conserve gas,” was all John said when he turned off the motor.
He packed several changes of clothes and then went to the garage. He took a lot of gear with him, and still had his big pack frame at the cave, but he didn’t want to leave the rest of his fishing gear behind. He’d taken all of the Yo-Yo automatic reels he could, all the spare tackle and spools of line. He then opened the gun safe and took his shotgun, a Remington 870 that he’d used every spring for turkey hunting.
“Better take that too,” John pointed to the shelf where his father’s 1911 .45 was sitting.
“That’s dads. He’d be-“
“You need it more than he does right now. He’s safe, who knows if we are. What happened to you today is a perfect example of why… Oh wow. What’s wrong with that?”
“What?” Michael asked, curious about the change in the tone of voice in Daniel’s father.
“The Impala, is it a 66?”
“’67. I’ve been working on it all year. It’s what I got busted in…”
“Big back seat,” John said absent mindedly and then turned bright red when he saw the expression on Michael’s face.
“Sorry Michael, I used to have one of these a long time ago. When my wife was alive, we used to go to the movies in my ’66. Didn’t mean that to sound…”
“It’s ok,” Michael said, trying to change the subject.
“We shouldn’t leave this here,” John told him.
“I don’t have the keys, my dad took them because I’m grounded.”
“He gave them to me. He was going to let you off early if you didn’t get in trouble.” John told him, opening the door and sliding in.
The glow of the light surprised Michael and he jumped when the car fired up.
“I thought all cars were dead?” Michael asked when the motor was turned off immediately.
“It's too old to have circuit boards. This thing doesn’t have anything electronic in it… well, except your new radio. Should have stuck with the stock radio. It was a tube variety,” John was grinning.
“Wow, ok. So want to take the car into town?” Michael asked, feeling hopeful.
“No, that’s not a good idea. Let’s pack the trailer and push it inside here with your car. We’ll come back for it in a little bit.”
“Why?” Michael asked, confused but excited that the jalopy he’d been working on all summer still worked.
“Because it might be the only running car around,” John said cryptically.
They pushed the trailer inside the garage and closed it back up. John turned and handed Michael’s father’s .45 to him, after making sure he knew how to use it.
“We go shooting every weekend,” Michael told him.
“I thought so, but I wanted to make sure,” John had one as well, but he wore it in a holster on his side, where as Michael tucked his into the small of his back after pocketing two spare magazines.
They had ridden down the streets on the three wheeler, drawing curious glances from everyone who heard it, ignored yelled questions and within twenty minutes had made it to the police department. The sound of the quad’s motor had two uniformed officers attention immediately. They were just standing outside talking and smoking. One of them had stepped inside and within a moment the Chief stepped out and talked to the man still smoking. The three cops walked towards the three wheeler before John turned the motor off.
“Wow.” Michael said, worried about how quickly they were being approached. “Do you think they know what I did already?”
“Nope. I think this might have been a mistake. Keep your shirt tucked in, and if things go sideways, step behind me.”
“What are you talking abou-“ Michael never finished the question as the Chief interrupted.
“John Norton, how’d you get that thing running, change the points or something?” The chief asked.
“No, it just works. We’re here to report an attempted robbery and-“ John was interrupted by the chief as well.
“Well, see here. We’re under a national emergency. I’m going to have to confiscate this here piece of equipment. We’ll give you a receipt and when things come back on…” He smiled at them, used to having his own way.
“No, Billy. You aren’t taking my three wheeler. We’re here to report an attempted robbery and assault on…”
“Mr. Lewiston, your father told me you’d be out of town this week. I really don’t want to have Officer Shepherd and Stark take you in for statutory-“
“I’m not here about your daughter. Sir. Somebody tried to rob me, and he’s…”
“Go on,” one of the officers said.
“He’s dead sir. His kids are out there and they need-“
“Well now, once we have this quad, we can go take care of it. Step aside,” the chief interrupted again.
Michael’s temper flared up, but he held his tongue. He stepped behind his friend’s father as earlier instructed and waited for things to go south. He didn’t have long to wait.
“That isn’t going to happen and quit interrupting me. You guys have nothing working?” John’s voice came out between clenched teeth.
“A few old trucks we confiscated last night and this morning. This ride here will be for short distance-“
“You aren’t taking my three wheeler.” John took the key out of the ignition and pocketed it, leaving his hand close to his side.
The chief moved one hand that’d been obscured behind one of the men standing beside him with a large black revolver.
“Get ready,” John whispered without moving his lips.
The chief began to raise his gun when the other officers started to draw their pistols as well. All eyes were on John, the mild mannered man they had all known growing up. What they never saw, was the man/child hiding behind John pull the .45 from his back waist band. They did see when he took a big step to the side to clear his area of fire and then it was all gunfire, blood and noise.
John wasn’t a quick draw artist by any means, but he was faster than anybody that Michael had seen on TV. With the police hesitating half a heartbeat, Michael walked rounds into the chief and the man on the right, firing at center mass. John’s gun boomed loudly and he lost sight of him as the horror of the situation dawned on him. Michael quickly reloaded and looked at the three downed officers. Only one of them was bloody, a shoulder wound. The rest were holding their chests and gasping pained cries.
“Good job, I didn’t know if you realized they had vests on,” John said, smiling briefly.
“Vests?”
“Oh shit. You boys just got lucky,” John said, kicking the guns away from the cops.
“Billy, I told you that you weren’t going to take my three wheeler. It’s too soon for martial law to have been called up so you’re doing this bullshit on your own. You’re lucky that deputy dog over there just has a crease in his arm.”
John continued to harangue them as one by one he ripped their shirts open and unfastened the Velcro on one side of their vests. The chief said nothing, the hatred he felt in his eyes as he rubbed his chest in labored breaths.
“You’ll go to jail for this. The both of you,” He said between pained gasps.
“How about this? I put you in the jail, and in a week, I come back for you three? You just tried to rob a citizen. Hell, you did last night as well.”
“We knew what it was,” The officer who was grazed said.
“Knew what, what was?” Michael asked him, trying to stay out of the way, the pistol forgotten in his hand.
“We got an alert from homeland security, someone tipped them off. We get these about once a week, but when everything died, even the backups…”
“Shut up Shepherd,” The chief said.
“We were just trying to get a head start. It was going to happen anyways,” the other officer to the right of the chief said.
“Just stop guys, ok? Just stop. Shepherd, let me look at your arm.” John said to the man he used to play baseball with as a kid. Shepherd held up his arm, looking at the rip in the fabric.
“Tis only a flesh-“
Michael had been watching the whole scene, almost in shock. When John had his back turned to look at Officer Shepherd’s arm, the chief pulled up a pant leg and pulled out a stubby pistol and aimed it at John’s unsuspecting back. Michaels hand moved and shots were fired. The fat slow .45 slugs tore through the chief’s now unprotected chest and he died almost instantly. He stared in shock at all the blood and almost missed the movement to the right of the chief as the officer charged him. Michael got off two quick shots and dropped the pistol as the third man of that day he killed fell facedown.
“Michael, get your gun,” John’s voice broke through the haze.
He knelt and picked up the gun, replacing the magazine automatically, pocketing the empty one.
“Shepherd, you know we didn’t ask for this,” John told him.
“All the same, you are going to have to kill me. You can’t gun down a cop, let alone three of us.”
“I’m going to leave you behind. We’re going to split for a while. Get that arm looked at. It’s mostly a graze, but if you need antibiotics, I’d get it today before everyone goes crazy,” he paused to look at the chief before amending, “everyone else that is.”
“You’ll be my first priority as soon as…”
“Words words words. Those two got what was coming to them, you’re lucky. I might let you test your speed against the kid here, but he looks like he’s as fast as me. Are you that fast?”
“You have to sleep some time,” Shepherd said dead serious.
“Yeah, and not around here. In case you can’t smell the smoke over the gore, the fire’s coming and it’s gonna burn burn burn. Let’s go kid,” John called to Michael, with steel in his voice… Michael backed away slowly so he didn’t turn his back on the downed officer.
Michael was shocked at the sudden shift in John, Daniel’s father. He had always known him as the quiet but helpful dad of his best friend. Inside his soul, beat the heart of a warrior and somehow, the beast was back out of the cage.
“What did you do in the Navy?” Michael asked as he sat down on the three wheeler behind John.
“Oh, a little bit of everything. One man Army remember?”
“You were in the Navy,” Michael told him, his voice quivering.
“I was a Seal,” John said before firing up the quad and driving away.
+++++
His reverie was interrupted by feet slapping the ground behind him. He turned and smiled as the kids came pouring out of the Cave with John bringing up the rear. John looked and the pensive look on Michael’s face and immediately knew what had awoken the young man from his sleep. The first life he took bothered him, and it continued to haunt his dreams as well. It wasn’t as difficult for the ones afterwards, but you always remember your first. Michael had killed three in the space of hours in one fateful day.
“Linny, how are you?” Michael asked as the young girl pounced on him, crushing his ribs in a little girl’s version of a bear hug.
“Good. Remember, you’re supposed to take us fishing today. Remember?” Bret asked him.
“Oh yeah. Fishing. I don’t know if I can stand to go fishing one more…” Michael was teasing, but they didn’t know that.
“Oh, come on,” Linny’s voice said from his chest.
Michael locked eyes with John who nodded.
“You got it working again?” Michael asked.
“Better than that, I fixed the box that does the encryption. It is pretty crude stuff, but I’ve got a group in Kentucky I’ve been following. They’re using an open frequency like regular coms, but they probably don’t think anyone else is listening,” John told him, rubbing each kid on the head before moving on.
“How do you know where they are?”
“I overheard another conversation,” he said cryptically, so Michael dropped the subject. He figured that John needed some time with the radio and hand crank to charge the unit up without little voices to drown out the sound and annoy him.
“You going to check that one out?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, can’t have little ears. It’s pretty bad.”
Michael nodded and squeezed the kids together, giving them a bear hug.
“Let’s go catch some fish,” Michael said, giving John a little wave.
“Just not the stinky ones this time,” Bret said.
“No, not the stinky ones.”
Chapter 7 –
Pinhoti Trail, Alabama
“So, what’s a trout line you’re always talking about?” Brett asked as they hiked the trail to the Southwestern tip of the lake.
“Yeah, and why is there never any trout, just stinky catfish?” Linny piped up, happy to be out with Michael.
“It’s called a ‘trotline’ not a trout line you silly gooses,” Michael’s mock scolding elicited giggles from the kids, they knew that, but wanted to press the old joke.
“What it is, a heavy line with a bunch of drop lines with swivels and hooks coming off it. The one I have out starts from the riverbank. See this tree here?” Michael paused next to one they had just stopped in front of.
On it, a white braided monofilament line was tied off to the tree with the line leading into the water.
“This is where I tied it off. See the first bobber?” He asked them.
“It’s a pop bottle,” Bret almost sounded disappointed but his face was scrunched up in a way Michael had come to think of his heavy thinking look.
&nbs
p; When that kid got that look, you knew he was making money for the bank. He had proven himself more mature and resourceful than many a teenager, let alone any eight year old.
“Yes, it’ll work to hold the line up where I want it. I have 20 ounce pop bottles strung out every thirty feet or so.”
“Did you have to drink all that pop to make it?” Linny asked, suddenly wishing she had a pop.
“No, I used junk I found floating. Come here, I’ll show you a drop line,” Michael told the kids, pulling on the line a little.
He was surprised, but there was some heavy tension on the line. The first drop was visible so he pulled it up and showed them.
“The hook is empty,” Bret sounded disappointed.
“Yeah, little fish can nibble away at it and sometimes steal the bait, we’ll put more bait on it later on,” He dropped the line back into the water.
“So I can see all the pop bottles going across the lake. Did you have to swim across it to do that?” Linny asked.
“No, I walk the shoreline. I tied the other end of the line off on another tree at the other end. Let’s hike over there and untie it and pull in the hooks and see what we caught.”
“Ok,” both kids chorused.
The humidity hadn’t hit yet, but the mosquitoes were trying their hardest to make the nominations for the new state bird. They stopped to spray bug repellant and sip from their water jugs before finishing the walk to the other side where the trotline was tied off to the tree. An old dented galvanized metal bucket sat there, with an odd cone shape to it.
“Ok, this bucket was probably forgotten a long time back by folks. Who knows what it was used for, but it’s going to help us keep the line from tangling. You ready to see if we caught some fish?”
“Oh yeah,” Bret said, jumping in excitement, “yes please,” was Linny’s reply.
Michael smiled, he remembered the first time his grandpa and father showed him this trick. He was never sure on the legality of it, but it caught fish, often times more than enough. It was a good thing too, the Lewiston clan loved their catfish almost as much as they loved spin casting for others. After a month of fish, the kids were starting to complain. All this went through Michael’s brain as he untied the line and pulled the line in as they walked the shoreline.
Tears Of The World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 4) Page 5
