Jeb was quiet for a minute. “Go ahead and toss that list in here, John, and I’ll have a look.”
John did as Jeb asked and backed away. The dead body lying on the shattered window was starting to stink and John was happy to move away from it.
“I think I can get you most of this,” Jeb said. “Packed the insulin fridge with some ice when the power went down and it’s been keeping real nice.”
“That’s good, Jeb.”
“So what’s your offer then?”
John hadn’t brought anything to barter with. He had to think fast.
“When’s the last time you or Marlene had something to eat, Jeb?”
Jeb was slow to answer. “It’s been a while. Neither of us has set foot outside since the lights went out. I ain’t gonna let those vultures swoop down and steal all my hard work.”
“I don’t blame you. Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” he said. “But mostly I’m thirsty. Bit ashamed to admit the wife and I’ve been drinking from the toilet these last few days.”
“Give me a minute, Jeb, and I’ll see what I can do about that.” John moved a few feet away to huddle with Frank and the three deputies. “Give me your canteens,” he told the deputies. Reluctantly, they removed them from their belts and handed them over. “What about food? Any of you bring anything to eat?”
Frank opened a pouch on his vest and produced a bag of trail mix. “It isn’t much, but it’s all I got.”
John had water in his CamelBak, but not a stitch of food. This would have to do. They moved back near the broken window. “Jeb, you still there?”
“Course I am. Told you I ain’t going nowhere.”
“We can offer you three canteens of water—”
“Not good enough,” Jeb shot back.
John sighed. “Our street is struggling to get by as it is. What if we made room for you and your wife in our community? We’ve got barricaded walls and some food, but most of all, protection from roaming gangs. It’s only a question of time before they find you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you we ain’t leaving?”
John felt the hope slipping between his fingers. Cantankerous as he was, Jeb’s inventory would have made a nice addition to Patty’s store of medical supplies. Just then John remembered something. In a utility pouch were crackers from an MRE he’d opened weeks ago. They were still sealed and hadn’t gone bad.
“All right, Jeb. Here’s our final offer. Three canteens of purified water, one bag of trail mix and sealed crackers from an MRE.”
There was silence for a while after that. Then Jeb spoke. “Still a weak offer, John. But I’ll tell you what. You hand all that over and I’ll give you your insulin and half of the heart meds you asked for. I ain’t giving you any valium or any Danaparoid or Benazepril. You come back with something besides water and crackers and you can have the rest.”
John sighed. If he’d known Jeb would be here he might have brought some gold and other tradable items. For now he would take what he could get. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Jeb.”
“Good, now go ahead and toss those things in and I’ll get your meds.”
“Here they are, Jeb,” John said, dangling them in the open slot where the window once stood. “Bring my meds and we’ll make a clean swap.”
Jeb grumbled. “Fine.” There was movement from inside as Jeb shuffled around. At one point it sounded as though he was arguing with someone. The deputies continued to scan the perimeter as Jeb finally returned. This time he came right to the window and handed them a brown paper bag. In turn, John gave him the canteens and the other food. Jeb smiled, looking pale and thinner than usual.
“Wife’s in there bitching to high hell. Figured if I showed myself and y’all shot me, you’d be doing me a favor.”
John smiled. “The offer still stands to join us.”
Jeb shook his head.
“Sad to hear it, Jeb. We’ll be back then to get the rest. Keep yourself safe.”
“Godspeed,” Jeb replied and disappeared back into the inky darkness of the pharmacy.
Chapter 29
John and the others made their way south along Lakeview until they reached Woodland. The expedition so far had been long, tiring and stressful. They would all be glad to get back to the relative safety of Willow Creek.
Huddled behind the corner house, John peered out to ensure that the coast was clear. When he didn’t spot any threats he gave the signal for them to move. Crossing over open terrain was one of the most dangerous times for a soldier and John’s heart hammered in his chest as all five of them sprinted across Woodland Drive. They were less than halfway there when John heard a noise on their right. Sounded like someone whistling, the sort you might hear at a concert or when someone was hailing a cab.
John scanned right. A spotter on the roof of a nearby house was whistling and pointing in their direction. Then an engine roared to life and tires squealed. The older black pickup tore out of a driveway. The windows were tinted but in the truck bed were two men with automatic rifles.
“Run!” John shouted as he tossed Frank the medicine. Bringing up the rear while the others raced off ahead, John kept an eye out for the pickup which he knew was about to come barreling around the corner onto Lakeview. Running away from a gun battle was a great way to get shot in the back, which was why he would cover his friends’ retreat.
When he heard the truck approach, he dropped to the ground behind a group of stone steps and rested his AR into a supported firing position. It had been years since he’d fired a shot in anger, but instinct was quickly settling in. He quieted his breathing as the pickup appeared. The two men in the back fired wildly at Frank and the others. John squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession.
Two of the shots landed low. The third cut through the truck’s sidewall. The two men standing in the truck bed banged on the hood and the truck sped east on Woodland. John laid off a handful more shots, forcing the men in back to duck for cover. It seemed as though he’d frightened them away, which was good enough for him.
Frank and the others were three houses ahead of him and John rose and hurried to catch up. Between the tactical vest, full magazines, his AR and sidearm he was having a tough go of it. He made another mental note on his list of things to do: Get in better shape. It was good and fine to have a fully stocked bunker in your basement, but if you couldn’t run for your life when the time came, it might all be for nothing.
Behind him came the roar of the truck. He turned briefly to see it rocketing west now on Woodland. The black pickup was going in the opposite direction and John wasn’t sure why. He hurried nevertheless, tracking the noise the truck made as it raced through the back streets. Then it dawned on him. They were trying to cut them off before the park, and there was no way to warn Frank.
John charged ahead, shouting Frank’s name, but when the adrenaline was running high, your hearing was sometimes the first sense to dull.
The truck’s engine roared louder and John expected to see it coming straight for him every time he hit another cross street.
Up ahead was the park. Frank and the deputies were less than two houses away. There was one last street between him and safety. John took a quick look, saw nothing and made a break for it. As he did, shots rang out striking the side of the house he was using as cover. Chunks of brick filled the air. They had him zeroed in. Now he could hear the truck on the move again, but it wasn’t coming toward him. It was circling back around. The driver must have dropped off the two in the truck bed and was now coming around so he could approach from the south on Lakeview and catch John in a pincer movement.
Frank and the others were alerted to the situation after hearing the most recent shots and the three of them doubled back. The last deputy kept running through the park and into Willow Creek, presumably to deliver the meds in case none of them made it back alive.
There wasn’t a lot of time. From across the street, John used hand signals to let Frank know the
re were two shooters west of them, moving closer. The deputies took cover in a gully and prepared to engage the pickup when it arrived. At least one of them had the Remington deer rifle, which offset the first man’s SIG pistol.
What John really wanted was for Frank to use suppressing fire to pin down the two who were cutting off his escape. That way he could cross the street before the truck showed up.
He threw Frank more hand signals telling him to lay down the suppressing fire he needed. No sooner had he done so than the pickup came skidding onto Lakeview. The passenger window was down and a man hung out the opening with an assault rifle. Without any cover, John did the only thing he could. He dropped to the ground to create the smallest possible target, hoping the move wouldn’t force him to lose precious time before he could return fire with his AR. Dirt kicked up around him as rounds from the truck narrowly missed. Both deputies were now shooting as well. One scored a hit through the front windshield and the car swerved, tossing the shooter back and forth. John saw an opportunity and followed suit. If he could kill the driver, the passenger would be a sitting duck. Using the Trijicon ACOG Scope mounted on his AR, he squeezed the trigger a half-dozen times in rapid succession. The truck’s windshield fragmented into a giant spiderweb, sending the vehicle swerving onto a nearby lawn.
A second later it crashed into one of the houses. Steam rose from the engine. John put three more shots into the passenger side door, aiming low. He didn’t want to kill the man who’d been shooting at him. Not yet at least.
From across the street, Frank shouted that the two shooters had turned and run away when they saw the pickup crash.
The driver was presumably either dead or seriously wounded. That left the passenger alone.
“We’ve got you covered,” John shouted as he cautiously approached. “Throw your weapons out the window and we’ll let you live.”
He heard the faint sound of a man groaning in pain.
Frank kept an eye on the rear to make sure the other two didn’t double back.
A moment later the man in the passenger seat tossed a Chinese Type 56 (AK-47) out the pickup’s window. Then another along with two Beretta 9mms.
John approached from the rear the way police officers did during a traffic stop. In that way he could cut the angle in case the guy in the truck decided to try something smart. The two deputies approached from the south, moving along the line of houses, each with weapons at the ready.
When they were both within ten feet John said: “Are you hit?”
“My leg’s shot up,” came the reply and it was clear he was in serious pain.
“Put your hands out the window where we can see them.”
The man complied. He had tattoos etched across the knuckles of his fingers. Put together, the letters spelled out a rather nasty curse word.
The two deputies collected the weapons on the lawn.
John then opened the passenger door and pulled the wounded man out. He fell onto the ground like a sack filled with dirty laundry, yelping in pain. His jeans were bloody from the knee down. Looked like John had placed those final shots well.
Inside the cab, the other man appeared to be dead. John slung his AR over his shoulder, removed his S&W and crawled into the cab to feel for a pulse. There was none. It wasn’t clear which of them had been the one to kill the driver, but either way this death wouldn’t be the last. If Cain had had any doubts before about his offer, now he would know it had been soundly rejected.
Chapter 30
They took the man prisoner and kept him under armed guard in the Wilsons’ empty house. They also took the truck. The collision hadn’t done much to harm the engine—nothing that couldn’t be fixed. Didn’t matter if the fender and grill were dented. Having a truck to fetch water and perform other chores would really help.
Betsy was still in John’s garage. He’d been reluctant to bring the Blazer out since it represented his only real means of getting him and his family to safety. Working vehicles were a hot commodity in a country where everyone was suddenly on foot.
The gun battle had rattled many people’s nerves on Willow Creek. With a group of their own out on a mission, rumors had begun to spread that they’d all been killed. Peter had even begun organizing a group to head out and see what was going on. But intense as it was, the gun fight hadn’t lasted longer than about ten minutes, and by the time Peter was approaching the eastern barricade, flanked by deputies, the action was all over.
The exchange had also shown John that when push came to shove, his deputies had performed better than expected. Of course, the mission wasn’t a complete success. They’d gone out with a laundry list of meds to retrieve and come back with less than half of what they needed. That would mean they’d need to make another trip and bring more men along with them when they did.
Diane had been using the pressure canner to sterilize tshirts for cloth bandages when she heard what was happening and came running to greet the men as they returned. Gregory and Emma were there too along with many of the other residents. The men were greeted as heroes, but the expression on Diane’s face was something else entirely. She hadn’t wanted him to go out in the first place. Let someone else’s husband risk his life.
But that wasn’t the kind of man John was. In combat, he never asked his men to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself.
Patty Long had also been in the crowd, gawking along with everyone else at the bloodied prisoner they brought back with them. To the gathering crowd, these were the drug dealers who had kidnapped the Applebys and nearly killed the Hectors. A taste for revenge was in the air and John was sure a few among them would love to finish the man off. But John needed him alive, at least for now. Even when Patty told him they should organize another committee meeting to discuss what had happened, John told her it would have to wait. He had some questions of his own he needed answered first.
•••
Not long after, they set up in Dr. Wilson’s empty basement. The wounded man’s jeans had been cut off at the knee, revealing the extent of his injuries. It seemed a tragedy to use the fresh bandages Diane and Patty Long’s medical crew had been making since yesterday, but John hoped the intel would be worth the price.
Patty and her assistant worked for an hour stemming the bleeding and sewing his wounds. The bullets had gone straight through the soft part of the man’s calf, which was lucky for him since it meant no broken bones or lead fragments that needed to be removed with tweezers. Painkillers were the one thing John had refused to give him.
Peter and Frank were both there as Patty and the others shuffled out.
The man wore loose baggy clothes similar to how Cain had been dressed. His hair was dark, greasy and hung in his face. A scar ran across his right temple. In spite of his injuries, his arms and legs were bound with paracord.
“What’s your name?” John asked, pacing before him.
The man winced with pain. The wound in his leg was clearly starting to throb. “Why should I tell you anything? You’re just gonna kill me.”
“You’ll die for sure if you don’t talk,” Frank shot from behind them. “That’s a promise.”
“Your name. What is it?”
“Your mother, that’s my name.”
John kicked the man’s bound legs and the man let out a screech of pain.
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have. Answer our questions and we’ll see to it you’re treated fairly.”
His eyes were welded shut in agony. “James. My name is James.”
“Thank you, James,” John said cordially. “What’s your last name?”
James hesitated. John’s eyes dropped to James’ legs and the implied threat of another kick seemed to jog his memory.
“Clay. My name’s James Clay.”
“You’re one of Cain’s men.” John stated it as a matter of fact.
James nodded. “Guess you could say that. I’m part of his crew.”
“Crew?”
“Meth. Cai
n has labs all over the city. Mobile homes, basements, you name it.”
“You’re drug dealers.”
“We’re businessmen. We’re venture capitalists. We can sniff out an opportunity and that’s exactly what Cain saw when the lights all went out. But if you think we’re the only ones you’re fooling yourself. This whole city’s being carved up as we speak. Big fish eating little fish and getting fatter and fatter.”
It was sounding to John like Mogadishu, where local warlords effectively controlled the city with an iron fist, keeping its citizens in a perpetual state of fear and panic.
“What does Cain want with us? We haven’t done a thing to him.”
James snickered. “You’re still not getting it. Sequoyah Hills is Cain’s turf, his fiefdom. You and everything you own belong to him.”
“The hell we do,” Peter cried, coming forward.
John and Frank held him back.
“How many men does he have?” John asked after they’d managed to calm Peter down.
“Couple hundred. But more are coming in everyday. Cain has a real knack for making people do what he wants.”
There was a scar along James’ neck, as though someone had held a knife there and pushed until the blade broke the skin.
“That how he convinced you?”
“Maybe. But that’s ancient history. I been working for Cain for almost five years.”
“Does he have any other vehicles?”
“Cain gets whatever he wants. You steal one of his trucks, he’ll find ten to replace it. You people can’t win.”
“We’ll see about that,” John replied. “Where’s he headquartered?”
James scoffed. “I ain’t telling you that. I’m already dead if he finds out I said a word to you people.”
John knelt down and grabbed the meat of James’ wounded calf. “I’m gonna ask you one more time.”
“I told you—”
Closing his fingers tight, John listened to the man howl in pain. He hated having to resort to such barbaric methods, but when it came to protecting his family and by extension the people of Willow Creek, he was willing to do whatever was needed.
Last Stand: Surviving America's Collapse Page 12
