He looked at her lovingly. “I was thinking about you, my love.”
At Wormwood, Slasher was listening to a report from one of his men. “Yes, it’s true. They’ve set up a bartering system and they’re in the process of developing a new system of money. They’ve published and posted a list of the value of things. Labor, chickens, pigs, horses and so forth. Gold and silver will be the real exchange, but they’re coming up with something else, too.”
“Do you know what the new exchange will be?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s going to be paper or coins. It’ll be something else. Paper is too hard to come by and bulk printing isn’t a viable alternative just yet. Coins are too hard to make, so it’s going to be something else. We’ll just have to wait and see what that will be.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll just have to counterfeit it, won’t we?”
“They’re talking about the death penalty for counterfeiting, Slasher. I’d walk slowly on that one. Remember, those farmers warned us. We won’t be getting any more chances.”
Slasher leaped to his feet and screamed at the man. “Don’t ever come in here again and tell me what to do! We will do what I say we will do. Now, get the hell out of here.”
The man turned and scurried out the door. He jumped on his motorcycle and made his way straight out of town, heading east toward Fitch. He wasn’t about to stretch a rope for Slasher or anyone else. No sir, hr wasn’t going to be part of that party. As a carpenter, he could make cabinets and furniture, build a house from scratch, or any number of things, and that was exactly what he was going to be doing from now on.
A life of crime wasn’t his cup of tea, anyway. These people could turn on their own at the drop of a hat. He saw it, especially when Bone Breaker was alive and running things. He wanted more stability in his life. Maybe he would find a woman and have a couple of kids and build his own house for them.
Yes, sir. That was what he wanted. The wind blasted him in the face as he rolled on the power. He felt as if he couldn’t get away from Slasher, Wormwood, and the rest of it, fast enough.
Next stop was Fitch.
He liked that little town.
Chapter 26
Den of Thieves
SLASHER WAS PLEASED. Shops were being set up, and craftsmen were coming to work. A surprising assortment of different occupations were beginning to bloom like a field full of flowers after a spring rain. There were metal smiths, carpenters, mechanics and much more.
They simply hung up shingles or some other identification to let people know they were open for business. There was no rent to pay because the original owners of the space were dead. At least, that’s what everyone believed.
A new owner would soon come forward, however. The city owned the land and all properties on that land. The Mayor was head custodian of all that was Wormwood. He and his men were preparing to cash in on the harvest.
Shop owners were told they needed a license issued by the Mayor’s Office. There was no charge for this official permission to be in business… yet. They would soon pay through the nose, but the plan was to let them become established before assessing an outlandish fee in the city of Wormwood.
Raw materials were at a premium and had to be sourced. Items such as old cars and trucks were needed for spare parts to get the better vehicles up and running. Animal fat was necessary for candle making and oil had to be found to keep lanterns lit after dark. Working without electricity was a challenge for everyone.
The streets were dark at night and, other than a few fires that were lit in 55-gallon barrels along some of the streets, it was easy to melt into the darkness. Life was becoming difficult for the tenants and residents of the small town. After a couple of weeks, some of the residents stole into the darkness of night.
Initially, people were excited about having jobs and something to occupy their time. The word was out that if people didn’t work or contribute in a positive way toward the betterment of the town, penalties would be levied. Most of these bikers and drifters scoffed, but when food became scarce, it was apparent some of them wouldn’t be eating regularly.
Some traded between each other, but there wasn’t much worth trading. Prostitution became a thriving business and in a matter of weeks, venereal diseases spread like a prairie grass fire beyond the few that had experienced it in the slaving days.
In desperation, many of the bikers formed small gangs and left Wormwood on their bikes to strike out for easier pickings. Those who remained maintained their gardens and kept a few pigs and chickens on their small plots of land. They simply found a spot and squatted.
The biker gangs were lazy and for most practical reasons, preferred not to work but to live by their wits and by guile. Raids began anew on small homesteads and outlying compounds where people had believed they were safe and therefore not remained as diligent as they once had been.
Mike and the Governor began to hear stories about biker gangs swooping down on people and either killing them or simply taking all of their food and belongings. Some of those who lost their possessions drifted into Fitch. That was okay in the beginning, but Fitch didn’t have the capacity to find work or provide food for the number of people who were finding there way there. The population of the town was just about at maximum.
They key leaders decided the militia needed to be activated at full capacity. They contacted all of the men and women they had been training to come once again to Fitch. The word was spread by a series of gyro copter trips to scatter leaflets.
Once the word went out, they came from small towns south and over toward Bishop. Men came on horseback, and each had, at minimum, one sidearm and a .223 rifle. The initial group numbered a hundred men and a hundred fifty horses. Some of the applicants led a horse or two with them as they came into town.
“I think we should be able to contain those renegade bikers with these resources. What do you think, Governor?”
“Humph! I knew it was a mistake to let them off with no more than a warning. Now we have to finish what we should have done right from the start when we had them in our grasp.”
“We had to give them enough rope to hang themselves,” Mike replied evenly. “And now that we have, they will put their own necks into the nooses. That said, my reports say these gangs are not directly associated with those at Wormwood. Mr. Cobb has been very adept at appearing to keep his nose clean, though I have my suspicions.”
The Governor was angry. He didn’t like having to jump through all these hoops for a handful of miscreants. His experience in law enforcement had jaded him about criminals and the criminal mindset. He believed that criminal thought was constant… it was a lot easier to steal than to work. His idea of justice was not difficult to understand. Catch them, give them a fair trial, and then hang them from the nearest tree!
“Mike, we have to put a stop to these people and we need to be ruthless about it. In the old days when a posse came across cattle rustlers, they simply hung them shortly after they were caught. I see no reason why we shouldn’t go back to that concept. It worked then and it will work now.”
Vigilante justice wasn’t going to be the game plan if Mike had anything to say about it. And he was going to have his say. “Look, Bob, you’re going to have to start acting like either a Governor or a Sheriff. You cannot talk out one side of your mouth one minute and then the other the next. Make up your mind. Which will it be? Are you Sheriff or head of this state?”
He paused, but didn’t wait for an answer, “You have to set the example for the rest of the people. If we allow people to act like criminals who carry the weight of the law behind them, I see nothing but trouble brewing.” Mike was irritated and it showed in the tone of his voice and his body language. He wasn’t the kind of man anyone would want to get angry.
Bob Waters recognized that look. “I’m sorry, Mike. Of course you’re right… again. We can’t have people riding out of here and hanging people without a trial. I stand corrected. What do you suggest?”
&n
bsp; Mike looked at his friend and realized he had hurt his feelings. He spoke in a softer tone. “Sheriff. Governor. We need to get these armed men out there and put a stop to this business of people preying on others. I suggest we make sure they can’t get away with it any longer. We may not stop all of it, but we sure as hell can put a stop to most of it.”
Bob Waters knew his friend was right. “Mike, there’s a lot of territory out there. Where do you want to start?”
Mike’s fists tightened into a ball. “We know where it’s coming from. I suggest we focus our patrols around and near Wormwood. Since we need to trust these men we’re sending out to police the area, we have to put men in charge who are level-headed and can think logically. We need men like Randy Stewart and a few others like him.”
The Governor nodded. “We’ll get some good men out there. How soon do you think you can get the men organized and sent out to where they can start getting results?”
“In another two or three days.”
“Then let’s get at it, Mike.”
“Men, you have an important job to take care of,” Mike stood before the hundred or so men who had gathered. “We need to make our area safe for our people. Everyone should be able to come and go without fear. Right now there’s a group of scum out there killing and robbing again. It will be your job to bring those killers and thieves into Fitch to face a jury. That said, if they are caught in the act red-handed, then string them up to the nearest tree.”
Mike waited for his words to make its impact. It was hot. The weather was becoming unseasonably warm for the end of May and flies were being pesky. The tails of the horses swished at the insects. Occasionally a horse would stomp a foot. Mike stared at these men with pride. They weren’t all fully trained police officers, but these men had gone through the militia training and they were going to put their lives on the line to protect their fellow citizens.
“I do not advocate vigilante justice. Weigh your options before acting. Once a man has been hanged, you can’t bring him back, so make damn sure you’re right before you do anything. However, do not hesitate to do your duty. We don’t have prisons, and we don’t have people to watch over thugs once they’re arrested.”
“In some cases, hanging will be justified, but let’s not be judge, jury and executioner without a fair trial if we can help it. I also suggest that anyone under the age of eighteen not be hanged. You have my utmost respect for making the effort to protect the rest of us. You are the wall that will defend every man, woman and child in the area, so please be careful. We don’t want to lose any of you to these bandits, but we will put a stop to these raids.”
Mike saw a look of determination on the faces of these brave men. They were tackling a job that wasn’t going to be easy. He suspected there were several pockets of these marauders operating independently of one another. If they could stop a few of them, the rest would probably stop or move out of the area.
“You’ll be split into four groups of twenty-five men. Each group will carry enough food and water for about ten days. You’ll then return and another group will replace you. As other groups are formed and outfitted, they’ll also take up positions or patrol the areas surrounding Fitch.”
“Avalon will, as always, depend on its own resources and people for protection. The men in charge of your platoons have the authority to make decisions for the group. Follow their orders. Use common sense in all that you do and don’t take any unnecessary risks. You’ll all have radios, so stay in constant contact with Fitch. Remember, ten days out and ten days home. Dismissed.”
The men separated into their groups of twenty-five and rode off to their designated areas.
“That’s an impressive sight, Mike. I can’t remember the last time I felt as proud of anything as I do those men and women.”
“Yes, Governor. We’re about to make a change to our culture and I think it’s going to be a positive and substantial change.”
Chapter 27
Patrol
RANDY STEWART WAS designated as Captain of the militia. His group had been out for several days and, much like the others, had a wagon pulled by two horses that carried food, water, cooking utensils for the men and feed and grain for the horses.
A thirty-caliber machine gun was mounted on a tripod and several cases of ammunition were loaded on board. There were several cases of .223 and nine millimeter pistol cartridges, as well. A pick-up truck carried extras and was designed as a sprint vehicle.
Caroline ensured that each group had a competent medic and enough bandages and medicine to treat most serious wounds. They would never be more than a week’s travel from Fitch. Two groups patrolled, one south and one east of Wormwood. A pickup truck accompanied each group for a quicker ride back to Fitch and a gyro copter was used to scout ahead to avoid sneak attacks.
“What do you think, Captain. Are we going to see any action on this trip out?” Will Clark, a young man of twenty-three, was looking forward to a fight.
Randy was a veteran Army Ranger who had seen his fair share of battle in the Middle East, and he wasn’t quite as enthusiastic. But he did long for a time when he could live without fear of his family being attacked or harmed by these bandits. He started to respond when he saw the gyro copter coming back toward them.
“Hang on, Will. Let’s see what he’s found.”
They rode to the spot where the gyro copter was landing.
Captain Stewart rode up to the pilot. “Anything happening, Jeff?”
Jeff Streeter looked up at the Captain. “There’s an attack going on right now! They’re about three more miles in that direction.” He turned and pointed.
“I’ll lead you to them and then turn away. They’ll know we’re coming if they see me circling overhead. I’ll fly back out about a half mile and land. You boys be careful.”
Jeff crawled back into the machine and started it up while Randy and his men moved out in the direction Jeff had pointed towards. They trotted in a synchronized unit as the gyro copter climbed out straight ahead. The other horsemen followed. There was no reason to race their horses from this far away.
Eventually, Randy saw the gyro copter turn, circle back toward them and descend for a landing. Randy shouted orders to his men. “Get that wagon over there and unload the machine gun! The rest of you… Charge!”
The dust flew in a large heavy brown ball and followed the horses as riders took off toward the bikers, who were firing at a small band of survivors. The pickup that was with them zipped past the horses and pulled off to one side of the raiders and stopped. The driver got out and took aim with his rifle. If any of them tried to escape in this direction, he would be able to pick them off.
The bandits had no idea there were armed men coming after them. By the time they were under fire, there wasn’t much they could do but fire back or surrender. There were ten of them, altogether. One was wounded at the onset and out of the fight. He held a rag to his shoulder to try and stop the bleeding from the bullet wound.
The horsemen got within three hundred feet of the bikers, dismounted, took cover and continued firing at the raiders. The bikers knew they were outnumbered and decided to surrender. One stood up with his arms in the air and was shot dead.
Randy yelled at his men. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
He and several others mounted their horses and trotted toward the raiders. When they were a little closer, Randy yelled again. “Drop your weapons now or you will be shot.”
The bandits did as they were told and dropped their weapons. Randy sent a man toward the compound with a white flag to show the conflict was ended. As he approached the compound, he found one dead woman and two dead children in the dirt about twenty yards from the gate. They had been the initial casualties of the raid.
“We are the militia formed by Governor Bob Waters and Admiral Mike Reynolds. We’ve come to your aid. I’m sorry for your losses, but you’re safe now!”
Randy lined the raiders up in front of his men. “You boys haven’t been
behaving. We took your leader’s word that you were all going to quit raiding. Now we see what your word means. Are there any of you under the age of eighteen?”
“Naw, we don’t have no kids with us. We’re all over eighteen. Are you going to arrest us or somethin’?”
“No friend, we’re going to hang you for murder and attempted robbery.”
By this time the people from the compound were filing out. One woman was crying uncontrollably. The raiders had just shot her son. She came to one of the militia member’s side and clung to his leg, imploring him to help her son.
The medic walked over to the three bodies, examined them and shook his head. They were all dead. The woman still insisted they help. She was beside herself with grief. One of the men from her group came over and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He held her as she wailed inconsolably. It was heart-wrenching to hear her shriek.
“What are you gonna do to these scum?” It appeared to be the compound leader.
“We’re going to hang them! And every time we catch any of these people doing what they did here today, they’ll get the same thing. Jones, bring me ten horses and ten ropes.”
One of the bikers cried out.
“Aren’t we gonna get a trial first?”
“You boys put your own necks in a noose when you decided to raid this place and kill these people. You gave them no mercy and you’ll get none from us. We are the militia and we caught you red-handed. We find you guilty. You will be hung immediately.”
Several of the militiamen lashed the hands of the bikers behind their backs. The bandits were mounted on militia horses and a rope tied into a noose was placed around each of their necks.
“If any of you boys have anything to say, now’s your opportunity for last words.” Randy stood in front of the men and waited to hear what any of them had to say.
Avalon: Beyond the Retreat (The Avalon Series Book 2) Page 23
