THE TRASHMAN

by Terry McDonald

  There was no moon yet, and the space between the home and me was nearly pitch black. I left the thicket and mounted the small landing at the back door. I tried the knob but the door was locked. There wasn’t a dead bolt. I pulled my wallet from my rear pocket and removed a useless credit card.

  A neighbor had taught me a trick for opening doorknob locks. You hold the card at a slight downward angle and force it between the jamb and the door above the knob. Then you jiggle the door slightly, and move the card down until the edge touches the keeper. You keep a steady pressure with the card on the keeper, and continue to jiggle the door. Most times the card will slip in place behind the slanted edge of the keeper, and each jiggle of the door draws the keeper farther out of the keeper plate.

  It took five seconds and very little noise to open the door. The stench of corrupted flesh poured out and I retreated from the building. No living person would willingly be inside the trailer.

  I returned to my van and stood by it for a long period of time, listening for any sound that would indicate the presence of someone else in the area. I heard nothing other than the common sounds of the forest. I had found a suitable temporary headquarters for my mission. I decided against sleeping in the reception building even though it was roomy enough, opting for a tent in the woods. I drove my van up the gravel drive and then around to the back of the trailer and unloaded my camping gear.

  Tomorrow I would make my first foray into the Clan’s territory.

  *****

  The following morning I packed for a one-week recon mission. Most of the space in my pack was given to Meals-Ready-to-Eat, energy bars, peanuts and ammunition. A liter of water to supplement my canteen added considerable weight. Since this was a discovery mission, explosives from the supply Carl had provided would not be needed. For weapons, I carried my rifle slung, the .45 holstered at my side, along with my survival knife in its scabbard.

  Feeling slightly ridiculous, I slid the handle of a hunting slingshot into a leg pocket of my pants and dropped a few glass marble in with it. When Carl had first shown me the slingshot, I thought he was joking, but when he showed me the penetration power the surgical tubing imparted to the marble when shooting at a blob of Ballistic Gel that mimicked the density of human flesh, I changed my mind.

  Another demonstration using a ceramic coffee cup reinforced the effectiveness of the weapon. “How’d you like to take a marble to your forehead?” he asked. I looked at the scattered remains of the cup and shook my head with an emphatic, “No!”

  I packed a tarp rather than my tent, which I struck and put back into the van. The last item was my sleeping bag with its waterproof cover. This I strapped to the pack with Velcro fasteners.

  As I shrugged on my pack, my watch indicated 7:00 a.m. I hiked toward the road, but turned short fiftyyards and took to the woods, striking a path parallel to the road. My idea was to stay out of sight, but remain close enough to hear vehicles traveling on it.

  I was well past the sign indicating the Clan’s claim when I heard the sound of an engine. I closed the distance until I could see the road and then crouched in the underbrush. As before, I saw a jeep with four occupants. This time, I noted one of the men was wearing a navy-blue ski mask instead of black. I wasn’t positive, but I vaguely remembered noticing that before, two-months earlier. If so, it seemed possible that the same men patrolled the route each time.

  I noted the time, 9:30, and their estimated speed, 15 mph, onto a notepad from my pocket and waited for the jeep to make the turnaround at the sign. As soon as they passed my position, I continued my journey deeper into the Bradford Clan’s territory.

  I stopped for lunch at 2:00 p.m. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree waiting for an MRE to heat, I heard the engine approaching again. I went to view the road, and sure enough, it was the same jeep, and one of the men was wearing a blue ski mask. I noted this on my pad and returned to eat my meal.

  After burying the packaging of the MRE, I did some figuring. 9:30 until 2:00 was four and a half hours. Assuming the men had no other duties, I took away an hour for lunch, which left three and a half. At 15 mph, they could cover over fifty miles of roadway. I noted that assumption on my notepad, and the fact it would take a huge supply of gasoline to maintain that schedule for any length of time, especially if the patrols went through the night. If so, it would take another crew to man the mission.

  I continued on, not rushing myself. Carl figured if the Clan had any military-trained members that it would be possible they would send out foot patrols to scour the forest near their headquarters. Not knowing where their camp was located, I had to assume it could be over the next rise, or in the next valley.

  Personally, I thought it would be in close proximity to either Santeetlah Lake or Fontana Lake in order to exploit the ability to fish. But, as Carl and William had drummed into my head, assume nothing. Rely on facts, and the fact was I knew nothing yet.

  Close to 8:00 that evening as I prepared camp, I heard the engine again. At the road, I again saw the same jeep with blue ski mask in the rear seat. It was already the 3rd of April, and the days were getting warmer, even up here in the higher altitude of the mountains. It wouldn’t be too long before the warming days made them shed the ski masks.

  I returned to my camping spot beside a narrow stream, and spread the tarp to lay my sleeping bag on. After washing in the cold water of the stream and snuggling into the bag, I turned the excess of the tarp on top of me as a barrier against the evening dew.

  Three days and nights, I traipsed the woods, following the road. Each passing day saw the jeep timing change reflecting the distance I’d traveled. On the fourth day, well past noon, I smelled wood smoke. Following my nose, creeping stealthily from tree to tree to thicket, I came upon the biggest pipe I’d ever seen. I couldn’t guess the actual height but it was at least ten feet. To the left, the pipe lay on the ground, but supported on concrete pillars, it began to rise until it crossed the road supported by a bridging structure. If it hadn’t been elevated, I would have not been able to scale it. I passed under and came to a point where I could hear voices.

  Moving cautiously, mindful of Carl’s presentation about electronic as well as passive warning systems, my progress was slowed by having to scan the ground for trip wires and laser devices, and the trees for surveillance cameras and motion detectors. As I moved toward the people, I could hear speaking. I didn’t see anything of that nature, but in truth, if a device were well hidden, someone could already be aware I was approaching.

  Finally, I was within sight of a clearing enclosing a single large structure and two small outbuildings. I could see three jeeps parked in front of the main building, as well as several men off to the left enjoying a game of horseshoes, the clang of the heavy metal hitting the iron stakes driven into the ground giving identity to the strange metal on metal noise I’d heard mixed with the voices.

  This had to be an outlying camp strictly to stage patrols from. I counted seven men. Without their menacing weapons and sans ski masks, they looked like ordinary citizens. The memory of the dead couple near the Clan’s sign belied their seeming innocence.

  The building itself was a plain, one story, white-painted, square structure with a front porch across half the front centered on an entrance door. I guesstimated the building’s dimensions to be fifty feet by thirty, and it had a metal roof rusted in spots. To the right, toward the rear of the building was a large wood-frame storage shed, also with a metal roof.

  I retreated several hundred feet, and circled around to view the rear of the clearing and buildings. Other than several windows, and a door opening onto a set of steps, there was nothing else to note except a thin stream of smoke coming from a stovepipe on this side of the roof. The wood was probably burning in a heater because I’d noted a large propane tank near the right side of the building, as well as a generator sheltered by an open sided metal roof on a square steel frame.

  I settled in to observe and wait for dark.

  The
game of horseshoes continued, with different duos stepping to the line at the end of each game. I learned several of their names from the shouts of encouragement or derision from the men on the sidelines. A man named James seemed to be in charge of the group.

  Eventually a man came out and announced dinner. James ordered the men inside. I ate too, noting how low my supplies were getting. I had only three days’ more of food.

  At 6:30, all eight men drove away in two of the jeeps. I knew they would be gone a while. I monitored the building, watching for the presence of other clansmen. No one came out and I heard nothing from inside. Even after dark, I saw no lights come on.

  It was close to 10:00 when the jeeps returned with only minutes between their separate arrivals.

  All the men had flashlights. One of them went to the generator to start it. Moments later, lights came on inside the building, floodlights lit the clearing, and they all went inside. So far, no guards had been posted. I gave it another hour to see if this negligence on the part of James would be rectified. It wasn’t.

  I sneaked to the building and made my way around the end to where the generator sat. It wasn’t particularly loud, but loud enough to cover any sounds I might make hoisting myself onto the wooden deck.

  Peering through the slot where the plain white curtains came together, I saw there were several men at a table playing cards and drinking vodka. Two men at another table by the far wall were doing something with items spread on the surface. The men playing cards were getting drunk and loud. The two at the table were not drinking. James was one of them.

  He was taking apart shotgun shells, pouring the buckshot into a plastic cup, and the powder into another. A growing pile of empty shells and wadding was growing on the floor beside him.

  The other man was assembling something with items too small for me to recognize.

  One of the men at the card table shouted, “Why the hell you guys doing that in here? You’re going to blow us to hell.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” James shouted back.

  I continued peering through the window. No one else joined the group in the common area. James finished opening shotgun shells. Using a plastic bowl, he began kneading the buckshot and gunpowder into a white, putty-like substance. I knew it had to be C-4, the powerful explosive Carl had introduced me to.

  I found myself wishing the card player would be correct and James would make a mistake and blow them all to hell.

  James finished kneading the ingredients and began packing them into a small metal container with a screw top lid.

  He said something to the man at the table with him and then loudly announced, “As soon as Billy finishes the detonator, we’ll see how well my bomb works. We’ll blow up the defectives. I guarantee you it kills them all.”

  “Well, I ain’t cleaning up the mess. You and Billy want to play games, go right ahead.”

  “You’ll do whatever the fuck I say, asshole.”

  One of the men stood from the table. “I’m going to take a piss. I’m with Bob. Shooting them is a damn sight cleaner way of killing the niggers than blowing them up.”

  That did it. James wanted to play with explosives, well he was about to have an accident. As the man moved to the back door I ducked and shrugged my backpack. I dug through it for the fake magazine Carl had given me.

  I’d noticed the man who went to pee hadn’t needed to unlock the door to leave the building. I put my pack on and tried the door. As I hoped, the front door wasn’t locked either. Hoping for an airburst over the table, I pushed in on the bullet at the top of the magazine until it latched into place, counted to three, opened the door, tossed the bomb high in the direction of James and Billy, then dove for the edge of the porch, and rolled to the ground. The second my body met dirt, the C-4 detonated; I was on my back with the pack elevating my shoulders. I watched pieces of the building fly over me, mostly glass. The biggest piece of debris was the door.

  I immediately scrambled to my feet and raced to the shelter of the surrounding forest.

  I was seriously hyperventilating as I settled into my spot to watch the building. I had just killed or seriously injured seven men. The explosion must have shorted something, because the flood lamps dimmed and went out. Now the building was poorly lit by a pale sliver of the moon.

  Minutes later I saw a flashlight come on inside and figured it was the pisser inspecting the damage. More minutes passed as I watched the light move from place to place, and then a man came through the hole where the door should be. He left the porch and went to one of the jeeps. He cranked it, but something must have not satisfied him because he left that one and cranked another. This one must have fit the bill. He put it in gear and drove away toward the main road.

  I remained where I was. Soon I saw the headlights of the jeep on the other side of the road. It was climbing a cleared incline. The headlights lit a tall metal structure; I could see the large wires strung in rows at the top. He was utilizing the cleared area beneath the power lines as a road.

  Now that the pisser was gone, I had plenty of time without having to worry about members of the Clan being around. I continued to use stealth. The Clan members weren’t the only dangerous ones in the world. If I was here, there was no rule that there weren’t others skulking about.

  I went through the door-less hole in the wall and used the dim light of a small LED flashlight to search for one of the more powerful ones the Clansmen had. Even before I found one, the small flash gave me an inkling of what I’d see in full disclosure. The reality was worse than I expected.

  When I switched on the light, it was pointed in the general direction of the card table. The table and the players had been tossed by the blast to a wall. Now the table was in pieces and the men were broken and bloody clumps of meat.

  I swung the flashlight to where James and Billy were working on the ‘do-it-yourself’ grenade. The table and Billy were gone. Billy who had been sitting with his back to the wall was blown to pieces out through a gaping hole in the wall. James was blown to pieces, too, but he was scattered in hundreds of different places. On the wall where the door was, I saw a wet piece of him lose its grip and fall with a sickening thud to the floor.

  I went to a wall, looking for holes buckshot could make. I found plenty. My bomb had detonated theirs. I knew the pisser was probably racing to the main headquarters of the Clan. He would report that James had blown them all to hell.

  I wanted to get in a jeep and trail him, but had other business to attend to. Somewhere a group of “Defectives” was being held. I had to find them.

  First, I checked the storage building. As I expected, it was full of food and water, as well as a few weapons and ammo. On a shelf, I recognized blocks of C-4 packaged in thick plastic film.

  Using the flashlight, even though it made me feel like a target, I circled the woods at the edge of the compound looking for a trail. Not far from my first observation point at the front of the building, I found a well-worn path leading into the woods.

  I followed the trail a couple hundred feet and came upon a cage. That is the best description of it. Thick steel pipes welded six inches apart; floor, walls and ceiling. The roof pipes were covered with sheet metal. Inside the ten feet by ten feet enclosure was a dark seething mass of people. Awakened by the explosion at the house, one of them, a male, began shouting, begging for water. His voice was joined by others, male, female, and children’s, all begging for water, food, or to be let go. As I drew closer, I could smell the odor of urine, feces, and unwashed bodies.

  I stopped twenty feet shy of the cage, pointed the beam of light at the ground between us, and shouted to them.

  “I need for you to be quiet! Please!”

  It took a repetition of my plea before they quieted.

  “In a few minutes you will all be free. Is anyone in charge?”

  “I am,” a voice said, “Pastor Watts of the First Community Baptist Church. Who are you?”

  I shined the flashlight at myself. “My name is
Ralph. How many of you are in there?”

  “There’re twenty-three of us alive. One man is dead, shot. Two more are dead from being beaten, and Sister Jean, rest her soul, had a heart attack. Please sir, we’ve been in here two days and they’ve not seen fit to feed us or give us water. Open the gate and set us free.”

  The odor coming from them was overwhelming. I couldn’t believe another human could cage people like animals.

  “I will, but first let’s have your promise that you recognize I’m not cut from the same cloth as the men who put you here. I want your promise that I’ll be safe from attack by you or any of your people.”

  Pastor Watts said, “These are all members of my congregation. We were going to our retreat here in the mountains when these men stopped our bus. Sir, I promise you will be safe from us.”

  “I’m holding you to that promise.” I went to the enclosure. The door was secured with a chain and stout padlock.

  “The man in charge has the keys,” the pastor said.

  It took me ten minutes of retching and searching through the bloody, scattered remains of James. I found the keys inside the pocket of a section of his jeans that still held a hunk of his thigh.

  In a hurry to get on the trail of the man that had left, I raced back to the cage and freed the prisoners. I had them follow me to the clearing, turning often to light their path and to make sure none of them were getting too close to me. I was mainly fearful that one of them would equate their mistreatment to cover all white men.

  At the Clan’s building, I asked for a volunteer to go inside to search for more flashlights. A young man stepped forward to accept the small LED flashlight. I warned him about the mayhem he’d see. He went inside, but came rushing back out, stopping when he was off the porch to vomit.

  Another man said, “I’ll do it.” He took the flashlight from the younger man and went inside. The ex-captives were milling around, not knowing what to do. I called for Pastor Watts.

  I pointed my light at the storage shed. “There’s food and water in the shed. Take care of your people. I handed him the flashlight and went to the young man who was still bent over, retching. The rest of the captives followed their pastor.