“I’m going to be a nervous wreck worrying about you Mitch. They might shoot you on sight no matter what time of day it is.”
“They might, but what other choice do we have if we want to trade? It’s a risk for sure, but one I’m willing to take.”
Twelve
MITCH WOKE FROM A short nap a couple hours before noon and began preparing for his trip into town. He had been thinking about what to take with him while on the road the night before, and decided he would carry only the .357 Magnum revolver he always wore on his belt and one of the better AKs as a sample of what he had to trade. He would leave his bow and arrows and his father’s AR-15 behind with Lisa, as he didn’t want to appear more threatening than necessary and it would be best to ride Amigo in with as little load as possible in case he had to make a run for it. The AK he chose from among their stash was a Norinco model with an aftermarket folding stock, making it easy to keep inconspicuous, only the barrel protruding when stuffed down into one of his saddlebags. Lisa had her own rifle but she was a good shot with the AR too and he felt good about leaving it with her in case trouble found her while he was away. The bow was harder for him to let out of his sight, but there was no need to take it, as he would not be hunting and if someone took a shot at him it would likely be well before he was in bow range. He unstrung it and hung it and the quiver from a low branch near where the rest of the horses were tied.
“All I know to tell you is just sit tight, Lisa. I have no idea how long it will take me, but I hope I’ll be back soon to get the rest of the stuff. Just try to keep the horses quiet and stay out of sight of that road.”
“You know I will. Don’t worry about me. I’m the one that needs to worry, not you. You be careful, Mitch!”
“Of course. I always am. But if something happens and I don’t come back by dark, you still need to stay put. Promise me you will, Lisa. Do not come looking for me under any circumstances! If I don’t make it back here by tomorrow, you can assume there’s a damned good reason and it won’t do a bit of good for you to come there and get yourself in the same trouble I’m in. If that happens, you have to promise me that you’ll leave. Promise me that you’ll ride straight back to camp. Unless I’m dead, I’ll get back there as soon as I can. But if I am dead, there won’t be anything you or any of the others can do for me, so don’t even think about coming here again.”
“Geez! Way to make me sit here and worry, Mitch! It’s almost like you don’t expect to come back!”
“Of course I do. I’ll probably be back in a couple of hours. I just wanted to make sure we had an understanding.”
With that, he gave her a big hug, kissed her on the cheek, and then turned and swung up into the saddle. Lisa would be fine where she was hiding. It was highly unlikely anyone traveling the road would have reason to go that far into the surrounding woods unless she made noises that got their attention, and Mitch knew she wouldn’t. He nudged his heels into Amigo’s flanks and guided the horse though the pines and back to the paved highway that would take them into Purvis.
He had no idea what to expect now, but he remembered this road led past a couple of outlying service stations and a dollar store, then intersected with another highway running north and south that was pretty much the middle of the town. He figured the barricades and guards would be set up somewhere close to that intersection.
The abandoned businesses along the way were not burned, but there wasn’t a window or door in any of them that had not been shattered. Mitch was well aware that if a sniper were watching him from behind the walls of one of those store fronts, he was as good as dead out there on the open road. But he tried to push the thought out of his mind and focus on the destination ahead.
The final stretch of the highway was a long straightaway and in the distance Mitch saw what he expected. A massive barricade consisting of at least three layers of heavy vehicles, including semi-trucks, school buses and dump trucks blocked the road and extended well beyond the shoulders and through adjacent parking lots to the nearest buildings. He knew from the glint of sunlight reflecting on glass that he was already being watched, probably through binoculars and riflescopes. Mitch rode with one hand up and extended out to the side, and the other holding the reins also as far out as practical. He kept Amigo moving at a steady walk, studying the scene before him as the details came into focus the nearer he got.
A hundred yards in front of the vehicle barricade, they had set up coils of barbed wire held in position by various posts, poles and other props. It looked like something right out of the World War II movies Mitch had watched with his dad—an outer defense against a wave of attackers that would entrap and delay them long enough for the defenders to cut them to pieces with gunfire. From what he could see from the highway, defenses composed of various combinations of vehicles, sandbags and debris and miscellaneous fencing extended in both directions, connecting to some of the outermost houses and probably forming a complete perimeter around the town. If there was a gate at the main barricade ahead, he couldn’t see it. It appeared that the parked vehicles were spaced so that passage was only possible on foot, horseback or perhaps by bicycle or motorcycle. Anyone getting through would have to weave through the three staggered lines and would be vulnerable to defensive fire every step of the way. Mitch had no doubt that it had been tested before and had likely proved effective.
Other than the possibility he might be carrying a high-powered bomb of some kind, Mitch couldn’t see how he, as a lone rider, could elicit much concern from these folks. He could now see that several of the defenders in elevated shooting houses of the kind used for deer hunting had their weapons trained on him. But since no one had fired a warning shot or otherwise signaled him to stop, Mitch rode on, keeping the same deliberate pace. There was little else he could do anyway until he was within hailing distance. He was exposed and out of his element, but determined. When he reached the first strands of barbed wire, someone finally shouted at him to halt just as he gave Amigo a tug at the reins.
“THE TOWN IS CLOSED, STRANGER! YOU’D BEST TURN AROUND AND RIDE ON WHILE YOU CAN!”
“I’M HERE TO TRADE! I HEARD THERE WAS A TRADING POST HERE!”
“TRADE WHAT? THAT WORN OUT HORSE?”
Mitch heard laughter from some of the other men at that.
“NO! I’VE GOT A LOT MORE WAITING WHERE I CAME FROM. CAN I JUST TALK TO SOMEONE?”
There was no answer to this last question, but he could see some of the guards apparently in conversation. Then three men carrying rifles appeared from behind the trucks, spreading out immediately and advancing slowly with what looked like M4s or ARs pointed in his direction. The one in the center took the lead and shouted out another warning.
“DON’T TRY ANYTHING STUPID. THERE’S AT LEAST A DOZEN RIFLES ON YOU RIGHT NOW, AND SOME OF THESE GUYS HAVE ITCHY FINGERS!”
Mitch dropped the reins and held both of his hands up high and wide; making it clear that he had no intentions of causing trouble. He waited as the lead man advanced with the other two slightly behind and a good 30 yards on either side of him. They had clearly done this before and were taking no chances, giving him little benefit of the doubt until they knew for sure he wasn’t a threat.
“Step down off the horse real slow. Keep your hands where I can see them,” the point man said, as he stopped on the other side of the barbed wire some 25 yards away.
Mitch did as he was instructed, swinging his leg over the saddle without even using a hand for balance. Amigo was holding steady, so he had no problem dismounting hands up.
“Now take that revolver out of the holster, real nice and slow, and set it on the ground.”
The other two men had worked their way through the barbed wire obstacles and were now flanking him on either side. With three rifles on him at point blank range, not to mention the others from behind the barricade, it seemed to him like these men were being way more cautious than necessary.
“I didn’t come here looking for trouble,” Mitch said. “I wa
s wearing my pistol because it would be foolish to go anywhere unarmed. There’s a rifle in my saddlebag too.”
He was still holding Amigo’s reins when the man who had spoken motioned for one of his companions to move in. Mitch stood there as the man approached and took the reins from his hands, walking the horse away from him for several feet before looking into the bags and pulling out the AK. By this time the lead man and his other companion had closed in as well, the other man reaching to pick up Mitch’s revolver.
“We don’t allow strangers to bring weapons to our town,” the leader said. “Even if we were inclined to let you in at all. Now who are you, and where did you come from? Where did you steal the guns and the horse?”
“I didn’t steal anything. My name is Mitch Henley, and I’m from Stone County. I’ve lived there all my life. My dad is the game warden over there.”
“You don’t look old enough to be riding around with an AK-47 and a sidearm. What are you doing coming here by yourself if your daddy is a game warden? Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Because he might be dead,” Mitch said. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the day the lights went out. He and my mom got on a plane to Houston that morning and I don’t know if they made it there or not. Do you treat everybody that comes here like a criminal? Maybe I’ll just leave and forget about trading then.”
The man studied him for a minute, as if deciding what to do, and then began moving forward again. “You’re not going anywhere right now. You came riding up here armed, and I don’t think your story adds up. You’re going to have to talk to our sheriff and explain yourself to him.”
“There’s nothing else to explain,” Mitch said, unable to hide aggravation in his tone. “I already told you I came here hoping to trade! That AK is just a sample of what I’ve got. There are more where it came from, and some ARs and other weapons too. All with magazines and ammo.”
“Now where in the hell would a boy your age get ahold of a stash of hardware like that? Do you really think anybody here is going to believe you didn’t steal them?”
“I didn’t steal any of them. Yeah, some of them might have been stolen by the thugs that were carrying them, but I didn’t, nor did my friends. They’re battlefield pickups, taken off the men who tried to kill us. The men who kidnapped my sister, and the men who burned down our house and barn.”
The other man just laughed. Mitch was getting the sense that he was a real prick, used to throwing his weight around. His hair was cut military short and he was still clean-shaven, despite all the months that had passed without amenities like hot water. He was undoubtedly a former cop or soldier, probably both. He looked at Mitch like he was nothing more than a dirtbag vagabond and common thief.
“Battlefield pickups! Did you hear what he said, Eddie? This kid is trying to tell us he’s got a stash of arms he took off all the bad guys he’s killed!” The three men all laughed together at this, then the asshole leader turned to Mitch again:
“How many did you take out boy? Did you even keep count?”
“Enough, I reckon. But a few got away. They didn’t try coming back though.”
“A few got away, he says!” This elicited another roar of laugher.
“Come on boy, I know Sheriff Macon is going to want to hear all about this. You can give him all the details if you can make up the rest of your story fast enough to keep his interest.”
This was not at all going as Mitch expected. Yes, he’d known he would be stopped at the gates and that he might arouse suspicion, but he hadn’t considered that he would be ridiculed for telling the truth, or that he would be forced to enter the town whether he wanted to or not. He just hoped this sheriff they were taking him to see was more reasonable than his guards. If not, poor Lisa might have a longer wait than she expected.
Thirteen
JUST AS IT HAD appeared from the highway, the way through the barricade involved threading between three lines of trucks and buses that could be pushed back together to close the pathway at night. It was an effective barrier; especially with the half dozen or so guards Mitch counted milling around and in the towers. He knew this was just one entranceway into the town, and he was sure the other access points were similarly guarded.
Once they were inside the man who was leading Amigo split off and took the horse in another direction, which Mitch assumed was to a stable or hitching post. Horses were obviously in use by the inhabitants here, as he saw several in the streets ahead and hitched in front of various buildings. He studied each of these buildings as he walked, looking for any signs that one of them might be the trading post, but there was nothing obvious.
“I didn’t think a visit to your trading post would warrant this kind of treatment,” Mitch said to the man who was leading the way. “What’s the point of having one at all if you don’t want people coming here to trade?”
“The trading post is for honest folks to do business. It’s not a pawnshop for thieves. Looters and thieves have caused enough trouble all over the country. We don’t cater to them here and we don’t tolerate lawlessness.” As he said this, he pointed to a wooden structure at the top of the hill up ahead, something that had obviously been erected since the collapse. It was on the front lawn of a stately building that Mitch knew was the county courthouse. And it was unmistakably a hangman’s gallows, just like the ones you saw in an old Western movie.
So this was what an organized and defended town was like these days. Mitch could understand why, but he wondered if the justice meted out here was truly just, or simply the rule of the mob and the whim of this “sheriff” he was going to meet. He wondered if the man was truly the elected county sheriff before the blackout or if not, maybe some strongman that had come to power by force. It was too early to know, but Mitch was getting a bad feeling and the sight of the gallows did nothing to abate it. He was beginning to wish he’d never heard about the trading post in the first place. In a setting like this, his skills as a woodsman and hunter were useless. There was nowhere to hide, and no way out except back through those heavily guarded barricades. Seeing the reality of this, Mitch was really glad he didn’t bring anyone here with him, especially his sister.
Mitch still didn’t know the name of the man he was following, though he had heard him call his companion “Eddie.” He didn’t ask as he walked along behind him with Eddie bringing up the rear, his rifle pointed at Mitch’s back. At this point, after the way the man had talked to him and ordered his other companion to take his weapons and horse, Mitch had nothing to say to him. He figured his best bet from here on was explaining his situation to whoever this “sheriff” was, with the hope that he might be a more reasonable man.
The two men led him directly past the courthouse, and while Mitch gave the ominous gallows another sideways glance, he was careful not to let his apprehensions show. In the next block past the courthouse, they came to a building that had been the city police station. Behind it, was a two-story building with barred windows and a high fence topped with razor wire. Mitch surmised it had to be the jail, and it was towards it that the men were leading him. Was the sheriff’s office located there? He figured he was about to find out.
When they reached the front entrance the point man rapped on the steel door, and he saw a face appear in the small window, probably made of bulletproof Lexan. Seeing who it was, the man inside turned a deadbolt and a moment later the door swung open. The guard inside carried a short-barreled AR on a single-point sling and had his hand on the grip as he looked at his friends to see what brought them here.
“Got another vagrant that showed up on a stolen horse with two stolen firearms. You got anymore room at the inn, Charley?”
“We’ll make room, Mr. Bailey, don’t you worry about that. Matter of fact, I got a vacancy that’s needed filling ever since that Smith fellow got the noose.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” Mitch said. “Where’s the sheriff? You said we were coming here so I could talk to the sheriff. You’re not locking me u
p. I told you, I’m not a thief!”
“The sheriff is out of town doing a little hunting,” the man Mitch now knew was Mr. Bailey said. “He ought to be back in a couple of days. You’ll get your chance to talk to him then.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was out of town back there at the highway? I told you I’d just leave. You can’t hold me here. I want my damned guns and my horse back. I’ll get out of here and you won’t ever see me again!”
“It doesn’t work like that around here, boy. This may be one of the last places in the country that is, but we’re keeping law and order in this town. And the way things are out past those gates; we don’t take any chances with strangers. Now like I said, the sheriff will see you when he gets back. It’ll be up to him whether you ride out of here again or not. But you’d best have your story straight beforehand. If you’re telling the truth about all those guns you say you’ve got to trade, then you’d best tell me where you hid them so I can bring them here to show the sheriff.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m telling you where they are! Do I look stupid? You’ll just go get them all and confiscate them, and I’ll get nothing!”
“Suit yourself. You’ll have a time to think about it in here. If I was you I would think real hard though.”
* * *
Lisa Henley curled up against the base of a tree and took another nap after Mitch left. She was sure that he’d be gone at least an hour or two, and she wanted to try and catch up on the sleep she’d missed riding all night. When she woke the sun was just past its peak, so she figured she’d slept long enough and that Mitch would show up soon with word as to whether or not there really was a trading post. She really hoped there was, not only because Uncle Benny needed medicine, but also because of everything they’d lost. She had been wearing the same cargo pants and hoodie for nearly a month now, and they were already worn out and ragged-looking from wearing them most days even before the fire. Lisa had plenty of clothes in her room at home before the lights went out, but she had been sharing them with Stacy, who was her same size, and then when Samantha and later, April arrived, she gave them some of her things that would fit them too. But none of them had spares now. The night they’d fled the house she and April had grabbed some blankets and jackets, but they didn’t have extra pants or things like underwear, shoes and socks. Worn as they were though, Lisa was really glad she’d been wearing her hunting boots, rugged pants and warm fleece hoodie. They still had some life in them, but they wouldn’t last indefinitely. To her and all the other girls in the camp, getting some more clothing was a top priority if trading were possible.
Darkness After Series (Book 4): The Savage Darkness Page 8
