Roy gave Dutch a stern look, as if he'd sold a secret family recipe for a dollar. "Yeah, he's right. We can use the old pass road."
"Even so, we can't leave those people behind at the blockades. That would leave the town at their mercy, unprotected. Maybe.... Maybe we use the old road and then come at them from a different direction than they’re expecting us. We'll circle back and sneak in on foot. That will give us the element of surprise," Chief Howell said.
"What are we waiting for? Split up. Dutch, take half of the boys and take care of those bastards at the east end of town. Chief Howell, myself, and the rest of the crew will circle around and take care of the others," Roy said.
"Sounds like a plan," Dutch said.
"All right, Chief, hop on a bike behind one of my guys. They don't mind you riding along," Roy said.
"I don't ride bitch," Chief Howell said.
"Well, Chief, unless you can ride a motorcycle I don't know how you plan on getting there. That old nag of a horse you've got ain't going to keep up with us" Roy said.
Several of the bikers snickered and laughed.
"If you've got a bike, I can ride," he said.
"Today is just full of surprises. Two of you guys double up and somebody loan the Chief your bike," Roy said.
One of the men got off of his motorcycle and offered him the handlebars. "I don't need to tell you to bring it back without a scratch on it, do I, Chief?" the biker asked.
"Not a scratch," he said, then nodded at the man. He sat down on the bike, opening the choke and kick started the motor, revving the engine loudly.
"I'll be damned," Roy said.
Dutch and half of the crew fired up their motorcycles and went flying down the road. Roy and the remaining men grouped up and started down the road after them.
Chief Howell twisted the throttle and sped after the group, the powerful motor growling beneath him.
They flew down the two lane asphalt road and then slowed and turned off onto a paved side street that came to a dead end a half a mile up the road. Road work signs, a few rusted and broke down old tractors, and a large green metal dumpster sat at the end of the street, obviously unused for quite some time. Roy pulled his bike up next to the dumpster and pushed it aside, exposing an old and well-worn gravel road that continued on past the main road. The bikers proceeded through, as did the Chief, and Roy drove his bike through last of all.
They thundered down the old gravel road, climbing the steep mountain road until they reached the mountain summit. The way down the other side was a precarious gravel switchback road that hadn't been maintained in decades, and the road had washed out in several places. Once at the bottom of the mountain, they rejoined a rural highway that led to the main highway pass that the Long Branch crew occupied.
"How you want to do this, Chief?" Roy asked.
"Ride the bikes for a bit, then cut the motors a couple miles out. We should be able to coast most of the way down and we don't want to lose the element of surprise," he said.
They rode down the road, and a couple miles out Roy held his arm up and all of the bikers killed their engines, letting their motorcycles coast down the hill. A half mile away from where the scout had described the blockade, they pulled their bikes off the side of the road and hid them in a deep gulley.
"Wait until everyone is in position. If we get the drop on them I want to give them the chance to surrender. If we don't, we'll do what we have to do. To hell with them," the chief said.
He snuck through the woods and stopped every so often to look and listen to the woods in front of them. After several such stops they located the blockade.
The men from Long Branch stood leaning against the cars that made up the blockade, looking down the highway in the direction of Wheeler. Not a single one of them paid any attention to their flanks or unprotected rear.
Chief Howell made a motion with his right hand, indicating that the bikers should fan out to the left and right behind him as they approached the center of the blockade.
Lifting his shotgun to his shoulder, he swept in behind a group of three of the men talking to each other behind the blockade. Chief Howell stood just behind the them and pumped the action of the shotgun, kicking an unspent round out onto the ground. The shotgun was already loaded and he didn't need to shuck the pump. That wasn't the point, though. The sound was instantly recognizable by everyone. Hearing a shell chambered into a shotgun right at the back of your head went a long ways towards pacifying anybody except the truly idiotic or suicidal. Having gotten their attention, he gave his best authoritative shout honed from years of law enforcement. "Freeze! Drop your weapons and get down on the ground. Now!"
The cluster of three men in front of him instantly complied with his demand. They tossed their rifles and shotguns away and sank down to their knees with their hands on top of their heads. Up and down the line, the Long Branch crew took stock of their situation and the rest of them complied as well.
Chief Howell went up and down, kicking the weapons away from their reach and back to the bikers who stood behind them with their weapons trained. He stood at the end of the blockade, about to handcuff one of the men when out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Roy raise his gun barrel up, aiming right towards his head.
Chief Howell dropped the handcuffs to the ground and put his own shotgun to his shoulder, but Roy fired before he could even fully turn to face him. His heart pounding like a drum, he felt around on his chest and midsection for injuries, expecting to find a large hole in the middle of his belly. Perplexed, he turned to follow Roy's gaze at the ground behind him.
Two men lay on the ground. They had been attempting to sneak up on him, creeping up the side of the ditch next to the highway. Roy killed one of the men, and the second lay there with his hands over his head, his body shaking with fear.
Chief Howell looked Roy, perplexed, and then nodded his head in thanks.
"Get up, you," he said to the pudgy man in the ditch.
"Why’d you do this? What made all of you come into our town and do this? What were you thinking?" Chief Howell demanded.
"We came here to help Shane Fowler take Jack Miller into custody. He killed Shane's boy," the pudgy man said.
"I know what happened because I was there. Were any of you there? Did you see what happened? Because if you did you wouldn't be here in my town shooting up my people. Speak up," he ordered.
None of the Long Branch crew said a word, most of them looked down at the ground guiltily.
"Vigilante justice, and for what? None of you even knows what happened or what you're doing out here. Jack Miller did shoot and kill Shane's son. There's no denying that. He shot him in self-defense, you idiots. We found that train first and your people starting shooting first and asking questions later. Shane's boy tried to stop Jack from leaving that train. He had forty dollars’ worth of soup cans for his child who is starving to death. Soup! This was a senseless tragedy, not a cold blooded murder. Now, who's in charge over in Long Branch? Is Judge Ramsey still there? I can't believe she would authorize something like this," Chief Howell said.
The pudgy man nodded his head and kept his eyes on the ground. "Yes, sir."
"Here's what’s going to happen. I'm going to send you back to Long Branch with a message. You all came out here for some vigilante justice. You thought we were a little town and you could push us around. You've seen what we can do now. You started this nonsense, and we finished it.
"You go tell Judge Ramsey that Chief Howell said he wants to have a one on one meeting with her in a neutral location. You tell her that we'll meet her at the train, right where all of this started. I lost a lot of good people today. And since we're all out here talking about justice, I want half of that train. That train isn't in Long Branch and Wheeler found it first, so by rights it belongs to us one hundred percent. You tell her she'd better be ready to start negotiating. And you make sure to tell her what kind of mood we're in.
"Now get out of here and get back to Long Br
anch. I don't want to see your faces here again. See the ugly biker with the bad attitude standing behind me? His name is Roy. Shane shot and killed his brother, Wyatt, today. Wyatt had nothing to do with the train or the supplies. It was cold blooded murder. Does that sound like justice to you? If I see any of you in my town again I'll cut you down on sight. And if I don't, you can be sure Roy will do it himself without a second thought. We'll hang on to these guns for you. Get going," Chief Howell said.
The group of men looked at each other questioningly, then seemed to agree and set out down the road to Long Branch.
When they were well down the road, Chief Howell turned to Roy and extended his hand. "Roy, boys, thank you for your help today. It was an ugly thing that happened to Wyatt. This could have been far bloodier without your help. I'll keep those mountain back roads you use for smuggling a secret from local law enforcement."
The bikers laughed and chuckled. Roy gripped his hand, returning his firm handshake.
"It looks like we'll have to patch up an old bike for the Chief if he's going to be running with our crew," Roy said.
Chief Howell looked down the highway and over the mountains, wondering what other threats lay beyond the horizon. If two small neighboring towns like Wheeler and Long Branch could descend into chaos in such a short time after the EMP, how would the larger communities fare?
Chapter 22
It was still and quiet in the early morning hours before dawn along the river bank. The only sound was the rushing of white water as it flowed over bedrock, cold and unstoppable as the river wound its way through the remote valley. A chill wind blew through the trees, and Jack shivered against the cold, hurrying at his task so that he could get back to the warmth of the campfire a short distance away.
He dug his fingers into the loose soil, gently lifting the tendrils of a spruce tree's root system free of the soil. Several feet of the root lay wrapped in a coil at his feet. Just a few more sections and he would have enough cordage to bind together what he was working on.
With the spruce roots in hand he went back to the campfire and sat down next to the large stones he'd carried up from the river, along with a long straight tree limb he'd found lying on the ground.
Jack took one of the river stones, and using it as a hammer, brought it down on one of the other stones. A large section split off of the large section, creating a sharp edge along the break. He worked at the stone, striking it repeatedly and breaking off sections until all that remained was a long thin piece of stone with a sharp, pointed tip.
He skinned the branch and split the end of it down the middle, then set the long thin spearhead into the shaft of the wood. Next he wound spruce roots around the two pieces, wrapping the roots tightly around the spear shaft and binding the spearhead to the long shaft of wood.
He tested the binding, trying to wiggle the stone spear tip free, but the root binding held firm. The makeshift spear fit perfectly in his hands. It was heavy enough that it would have some weight behind it and not snap in half on the first use but also light enough that he could strike out with it and deliver a killing blow.
Soaking up the last bit of heat from the bed of coals, Jack pulled the remaining pieces of firewood out of the fire to stop it from burning further. Whatever happened today he wouldn't need the fire any more. He would confront Shane at first light. One of them wouldn't walk out of these woods. He would end this feud once and for all.
Soon the sun made its first appearance over the mountain ridge, the reddish-orange orb casting its dim light across the valley. It was time. He would use the early morning half-light to his advantage, making his way to the other side of Shane's camp to set up an ambush.
Jack picked up his spear and set out. The light was barely bright enough for him to pick his way through the woods. He kept to the shadows, moving from tree to tree, staying well away from the light of Shane's bonfire. Shane was still sitting in the same spot with his back turned to Jack, shivering against the cold. A hundred yards past Shane's camp he spotted a good hiding spot and crouched down low behind a large outcropping of stone alongside the game trail that ran through the woods. The trail offered the easiest route up or down the river and was the most likely place for Shane to pass by.
The sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the darkness and revealing the landscape to him. Jack pulled his spear back in a ready position, gripping it tightly as he tried not to let his teeth chatter. It was bone-chillingly cold and he'd already spent his reserve of energy the day before. He waited, keeping his mind focused on slowing his breath down and remaining silent.
After fifteen minutes of waiting, he began to wonder if Shane had frozen to death during the night and he had witnessed some illusion created by the flickering bonfire flames that made him think the man shivered. He felt that something was out of place. Something was wrong.
The eerie feeling grew in his stomach, as if he were being watched. His sense that something was wrong grew stronger, and he could no longer ignore it as nervous energy or anxiety about the fight to come.
The hackles stood up on the back of his neck and Jack turned just in time to see a shadow move across the stone outcropping just behind him. He flinched, and ducked his head down out of reflex.
Pain exploded across his back as something large and heavy struck him. Jack was thrown to the ground from the force of the impact, his face pressed against the freezing cold dirt. He flipped his over and rolled away, taking his spear with him.
Shane stood above him, a crude wooden cudgel in his hand.
"You thought you were going to just stick me like a pig when I walked down the trail, didn't you, Jack?" Shane asked. He raised the club and leaped forward, striking at Jack.
Jack lifted his spear up just in time to brace the butt of his spear into the ground, driving the sharp point into Shane’s chest.
Shane screamed with pain and pulled the spear free of his chest. The wound wasn't a killing blow; the point had punctured the skin but hadn't gone deep. It only served to enrage him, and he tossed Jack's spear aside, bringing the club down against Jack's unprotected legs.
The cudgel cracked loudly against his knee, sounding like a baseball bat impacting a piece of concrete. A lightning bolt of searing pain shot through his leg, centering on his knee.
Jack brought the spear up and tried to skewer Shane through the heart, but from his prone position and his body wracked with pain it was a halfhearted effort with little power or precision.
Shane twisted his body out of the way as nimbly as a boxer would sidestep a punch thrown by a child. Shane grabbed onto the spear and tucked it under his arm, pinning it against his body as he drew himself down the shaft closer to Jack, rendering the weapon useless.
Shane lifted the cudgel and grunted as he swung it around, the blow connecting with the side of Jack's head.
A sickly thud filled the air and his vision flashed pure white. When he could see again, the pain in his head was incredible, his skull instantly swollen and pounding so hard that it made him want to puke. Inside of his skull his brain buzzed with the sound of a thousand bees and he experienced an intense pain in his eyes. His vision was filled with hundreds of black spots and bright white snowflakes. His mouth filled with the taste of iron, and blood spilled from his mouth.
"Still in there, Jack? Stay with me. We're not done yet," Shane said.
Shane stood over him, and raised his club high over his head for a killing blow. The cords in his neck stood out from the effort of the blow as he swung the club down on Jack again.
The blow landed on his shoulder, missing his head by an inch. He felt something crack and give way in his upper chest, one of the bones that connected his shoulder and rib cage. Jack raised his arms to protect his face and searing hot pain on his left side met his attempt.
Shane lifted the club and swung it around in a circle, connecting it with Jack's jaw.
Lightning struck him again and his vision blacked out. His jaw was wracked with pain. He ran his tongue
across his gums, pushing shards of broken teeth and blood out of his mouth. The pain was too much to handle. His mind began to slip away into the deep dark blackness of unconsciousness.
"Don't go anywhere, Jack. Hang in there with me. Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you right now. I want you to hear the news after I kill your son. You think what you're feeling now is painful? No, just you wait. There's a whole other level of pain waiting for you. See you soon, Jack," Shane said.
Shane dropped the cudgel to the ground and walked away up the trail, making his way back to Wheeler.
Jack rolled onto his side, gasping for breath, choking on broken teeth and the blood pouring from his mouth. He wanted so badly to let his mind slip away, to retreat into the mindless slumber that would spell the end of the pain. It was right there waiting for him.
Something inside of him screamed and raged against that peaceful darkness. He had to stop Shane. He couldn't let him go. Even if he couldn't kill Shane, he needed to extend the fight as long as possible to give Kenny a chance to get home and warn Amy of the danger.
Jack spit the blood and broken teeth from his mouth, absently wiping his jaw with his hand. He leaned up on his right elbow and picked up his spear. Using it as a crutch he got up onto one knee, nearly falling over from the pain of his wounds.
Shane was fifty yards down the trail and retreating fast. He had to stop him. He had to say something to stop him before he got away. He had to hit Shane in his weak spot. Shane's son had died bravely enough for a young man, doing what he thought was right, but Jack had to lie and use it against Shane, turning the man's rage inward against himself.
"Your son was a coward. He begged me not to kill him," Jack said.
Shane paused on the trail for a moment, but then continued on down the path, ignoring Jack's taunts.
"He got down on his knees and begged for his life. At the end, he was so scared that he pissed his pants--"
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 2): Desperate Measures Page 14
