by Wayne Mee
“So do I,” Cobb said. “But he isn’t and we can’t around wait for him. If we want to get those girls back alive and whole, Bobby and I have to leave right away.”
“Not without me you aren’t,” a voice said. Three set of eyes turned towards the door. “And if you do, I’ll just follow ---and if you hit me again, Cobb, I’ll hit back.”
For a moment Doc thought he heard the father, not the son. Jessie, not Josh, stood in the doorway. Blood from his split lip still covered his chin. He looked older than his sixteen years. Much older. Cobb held the youth’s defiant gaze, noted his cool, controlled stance. He’d seen that look on men’s faces before, and always chosen them to watch his back. Josh may not like it, but Jessie had earned the right to go. Kenneth had been the boy’s best friend as well as his cousin. Besides, Cobb knew he’d have a hell of a time stopping him.
“Jessie”, Doc said through a sigh. “Your father wouldn’t want you to.---”
“You’re right, Doc”, the tall youth cut in. “My father wouldn’t want me to go. He’d probably even forbid it. But I’d still go anyway. Ken was like my brother. His killers won’t go free.” This last was said calmly, without boasting or bravado --- just a simple statement of fact.
“Okay,” Cobb said. “Get your gear.”
Jessie lifted a pack he had left just outside the door. A 30/30 Marlin was strapped to its side. “I’ve got it.”
Bobby gave Jess the thumbs up sign. Doc slowly shook his head.
A half an hour later the three left The Shire in an landrover, the back filled with food, camping gear and a large number of weapons.
When One Arm’s rag-tag convoy of one jeep and two cars roared off into the night, they had fled northward, taking any road that led them away from Mount Hawthorn. As a result, they soon got lost. By the time they made it back to the main road, other problems had arisen. With two of the five men he had left wounded, wrecked cars blocking the roads and the bloody jeep overheating, One Arm had stopped for the night at a small motel outside the town of Essex. He was only twenty-three miles north of Crown Point. He’d planned to get new wheels and an early start the next morning, but once inside the motel, one drink had led to another and by dawn he and his remaining merry men were snoring off a drunken stupor. Mai-Ling and Jenny Hiller had been left tied in the jeep.
At quarter past eight the next morning they were still in the jeep when Cobb, Bobby and Jessie came along. Bobby, unable to believe their luck, started to yell out. Cobb silenced him with a look, then cut the motor and let the landrover roll to a stop on the edge of the road.
“Could be a trap,” he whispered, reaching for his rifle. “Bobby, take the shotgun and get behind that Buick. Cover the door. Jessie, sneak in and cut them loose. Move up behind the jeep and keep them quiet. I’ll cover you from here.”
“But we can take them all!”, Bobby said. “They deserve it!”
Cobb nodded towards the motel. “There’s eight or ten rooms down there. Do you know which ones they’re in? I don’t. We get caught in a firefight and we all loose.” He attempted a smile. “Get the girls first, then we’ll see.”
Bobby nodded. Jessie was already creeping towards the jeep; knife in one hand, a Browning 9 mm. in the other. During the drive he’d switched his .22 target pistol for the heavier semi-automatic. Cobb had noted the change, but figured the young man could handle it.
When the landrover appeared, Jenny Heller thought she was dreaming. She ached all over; her wrists, her legs and her groin from where those animals at the mill had raped her. When she saw Jessie approaching, a whimper of joy escaped her parched lips. Jessie made a sign for her to keep quiet, and soon he was beside them, cutting them free. Mai-Ling’s eyes widened when she saw him, her pretty face lighting up. He squeezed her hand, then led them back to the landrover.
They were half-way there when a man dressed in a bloodstained t-shirt and boxer shorts opened the door of #5. He stood scratching his stomach, squinting into the morning sun. Then he saw Jessie and the girls.
“Hey!”, he yelled, taking a step forward.
From the landrover, Cobb squeezed the trigger of assault rifle. The M-4 had a thirty round clip and could fire at single, a burst of three and full auto. Cobb only needed one shot. The built in baffle made a sound like a cough, yet the 5.56 mm. hollow-point slug punched the man back through the open doorway. “Shit!”, Cobb swore, flicking the setting from single-shot to triple-burst.
The rest happened fast. Jessie and the girls sprinted for the landrover. Another man appeared in the doorway. Bobby fired quickly. Too quickly. He missed the man but blew a hole in the door. Someone yelled. Shots were fired. The window in #7 shattered and automatic fire raked the parkinglot. Bobby cut loose with the 12 gage’s second barrel, then ducked down to reload. The Buick he was behind was hit from several angles. More glass shattered. Jessie pushed Mai-Ling behind the landrover, then turned and fired his Browning as Jenny sprinted past him. Cobb switched to the tear-gas launcher he had picked up at the Crown Point Police Station. The first shell went through smashed window of #7, the second through the open door of #5. Some sporadic firing continued, then petered out. A smell like rotten eggs filled the air as whitish-yellow smoke leaked out the windows and doors. Cobb ordered everyone into the landrover, then handed Jessie his assault rifle.
“Slow and steady, Jess. It’s on triple burst. Just keep them pinned down.” The large tires spun gravel as Cobb drove towards the Buick. Bobby climbed in just as Jessie emptied the clip. Bobby had time for a parting blast before the vehicle hit the pavement and sped back the way it had come. Out of range now, Bobby fired the remaining barrel just the same.
His good eye streaming tears, Rambo came through the riddled door of #7 with the Uzi on full Rock ‘n Roll. Hot, 9 mm. led sprayed out in a killing arc, yet there was nothing to kill. He kept firing anyway, drowning out the cries and coughs of the men behind him. Two spilled out of #5’s holed door. Both were gasping. Straw hung in the doorway, his face the color of a dead fish. One Arm crawled past him on his knees, puking up last night’s Scotch. When the Uzi at last ran dry, Rambo tossed it away and stood glaring at the empty road. The look in his good eye was a long way from friendly.
By ten o’clock the landrover was once again passing the stone gatehouse that marked the beginning of The Shire. Minutes later Mrs. Wang had her granddaughter in her arms, tears of joy running down her lined face. The others gathered round to welcome back the kidnapped and the rescuers both, each one eager to hear just how they had pulled off the impossible.
Two days later Josh, Flame and Eddy returned.
Josh and Doc sat talking on the large patio overlooking the lake. Doc seemed far from happy.
“Fist Cobb, now you! Christ, Josh, we got them back! Why can’t you leave it at that?!”
“Because they won’t.” His voice had taken on that soft, sharp tone that sent shivers up the older man’s spine.
“Why?”
“Because their warped, macho code demands it. ‘Take what you want, an eye for an eye and revenge at all cost’.”
Doc shuddered. “That’s sick!”
Josh sighed. “I agree, but that doesn’t make it any less true. We can sit here waiting, or we can go after them. At least my way we’ll have surprise on our side.”
The old man looked keenly at the younger. “Are you sure you don’t have another reason?”
“Like what?”
Doc drew a deep breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe some ‘macho’ feelings of your own? Before the world went crazy you taught history and literature. Myths and legends were your stock and trade. I may be just an old country vet, but I’ve seen my share of John Wayne movies. I’ve also seen that rifle you carry and I’ve heard Eddy and a few of the others refer to you as ‘The Duke’. It could be that a part of you is living out some macho legend of your own.”
Josh dug out his pipe and slowly filled the bowl. “It could also be that you’re full of shit.”
Doc grinned
. “Fastest bowel movement in the west!”
Josh smiled in spite of himself. “Even if what you say is true, it doesn’t change the fact that they will be back. I won’t live in fear and I won’t run away. If that sounds like some corny ‘B’ grade movie to you, then I’m sorry.”
Doc shook his head. “’A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do’, eh? Christ, now you do sound like The Duke.”
Just then Flame and Jessie joined them. Jessie, the bruise all but faded where Cobb had hit him, moved quietly to his father. Even the buxom red-head seem subdued by the catastrophe that had taken place three days earlier.
Jessie spoke to his father. “Uncle Brad is still out there.”
Since the funeral, Brad had spent most of his time at his son’s grave. Doc had tried to get him to stay in bed, saying his shoulder could easily get infected, but Brad had paid little heed. It was almost as if he didn’t care.
Josh sighed and stood up. “I’ll go talk to him.”
The five graves, all achingly fresh, were out back of what remained of the main house. Willard had suggested stones be placed over the earth to discourage animals. With humans being almost eliminated from the area, the number of coyotes and other predators was rapidly on the rise. Five stone cairns now rose up above the swaying grass. Brad, sitting in a lawn chair, kept a silent vigil.
“He’d not want this, Brad.”
The hunched form made no reply.
The two men gazed at the stacked stones, remembering the past. After a while Josh turned and knelt beside his cousin. The bandages on Brad’s shoulder were stained red.
Brad looked up, his eyes dark hollows of despair. “Why, Josh? He was only a child. Why?”
Josh stiffened, his voice suddenly cold. “Because they like killing. It makes them feel good, tough, invincible. But they aren’t, Brad. They can die like the rest of us. Cobb proved that.”
Something that might have once passed for a smile moved quickly across Brad’s face. Josh though, knew it for what it was; a grimace of pain that had nothing to do with his wound.
“It’s not just Kenneth. It’s Jim Shell, Marcy, Thelma. Christ! Tom Leeson died in my arms! And now you tell me Trina’s gone! Sweet Jesus, it’ll never end!” His eyes narrowed. “They’ll be back, won’t they? Sooner or later they’ll come back to finish what they started.”
Josh held his cousin’s gaze. “Not if we get them first. Come morning, I’m heading up to Plattsburg.”
Brad held his cousin’s gaze for several heartbeats. “You’re serious about this? You’re going after them?”
Josh nodded toward the graves. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
The silence between them stretched out like a living thing. Then Brad placed a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Cities are bad, Josh. Remember what Boston was like? Mobs! Fires! People hanging from lampposts! You get caught up in that and you’ll be as dead as Kenneth!”
From out in the lake came the plaintive cry of a loon. Josh drew a deep breath, his voice a whispered confession. “I can’t just sit here waiting.”
Several moments passed before Brad spoke, when he did, his voice held some of his old bounce. “Besides Flame and Cobb, who else is going? Eddy? Bobby?”
Josh nodded. “Jessie’s coming too.”
Brad tried to rise but couldn’t. His shoulder wound started bleeding again. Their eyes met. “Looks like I’ll have to sit this one out. When do you leave?”
“First light.”
All of the survivors were up to see them off. Jenny Hiller hugged Cobb, then turned away. Mai-Ling kissed Jessie on his cheek, making the young man blush. Mrs. Wang embraced each of them, then handed Bobby a large box of bake-goods she’d prepared. Willard hefted a cooler filled with frozen venison stakes onto the back of the towtruck.
“Those should last you near a week. You’ll be back by then.”
Everyone smiled, but no-one really believed it. Josh had told Doc and Brad privately that if they didn’t find them in Plattsburg, they’d keep looking. “After all,” he’d said; “a one armed man and another with an eyepatch shouldn’t be that hard to find. We’ll be back before the snow flies.”
In his heart, Doc feared he’d never see any of them again.
An hour after sunrise, the small caravan was on the road. In the lead was Josh’s new red Westfalia, followed by Eddy’s blue van. Bobby’s towtruck, with Flame’s Harley tied on the back, brought up the rear.
The Searchers were on their way.
Chapter 36: ‘THE LION’S DEN’
Plattsburg New York
August 23
The bartender, one Benny Weinstein, looked up as One Arm came through the tavern’s door. A drunk, either an early starter or someone left over from last night, was standing in the way. One Arm shoved him aside and stepped up to the bar. Benny handed him a bottle.
For the first three weeks after The Change, this roadhouse on the outskirts of Plattsburg had been Benny’s own little kingdom. He had gathered a number of survivors, including several women, and decided to ‘open for business’. He’d even painted a sign to hang out front. Being a life long James Bond fan, he had christened the place ‘Pussy Galore’.
Then, a little over a week ago, One Arm and that cold bastard Rambo had showed up. His little kingdom had quickly crumbled. Now he considered himself lucky to just be alive.
“You look like hell, Boss”, Benny said by way of a greeting. “How did things go with those hayseeds you went after?”
After a long pull on the bottle, One Arm turned to the balding bartender. “Shut the fuck up and get me something to eat!”
Benny smiled. One Arm was a real asshole, but he was one mean bastard of an asshole. Benny figured he had it soft here, and had no desire to be back out on the road. If that meant taking a little lip, that was fine by him.
“Benny’s right, Tough Guy,” a female voice said. “You do look like hell. Come upstairs and let me get you cleaned up.”
One Arm took another drink, managing to give her the finger at the same time. The woman rewarded him with her most rewarding smile; the one reserved for the powerful and dangerous shitheads. She called herself Easy-Lay Fay, and though the spring of her life had long since come and gone, in that low-cut dress and all that paint, she still didn’t look half bad. Looks aside, she ran the other girls at the ‘Pussy Galore’ like a master-sergeant, keeping them turning tricks almost as fast as Benny served his watered whiskey. Of course, with all forms of money now a thing of the past, all ‘payment’ had to be done on the barter system. Things traded, work done, that sort of thing. Fay was even better at it that Benny.
Just then Rambo came in. Straw trailed behind him like an anorexic shadow. They walked past a beefy looking man with no neck sitting behind the door. Bruiser the Bouncer they called him. Bruiser wasn’t too long on smarts, but he could pound the shit out of any three men without working up a sweat. One Arm let him sleep out back for services rendered. Rambo kicked the half risen drunk aside, grabbed a bottle from Benny and stalked past One Arm into the back room. The door slammed shut.
Fay turned to Straw. “What the fuck happened to you boys, Runt?”
Straw, his beady eyes already devouring one of Fay’s girls lounging around in her underwear, reluctantly met the older woman’s gaze.
“We got the shit kicked out of us, that’s what! And don’t call me Runt! Where’s Sally?”
“Upstairs with a John. Where’s the rest of your bunch?”
Straw started towards the stairs. “Dead. Who’s she with?”
“The Pope! For Christ sake, Runt, you had over a dozen men with you!”
Straw turned on her, his mouth a grim slash. “You fucking deaf, Bitch? They’re all dead! And I told you not to call me Runt!” His hand went to the knife at his side. Before it was half-way drawn, Fay had a silver-plated Derringer pressed against his temple.
“Go on, Prick-Face,” she said coldly. “Make my day.”
Straw stood perfectly still, a line of
sweat forming on his upper lip. It was only a shitty little .22, but he’d seen Fay splatter a John’s brains with it just a week ago and the memory of that gray matter dripping down the walls was suddenly very vivid. His hand itched to draw the knife, but as the hammer on the little pop-gun clicked back, he decided he wanted his own brains exactly where they were. He’d deal with the old bitch later.
When Straw backed away, the people in the bar breathed a sigh of relief. Even Bruiser the Bouncer relaxed. One of the girls came up to Straw and whispered in his ear. A moment later he was chasing her upstairs. One Arm, now half-way through the bottle, handed it to Fay. She slid the Derringer into her ample cleavage and took a long pull.
“Christ, Fay! I should have brought you along instead of that bunch of limp dicks! You got more balls than the lot of ‘em!”
Fay grinned. “Feel like checking that out, Tough Guy?”
One Arm looked her up and down. “Why the fuck not?”
Benny breathed easier as Fay led the one armed psycho up the stairs, then yelled at Bruiser to throw the drunk out into the street.
They arrived at Benny’s bar by mid-afternoon on the third day. They could have made it sooner, but both Josh and Cobb wanted to check things out before showing themselves. They’d gotten directions to the ‘Pussy Galore’ from the few people hanging round the waterfront. Now, parked on a wharf a few blocks away, they made their plans. Lake Champlain’s blue waters glistened behind them.
Cobb pointed at the rough sketch he’d made. “Two out front, two out back. Two go inside. Either way they run, we have them.”
Eddy shook his head. “What if they don’t run? The two inside could buy it while the other four are waiting around.”
Josh leaned forward. “How about this. Two go in and sit down. Act like customers. A few minutes later two more come in and stay by the door. That way there’s four of us inside. The other two can watch the back.”
