Mason didn’t bother stating the obvious.
They were falling apart.
To keep the bus from careening out of control, he let the vehicle slow to around ten miles an hour. At that speed, any lead they had accumulated would be gone within minutes.
He turned to Brooke. “Take a look out the back. See if you can get eyes on them.”
She stood up and made her way to the rear of bus.
Peering out through a narrow slit, she hollered, “I don’t see anyone. Do you think they decided to let us go?”
Mason didn’t think that was likely, not after what he had done to them with the Browning. The look in the infected commander’s eyes was not one of forgiveness or defeat. He was a man used to winning, and winning in this case meant dragging their bodies through blood-ridden streets. The fact that they hadn’t yet caught up meant one thing, and one thing only.
It was time to hide.
Mason scanned the road ahead of them. To their right was a single-story building. The front was brick-faced to look like a home, but it was clear from the sheet-metal sides that it was some kind of business. The small parking lot beside it sat empty.
Just beyond the building was a turnoff to the right with a sign that read Industrial Park Road. He carefully steered the bus onto the narrow road, allowing the vehicle’s momentum to carry it around a winding bend. They passed a large complex of storage units and a water well repair company before Mason finally spotted their refuge.
The metal building was two hundred feet on a side, with awnings to the front and back. Beneath those awnings were shelves stacked high with steel panels used to build commercial structures. A half-dozen empty tractor-trailer beds sat parked around the building, each rusting away under the onslaught of time and weather.
Mason carefully turned into the wide gravel drive, easing the bus under the front awning and in through an open high bay door. The interior of the building was dark, and he idled ahead until he felt the bus gently bump against a concrete post.
Killing the engine, he picked up his M4 and motioned for Bowie to lead the way. The dog seemed more than willing to get back onto solid ground. He quickly bounded down the stairs, tipped his nose into the air, and wandered away into the darkness.
Mason followed after him, stopping at the foot of the steps to let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. He could hear Bowie’s toenails scratching across the concrete floor as he conducted his own quick survey of the building. It appeared to be an industrial shop of some sort, the smell of machine oil and sweat still present.
As Mason’s vision began to clear, he saw that there were large hydraulic presses and cutting stations positioned around the room. Cobwebs hung down from the ceiling, and a thick layer of dust covered everything.
No one had been in the shop in many weeks.
He heard the soft patter of Brooke coming down the stairs behind him.
“Are we safe?” she whispered.
He stared out into the darkness, wondering what that even meant anymore.
“We are for now.”
Chapter 15
The ride west took Tanner and Samantha over hills thick with eastern white pine and Kentucky coffeetree. The sun hung low in the sky, orange rays of light shining through the dense spread of trees. They rode along the banks of the Salt River for a time, meandering north and south as they pushed ever closer to Fort Knox. Eventually, they splashed across a patch of shallows to find themselves on a narrow, unmarked road.
Samantha looked around at the seemingly endless expanse of trees. Except for the road, everything looked exactly as it had for the past three hours.
“Are you sure we’re headed the right way?”
Tanner glanced up at the sky. “I’m sure.”
“Okay,” she said, urging Dusty on. “But if we end up back at Gran’s house, I get the bed.”
He gave Major a little nudge to catch up to her.
“Fine, but if there’s a fresh plug of Red Man stuffed under the pillow, it’s mine.”
They continued ahead at a trot, the road eventually taking them past several warehouses. There were no signs to indicate what type of business had been conducted within. Dark-gray shipping containers sat in otherwise empty parking lots, the words, “Property of the US Government” painted along their sides.
They rode on, following the asphalt trail as it wound back and forth, cutting a narrow path through the forest. It occasionally opened up to reveal a farm, left unplanted and overgrown, or a nondescript barn that had been used to store tractors or other equipment.
After four more uneventful miles, the trees suddenly opened up to reveal a sprawling military complex. To their right was a shipping and receiving center, the parking lot stacked high with hundreds of shipping containers. While a sizable structure in its own right, the receiving center was dwarfed by the enormous horseshoe-shaped building to their left. It was the second-largest building Samantha had ever seen, taking a backseat only to the Pentagon. Parking lots surrounded it on all four sides, several of which looked big enough to land a jetliner.
“My goodness,” she said, bringing Dusty to a halt. “Look at that place.”
Tanner seemed less impressed. “Your tax dollars at work.”
“What’s a tax dollar?”
“My question exactly.”
“There must have been thousands of people working there. Where do you think they all went?”
“Same place as everyone else. First to the hospital, then to the grave.”
“Do you think the vault is in there?”
He shook his head. “This is the army post. The depository’s a bit further southwest.” Tanner looked off toward the setting sun. They had maybe another hour of daylight. “We’re not going to make it there before dark. Best if we find a place to hole up for the night.”
She nodded toward the enormous building.
“Plenty of room in there.”
“I’d prefer someplace a little cozier.” He nudged Major forward. “Let’s go, boy.”
They traveled west along Eisenhower Avenue, passing the Calvary Chapel, a large barber shop, and a Taco John’s that Tanner was absolutely heartbroken to find boarded up. They also came upon several brick dormitories that had been used to house enlisted soldiers, and a street sign that read “Bullion Blvd.”
“We must be getting close,” Samantha said with excitement. “I can almost smell the gold.” She tipped her nose into the air as if actually able to pick up such an odor.
Tanner smiled. The poor girl was catching the fever as surely as California settlers had during the height of the Gold Rush.
“Let’s just hope there’s something left.”
“It would be terribly disappointing to ride all this way for nothing.”
“Don’t forget about crashing in a helicopter.”
“Believe me, that’s something I’ll never forget.” Samantha looked around and noticed that the shadows were growing long. “It’s getting dark.”
“It does that when the sun goes down.”
She pointed to a small cluster of single-story buildings to the west.
“Those might be good for the night. They look like little houses.”
They urged the horses on, feeling the pressure of nightfall approaching. The buildings turned out to be duplexes for officers and their families. Like all Army housing, they looked drab but functional, constructed of a plain red brick and defined by matching doors and windows.
Tanner and Samantha dismounted and hitched their horses to the branch of a large tree out front. There was tall green grass close enough for the animals to eat.
He twisted his hips around, trying to work out the kinks.
“Sore?” she asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Not really,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m still young.”
It was the kind of wisecrack that left Tanner wondering whether she was trying to insult him, or just stating a fact that was in itself insulting. Either way
, Samantha was Samantha, and he loved her for it.
He stepped up to the closest duplex and gave the door a quick bump with his fist.
No one answered.
Samantha leaned in and pressed her ear to the door.
“Anything?”
“Nothing alive.” She straightened up and added, “Nothing dead either, I hope.” Withered dead bodies had become the norm of abandoned homes, and despite having seen more bodies than the Los Angeles County Coroner, they still gave her the creeps.
Tanner tried the knob.
It turned, and the door swung inward.
Inside, they found a small dormitory. The living room and eat-in kitchen were open to one another, and they could see a hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. Everything was neat and tidy, as if it had been recently spruced up. The air was a bit stuffy, but there was the refreshing odor of Mr. Clean.
Samantha walked over and flopped down on a lime green vinyl couch that could have been taken from the set of That ’70s Show.
“Not bad,” she said, bouncing up and down. “Way better than sitting on Dusty, that’s for sure.”
Tanner pushed the door shut and threw the deadbolt.
“Did you check the place for nasties?”
“No,” she said defensively, “but anyone can see that it’s empty.”
“You sure no one’s hiding in the closet or under a bed? Because you know how I hate being woken up in the night by people wanting to kill me.”
“Fine,” she grumbled, reluctantly getting to her feet.
As Samantha moved room to room, checking for anyone, or anything, in hiding, Tanner took her place on the couch.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” she said, placing her hands on her hips.
He yawned and stretched out. “It’s like you said, darlin’—you’re young.”
She started to balk but settled for an indignant huff. In the end, she found that the closets were empty except for old hangers, and the beds had nothing hiding under them, save for a few dust bunnies. All in all, it was a perfectly fine place for two wayward travelers to spend the night.
Sleep came quickly, a welcome artifact of a long day’s ride. Even curled up on stiff beds with nothing more than Gran’s old blankets to cover them, both Tanner and Samantha slept like they were on holiday. Perhaps it was because the adrenalin was wearing off from a danger-laden day, or simply the peaceful quiet of the abandoned Army base. Either way, by the time they rolled out of bed, ate, and tended to the horses, it was nearly nine in the morning.
As Samantha mounted up, she said, “I sure hope today’s better than yesterday.”
“What are you talking about? Yesterday was a glorious day.” Tanner nudged Major, and the horse stepped down off a curb and out into the street. “We got to fly in a helicopter, go for a swim, and ride horses. People pay good money to do those things.”
“Even so, I’d settle for one with a bit less excitement. I think it’s making me grow old before my time.” She examined a few strands of her hair, looking for gray.
“Growing old is a privilege, darlin’. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Maybe so, but I’d like to enjoy my good years too.”
He smiled, not bothering to tell her that they’re all good years, especially if you’re in the company of those you care about.
As they got underway, they spotted the Lindsey Golf Course along the right side of the road. What had once been carefully managed greens were now covered in a thick mesh of grass and weeds.
Samantha’s lips turned up in amusement as she stared off at the course.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she said with the gentle shake of her head. “It’s just hard to believe that people’s lives were once so easy that they spent their days doing things like that.”
“Nothing wrong with golf. Got people outside.”
“I guess. But honestly, what’s the point? Who cares how well you can hit a little white ball into a hole?”
“For a lot of people, it wasn’t about the game. It was about spending quality time around other men.”
She looked over at him, fully expecting to see him smothering a grin.
He wasn’t.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious. Our society was trying so hard to be gender-neutral that men largely lost their identities.”
“Does that matter?”
“Sure, it does. Being around other men gives us a sense of kinship, whether it’s sitting around the bar or hitting the links.”
Samantha pondered that for a moment.
“Do you need time around other men? We could probably find you a friend.”
Tanner cut his eyes at her. “Don’t start.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s not like he’d be your boyfriend. Just someone to—”
“I mean it,” he growled. “Let it go.”
“Fine,” she said, smiling. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’m your friend.”
“No. You’re my family.”
“Even so, I can be your friend too. Honestly, any time you want to talk about chest hair or wrestling crocodiles, go right ahead. I won’t mind.”
Tanner sighed. It was not something a twelve-year-old girl would understand, and he should have known better than to bring it up. Now it would only serve as yet another instrument of torture in her nearly endless toolbox.
Content to let men be men, they forged ahead. After a time, they passed an old World War II tank sitting atop a waist-high brick structure that marked the entrance to Fort Knox. Someone had used a can of red spray paint to deface it with the words “Monsters are people too.”
“We’re leaving?” she said, looking back at the entrance. “But where’s the gold?”
Tanner pointed off to the right. A small grove of trees blocked her view, but Samantha could see the outline of a building standing alone in the distance.
“Is that it?” She rose high in the saddle to get a better look. “That’s Fort Knox?”
“Technically, we just left Fort Knox, but yeah, that’s the gold vault.”
Excited, she gave Dusty a little prod, saying, “Giddy-up, girl.”
The horse broke into a trot, and Major was quick to follow, perhaps thinking she had seen something approaching that he hadn’t. It wasn’t long before both horses were cantering side by side like they were heading home for evening chow.
As they moved past the grove of trees, a large fenced-in field came into view. At its center was the iconic two-story, off-white granite building surrounded by guard towers and security cameras. It looked every bit the fortress Samantha had expected.
What she hadn’t expected was for it to be destroyed.
The depository had been at the epicenter of a fierce battle. Military vehicles littered the lawn, dried remains lay scattered about, and a sense of unchecked violence filled the air. The two outer chain-link fences had been pulled down, and parts of the inner, wrought-iron fence lay twisted around several deuce-and-a-half trucks. Even at a distance, it was evident that the enormous black doors blocking entry to the depository were missing.
Defensive positions had been set up close to the building, sandbags piled high with heavy machine guns poking out. Sunlight reflected off thick mounds of spent bullet casings lying next to the makeshift bunkers. Based on the condition of the depository, however, the battle had been settled long ago. It was equally clear that those who had attempted to keep the nation’s treasures safe, while having put up a valiant fight, had eventually fallen.
“What do you think happened?”
“Folks came for the gold.”
“Yeah, but was it really worth all this?” She motioned toward the bloodstained field.
“Gold’s been killing people since the days of Mesopotamia. Not gonna stop here.”
“It’s sad though, right?”
“More like evidence of poor decision making.”
“What’s that mean?”<
br />
“You don’t charge a fortified position and expect to have candy thrown at you.”
She grimaced, imagining how it all played out.
“Do you think there’s any gold left?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Tanner led Major onto a paved drive that was the only way in or out of the depository. Samantha fell in behind him, still in awe of the destruction around them. Despite Tanner’s ambivalence, she couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of sadness as they passed scores, if not hundreds, of indistinguishable clumps of clothing filled with human remains.
Her mind went back to the image of Gran lying in the grave. For some reason, the old woman’s death and those of the poor souls surrounding the depository seemed connected. She didn’t see how they could be. Perhaps it was nothing more than the fact that both had sought relief from their suffering, even if that relief could only be found through death.
They strode past a plain white sheet-metal building to their right. One of the low bay doors was partially raised, and a red emergency vehicle peeked out.
“We’ll come back and check that later,” said Tanner. “Might be something useful in there.”
She nodded, unable to shake the melancholy.
Continuing ahead, Tanner steered Major around an in-ground barricade with the word “STOP!” painted in big bold letters. There was a time when government commands meant something, but that time had long passed.
They kept to the road as far as the second fence line, some two hundred feet in from the barricade. More bodies lay in the thick grass. The stretch of open field had been designed to act as a protective buffer. In the end, it had served as nothing more than a shooting gallery. Most of the dead were wearing civilian clothing, people who had made the mistake of thinking that the virus had left the depository vulnerable to looting.
They had been wrong.
To their credit, some had managed to capture heavy trucks and crash their way through the fence line. Those trucks now sat riddled with machine-gun fire, bodies hunched over the steering wheels. The gate that allowed passage through the fence was blocked by two M113 personnel carriers parked catty-cornered to one another. Both were equipped with Browning .50 caliber machine guns, and based on the body count, they had done their jobs with honor.
The Survivalist Page 18
