Both knew the “we” was a stretch, since the actual stewardship of that repair base near Texarkana was currently held by General McMillan. However, the relationship remained cautiously cordial between the commanding general at Fort Polk and the loose confederation of East Texas communities cobbled together largely by Sheriff Henderson, and men like Sam Messner.
“Major Warren has a plan, or a proposal, to answer some of these questions. He wants to send his own scouting mission, and…” Sam Messner held up a hand before his son could say a word. “…you are not going.”
Luke held up a hand in agreement. “Not going to argue with you, Dad. I’m okay running solo or with a partner, but I know I still have a lot to learn about working as part of a team, much less assuming any leadership role. Man’s got to know his limitations.”
Sam laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah, that’s reassuring. Quoting Dirty Harry is not exactly making me feel better.” Then in a softer voice, almost to himself, “I never should have let him watch those movies.”
“Those movies were a lot of fun to watch,” Luke protested, a real smile creasing his features. “It was like watching an old Western, what with all the wheel guns the cops were using. Plus, the antique cars looked cool, too.”
“Hey, watch it,” Sam grumbled, “I saw a few of those when they were still in the theatres.”
“All right, old man,” Luke replied with that grin still evident in his voice, “I’ll lay off on the Flintstones jokes too.” Then more serious, he continued, “I’ll sit down with Mike after he does the mission briefing tonight. See if he needs more hands for security.”
“Don’t you want to spend that extra time with Amy?”
“After today’s little fiasco, I’m not exactly expecting warm cuddles tonight,” Luke replied ruefully. “No, I’ll take my lumps like a grownup, but I’ll do it just a little bit later than I might otherwise.”
“How would she find out, anyway? Only a handful of people know this Tina got the drop on you, and I know she isn’t the type to run her mouth. Same with David.”
Luke shook his head and chuckled a bit.
“How do you think? That Alex can’t keep secrets for shit, and his little sister is best friends with my little sister, and my little sister is determined to be just like Amy when she grows up.” Luke explained. He sounded more amused than offended, though, as he continued. “Which should happen in the next five minutes, if you listen to Paige. And I know you do listen to your own daughter.”
“Paige? Name sounds familiar,” Sam responded with a sly grin of his own. “Little girl about yeah high?” He gestured with his hand to about mid-shoulder. “Always comes looking for allowance if her mother’s not handy, or when her favorite little doodad isn’t working? That Paige?”
Luke was glad to see his father was still capable of clowning around, even if only in private. The deaths in their family lay across Sam Messner’s soul like an ox’s yoke, hitching him to the grim realities of the day. Luke saw this in his father’s eyes, along with the knowledge that when his own brother needed him, Sam had been unable to act. Luke never had a brother by blood, though he had a few friends like Scott Thompson who were his brothers in spirit, but he sensed that Billy’s death also killed something in his father as well.
“Yep, that’s the one. She is also a senior operative in the teenaged girl intelligence service around here. Just so you know. They have us pretty heavily infiltrated.”
“Shoot, Luke, just wait ‘til they grow up,” Sam said with a hint of playful caution in his voice. “Then the lady in your life will have learned to read your mind. I love your mother, but that woman can be a challenge. That was the biggest adjustment I had to make after I retired. Your mom knew what I was going to buy at the gun show before I could even get my wallet out of my pocket.”
Luke laughed and headed for the door.
“Yeah, I can see that. Go on one little killing spree, and now I have Amy watching me like a hawk.”
As Luke stepped through the thick metal door, his father tracked his path with eyes that no longer sparkled with the mirth of just a moment before. Luke’s words seemed to echo in the windowless chamber with a subtle vibration that made his father want to flinch from their impact.
One little killing spree. Suddenly, Sam wondered just how many lives his son had been forced to take in the last months. Or if Luke even knew that number himself. My God, Sam Messner thought in reverent prayer, what have we done to our children?
CHAPTER 16
The caravan of old vehicles left the ranch just before dawn, and Luke found himself riding shotgun in the second truck, just in front of a refurbished Kenworth tractor, pulling the flatbed trailer intended to haul their latest acquisitions. With a total of six trucks, including the Kenworth and twenty men, the convoy to Kingwood carried a significant portion of the community’s future. Even after all this time, running vehicles remained scarce, and trustworthy men still willing to brave the wilds were scarcer still.
The men going knew the risks. At least, as well as could be determined, anyway. No one, not even Luke in his conversations with Amy, revealed the level of resistance the team was expecting. The truth was, they were planning to make a run that pre-pulse, would have taken slightly over three hours of driving to complete. That they’d packed provisions for a week and enough ammunition to fight more than one small war spoke volumes, though.
Mike’s wife, Beth Elkins, sensed the tension. Amy, too, felt the mood and did her best to reassure Luke that everything would be okay while he was gone. After the disastrous attack by the renegade Homeland paramilitary troops, Luke worried and fretted over security like a broody hen with one egg. Amy understood his concern and shared it, but she also knew that no one was truly safe in this new world. Men, women, and children died every day, and all you could do was prepare to the best of your ability.
As they finished last minute preps before rolling out, Luke stood next to the open door of his ride and held Amy close, whispering in her ear as they readied themselves to depart with the sunrise. Anyone watching the loving caresses might have been surprised at the content of their hushed conversation.
“So, do you have the map?” Luke asked.
“Yes, honey. If it looks like we are going to be overrun, I’ll have the group together,” Amy replied. “We’ll take the escape tunnel and move into the forest. The ATVs in the lean-to are ready and bug out bags are already packed.”
“Good,” Luke said softly, leaning over further, so their foreheads rested together. “Remember, Mom will naturally want to take over. It’s just the way she is. Stick with Beth, though. She knows the plan and is hard enough to get you and the group through to the camp area we picked out.”
The family would survive. That was Luke’s top priority. Family first, and then clan, which consisted of all the near neighbors working together, and finally their extended neighbors in the county. That was the world as far as Luke was concerned. He, more than most, had friends still alive outside Shelby County, but in an emergency evacuation situation, Luke couldn’t take them into consideration. They would be on their own, if his family came under threat again.
Only after they reassured themselves the plan would give the family a chance at surviving, did Luke and Amy share the kiss that was waiting. A long, searing kiss that left both panting slightly for air, and maybe a bit more, sealed their departure amidst a flurry of catcalls and other good-natured teasing.
For the first hour, the convoy proceeded down country roads that, while not exactly safe, were at least regularly patrolled. The lead truck, a heavily modified Chevy with a rebuilt Cummins diesel engine dropped in under the hood, looked the part of a pokey little farm truck. That was all part of the deception plan, of course. Nobody would expect that vehicle to be up-armored, or to have that much horsepower.
The scout truck would range ahead, checking the route for at least a mile out from the rest of the convoy, then call back over the ratty CB radio that looked old enoug
h to be original to the rig. Luke wanted to be in that truck, but wiser and older heads prevailed, and David had a pair of his guys in the scout truck.
The driver was a guy named Ben who was pushing forty, and the shotgun seat went to a younger fellow everybody called Skeeter. Like all of the men on this expedition, the two men in the scout truck wore body armor, but where Ben used a set recycled from the dead DHS agents, Skeeter brought his own. He’d also brought his own rifle, an M4 with a twenty-inch barrel that featured all the tactical bells and whistles, including an extra notch on his selector switch that converted the weapon to fully automatic. Nobody said where he’d gotten the rifle, and Skeeter wasn’t telling.
Wherever David recruited these guys, Luke had to agree they seemed to know their stuff. He’d seen Skeeter break down his rifle and clean the weapon like a Marine recruit showing off, except Skeeter did it with the air of someone who did this every night at the dinner table.
No, Luke didn’t get to ride in the first truck, but David, or maybe even Luke’s father, had him manning one of the M-249s, the one earmarked for the second truck. They’d no doubt heard how Luke handled the light machine gun on the trip to see Mr. Feely, so if the scout truck got into trouble, Luke and his driver, Rudy Meecham, would be their backup. Scott Thompson, hunkered down in the back of the Number Two truck, would be their ace in the hole.
Luke wasn’t happy Scott was there, not with his legs still giving him trouble on the longer patrol walks, but Scott was as stubborn as a mule and determined to pull his weight as part of security at the ranch. The truck bed featured reinforced armor plates on both sides and discrete firing ports for Scott to use along both sides. Doctrine dictated Scott would focus on the driver’s side, while Luke would cover his side with the light machine gun.
Rudy, for his part, seemed relaxed about the trip. He was an old friend of Gaddis Williams, a veritable youngster at barely sixty, and a widower after his wife had passed some years back from cancer. He lived on a small piece of property about two miles from the Messner ranch, on the opposite side of the road from the main property, and mainly kept to himself. From what Luke gathered, the old man was a retiree from the postal service and getting him to talk was like pulling teeth.
After heading into Center, the lead vehicle turned off onto Hwy 96 headed south, and the rest of the convoy gave the old truck a half mile of space before following their lead. For the next sixty minutes, the column proceeded without interference as the miles ticked by. Luke rode with the roof hatch open, willing to deal with the roaring of the wind in exchange for the quick access he would need if the scout truck ran into trouble, or if some enterprising bandit decided to lay in wait for the rest of the convoy.
As the lead vehicle approached the outskirts of Jasper, they ran into the first roadblock not controlled by their own group. The barrier, a pair of tractor/trailer rigs towed laboriously into place across the divided lanes of the highway, looked crude but effective. The dead trucks and their trailers lapped over onto the shoulders, and the only way through was the narrow gap between the back end of one trailer and the nose of the other truck. This funnel, though appearing wide enough to allow a truck to pass, would require the vehicle to slow considerably to navigate the inner lane which was left seemingly clear. The location of the stop, atop a small bridge, meant trying to dive into the ditches would not end well for anyone trying to evade the barrier.
Fortunately, David had scouted the route this far earlier in the week. He’d made the acquaintance of the man in charge, Mayor Chad Davis, and negotiated what would hopefully amount to safe passage. Both coming and going. It meant paying a toll, but if the local militia leader kept his word, the convoy would be through the gap in short order and on their way into uncharted territory after that.
Ben and Skeeter rolled up to within two hundred feet of the small guard post adjacent to the gap, and as instructed, shut off their engine and waited for one of the guards to approach. Skeeter watched through mirrored shades as the man approached, and no one but the gunman himself, knew his eyes were looking everywhere except at the bearded man sauntering up to the stopped truck.
“If you want to go through town, you’ll need to stop at the post and submit to a search, then pay the toll,” the bone-skinny guard said. He sounded like this was a well-worn spiel, and Skeeter nodded along with him as he spoke.
“Yes, sir,” Skeeter replied. “Our party has already been cleared with Mayor Davis, and the toll was set at the time. Convoy of six vehicles passing through, negotiated by our man Metcalf.”
“Oh,” the man took a step back. “You them mercenaries I heard about? Where’s the rest of your men?”
The man was looking around now, engaged with the situation and searching for the rest of this man Metcalf’s crew.
“They’re waiting on me to call them in,” Skeeter replied, his voice slow and relaxed. Just another ho-hum day at the office for him. “I just need to give the word.”
“Alright. I’ll need to get the mayor down to the gate. That’ll take a few minutes,” the gaunt man explained. If these were bandits, Skeeter thought, they must not be doing very well, if the men on the sharp end looked this bad. In the old world, he would have wondered if the man was a meth head, but he didn’t have any of the spastic characteristics. Just hungry.
“That’s fine,” Skeeter replied. “I’ll call up Metcalf. He’s got your payment.”
In spite of the combustible nature of the meeting, David managed to hold the self-proclaimed mayor to their deal. He arrived at the checkpoint in the Kenworth truck, riding in the shotgun seat himself. Instead of a shotgun, though, he was carrying an M4 equipped with one of the M203 grenade launchers. The rifle stayed on his shoulder, as he wrestled a pair of reinforced cardboard boxes containing a total of one thousand rounds of .40 S&W out of the lead truck’s cargo bed and setting them on the asphalt. Then he pulled two large and bulging paper bags, repurposed feed sacks actually, out next and placed them next to the boxes.
“What’s in the bags?” Mayor Davis asked cautiously.
“A little bonus for you, Mr. Mayor,” David said, loud enough to be heard by the nearby guards. “We picked up a job recently and had these left over out of our payment. Safeguarding some farmers and their products to town. That’s fifty pounds of potatoes in the one sack, and the other has about the same in sugar beets. We couldn’t eat all of this before it goes bad, so, you’re welcome. I figured on giving you the bonus on the front end of this operation.”
“Thank you, Mr. Metcalf. What town? And what exactly are you going after again?” Mayor Davis queried. The question, while not unexpected, needed to be addressed, and since they were in all likelihood going to come back this way, David wanted his ducks in a row.
“You are welcome. And I cannot divulge the private details of our customers. As for the public service side, this is a contract job for the National Guard,” David lied. “And before you ask, no, we aren’t going after any food. Or weapons. Some kind of construction equipment or some such. Got one of their guys with us to give directions and guidance. Needs a tractor trailer rig to haul from one of their vehicle lots, which is part of the reason we got the job. Nobody else was really set up to haul it.”
“Yes, well, that is something,” the Mayor commented neutrally. “How’d you get so many running vehicles, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Don’t mind at all,” David lied again, and then he told the truth with a grim smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “We have some pretty good mechanics in our outfit. You can get the older stuff running easier, as I’m sure you know. Can get newer tractors and some vehicles going, if they aren’t completely dependent on electronics, by just bypassing a lot of that fuel injection and emission control garbage. Plus, we get to scavenge from those that try to steal from us. They never seem to object.”
David’s grin grew more fierce as he spoke, and Mayor Davis stepped back with a visible gulp at the last part of the fake mercenary leader’s statement.
Still, Mayor Davis sensed these men, while capable of great violence, didn’t mean his small town any harm at present. So, when the half dozen vehicles filed through the gap in the security perimeter on the north side of town, the mayor gave a little wave when the last truck cleared the line.
Maybe things are looking up, Davis thought as he gestured for four of his fellow townspeople to come help him carry this latest bounty to their communal dining hall and adjacent armory. The building started its existence as a small telephone company office, but the sturdy 1970s brick and block construction, a lack of easily accessible windows and only two doors, made the old structure very useful for their needs. Davis huffed as he held his side of the bag of potatoes, but no one complained. They were simply too weak to carry the boxes or bags by themselves.
At first, Davis might had felt a tug of guilt for taxing travelers coming through town. In reality, the barriers at both ends of town weren’t really intended for toll collection, but rather to control access to Jasper. Like most other places anywhere within one hundred and fifty miles of a major metropolitan area, the small town had been hit by successive waves of bedraggled refugees fleeing the fire-damaged and gang-ridden cities. Jasper, fortunately, was not on a direct route from either Dallas or Houston, but that didn’t stop the eventual flood from coming.
Early on, the local residents tried. They were, by and large, sympathetic to the plight of the starving, desperate refugees stumbling up on the town. Soup kitchens, fairground accommodations and donated blankets helped for the short run, but then the hundreds, then thousands of displaced persons made themselves at home.
Not all of the refugees appreciated the welcome, of course. Most were just happy for the respite and grateful for the help. But for some, it was not enough. They wanted more. They demanded their fair share of the goods and services being hoarded by the uncaring, greedy country folk. Never mind that these citizens of the small town lived about the same as their more urbanized brethren. The residents of Jasper had no vast herds of cattle or deep reserves of food. Or if any of them did, they darned sure weren’t admitting to it.
Midnight Skills Page 12
