A Dodge Charger with tan side markings and a flashing roof light drove out of a nearby side road. It pulled up twenty feet away and a man in a sheriff’s uniform stepped out. Cody couldn’t make out his features clearly but he looked tall and lean. Another man got out from the passenger side. He looked older, shorter, with a portly figure, dressed in regular clothes.
Behind the Charger, several more pickups pulled up. Men dressed in jeans and T-shirts spilled out of them, all armed with rifles. Some stayed behind the doors of their vehicles while others fanned out, seeking cover on either side of the tree-lined road.
The sheriff and his companion walked over to where the guards stood opposite Chris and Walter. “Hi, Sam,” said the sheriff, approaching the guard who’d been doing all the talking. “What’s going on here?”
“Afternoon, Sheriff. We got a group of seven vehicles looking to get up to the lake. This man here says he wants to occupy Wasson Lodge. I told him the territory is off limits, but he don’t seem to hear me too good.”
“Sam is correct,” the sheriff said to Chris and Walter. “All land behind this checkpoint belongs to the Benton survivors. I’m afraid we’re not allowing anyone through. There’s plenty more land in the Cohutta, just not right here.”
“Look, Sheriff,” Chris said impatiently. “I brought my wife and family to Wasson Lodge on several occasions. I have a connection with the area. We’re not bandits, we’re good people. You won’t have any problems with us.”
“Sorry, I can’t let you in,” the sheriff said flatly.
“Come on, Chris. Let’s go,” Walter broke in. “We’re wasting time. There’s plenty of other places we can go.”
“All right,” Chris said in a surly tone, a man used to getting his own way. Cody could tell he was deeply unhappy how this was panning out.
“Sheriff, seeing as you’re from around here, you got any suggestions where we should go?” Walter asked in a friendly tone. “We need somewhere close to a river where I can build my micro hydro.”
Before leaving Knoxville, Walter had assembled the parts he needed for his pet project. When he’d opened up the back of his trailer to show him outside the Guardian Armory, Chris’s eyes had lit up. Right away, he could see how useful Walter would be in building infrastructure for his new community.
“A micro hydro? What’s that exactly?” the sheriff asked in a curious tone.
“It’s a type of hydroelectric power,” Walter told him. “I’m hoping to produce fifty-plus kilowatts from it. Enough to run house lights for our community, recharge batteries, run a fridge, that kind of thing. I just need to find a spot on a river with good water pressure.”
“How long would it take you to build something like that?”
“Not long. I brought all the parts with me. I plan on building a water filtration system too. Later, I’ll build storage tanks, so we can keep a regular supply of drinking water. Water is the first requirement of any survival situation, whether you’re an individual or a community.”
“How come you know all this stuff?” The sheriff’s tone had become increasingly more interested.
“I was an Army combat engineer for seventeen years. Our battalion got sent on several humanitarian missions in South America and Africa. To be honest, I always felt a lot better building stuff rather than blowing it up.”
“See?” Chris broke in. “I’ve put together a team of highly skilled people. I got a nurse, a carpenter, a botanist. If you like, I—”
“I got them all too,” Rollins told him curtly. “One thing I don’t have is a good engineer, someone who knows how to build infrastructure. All right, Mr. Engineer. Why don’t you come around to this side of the vehicle and tell me what else seventeen years in an Army combat battalion taught you, and how we can use it in a situation like this.”
CHAPTER 18
Russ Willis stood beside his Suzuki V-Strom 1000 and peeked his head around a bend on Cookson Creek Road, a pair of Steiner binoculars raised to his face. Three hundred yards away, at the end of the line of vehicles, a red pickup truck sat parked lengthways across the road, blocking the way. Behind it, a man armed with an assault rifle was in a discussion with Walter and another guy. A second armed guard stood looking on.
From the animated gestures Walter’s companion was making, it looked like he was doing all the talking. The occasional shake of the guard’s head told Russ that whatever he was asking for, he wasn’t being granted. Presumably, to be allowed access up to the lake. Why else would the convoy have come off Route 411 and driven up this remote country road? It was the only thing that made sense.
“Come on, guys,” Russ muttered disconsolately. “Let them through. I want to go home.”
Tired and hungry, he was at least grateful for the liter bottle of water he’d managed to grab along the way after leaving Knoxville. He’d been following the group for over three hours now, and hoped they’d reached their final destination, then he could head back and give Mason the news.
The previous afternoon, after Walter and his friends had fled the Chevron station, Mason had sent Russ off in search of them, with instructions not to come back until he found them. Scouring the city, he saw no sign of them. Nor that morning, where for hours he’d traveled up and down the city’s highways. Around 11 a.m., from an above overpass, he’d spotted a green Chevy Malibu hurtling west down Interstate 40.
“Dammit, I know that piece of shit!” he said excitedly, gazing through the Steiners. It was the same vehicle that, from out of nowhere, had driven down the back of the Chevron station and rescued Walter and his friend.
He’d ridden down from the overpass and trailed the Malibu. After a few miles it turned off the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of the city’s main Toyota dealership on Parkside Drive. Watching from a discreet distance, he saw Walter get out of the front passenger seat. Then a tall, skinny kid with shoulder-length brown hair stepped out from behind the wheel. Russ was pretty sure it was the same one who’d saved Walter’s ass the previous night. A moment later, Pete got out the back door.
“Hot damn!” he exclaimed. “Mason’s gonna love me. I’ve found all three pieces of shit!”
Twenty minutes later, a white Tundra pickup and two Tacomas pulled out of the lot and headed back in the direction of the city. Next stop had been the Tennessee RV Supercenter, where a short time later the three vehicles emerged from the lot, each with a twenty-foot trailer in tow.
From there they had driven to the Guardian Armory. At the far side of the parking lot, Russ watched the three men meet up with a group of nine people. Three were women. One was a real looker, with dark, wavy hair, dressed in a T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans. Russ licked his lips. She had a hell of a figure.
Parked close by were two brand new pickups hitched up to trailers, also a couple of Winnebagos. It appeared the group was about to leave the city. That meant he would have to follow them to wherever they planned on going, otherwise he would lose them. Looked like he had a long day ahead of him.
Down at the roadblock, a cream and tan Dodge Charger suddenly appeared, coming out of a nearby junction. It pulled up behind the red pickup and two men stepped out. One wore a sheriff’s uniform. Behind them, several other vehicles drew up, and men with semi-automatic rifles got out to take positions behind the trees to either side of the road.
After some discussion, Walter and his friend walked around the back of the pickup where they continued their talk with the sheriff and his friend. Finally, after what seemed like an interminable amount of time, a guard climbed into the red pickup and reversed back onto the margin of the road.
Shaking hands with the sheriff, Walter and his companion walked back to their vehicles. Moments later, Walter’s truck drove past the roadblock, followed by the rest of the convoy. Once the last vehicle passed, the red pickup started its engine and drove across to block the road once more. Then the sheriff and his group got into their vehicles, turned around, and headed back up the side road, disappearing from view.
With a sigh of relief, Russ wheeled his V-Strom around. He started it up and headed back toward Route 411. Picking up speed, he took a sharp bend in the road. It was a hundred and twenty miles to Knoxville and he was anxious to get back as soon as possible. He couldn’t wait to tell Mason the news.
CHAPTER 19
Back in the staff lounge, Sheriff Rollins sat with his deputies again. They were discussing their decision to allow the group from Knoxville to take over Wasson Lodge. Other than Mary Sadowski, all had agreed.
She sat at the table with a frown on her face. “The leader, Chris…he’s trouble. I can see him causing all sorts of problems.”
“Too much ego,” Ned Granger agreed. “But he’s no gangster. And his group is made up of regular people, not like some of the folk we’ve seen roaming around here.”
“It’s early days,” Sadowski warned. “Let’s see how they behave in a month’s time. Remember, our group is made up of people we’ve known for years. I think we’re taking a big risk.”
“Mary, these days everything is a risk,” Rollins said. “Look, we need someone like Walter to help build our infrastructure. He’s a professional, a proper engineer. Also, it’s a good idea to have allies close by. Who knows when we might need them?”
Sadowski sighed. “Well, it’s done now. May I suggest we hurry up with our defenses in case our allies aren’t as friendly as you think? We got a nice camp here. It’s got to be a temptation.” She looked around at the men. “Sorry, I hate to be the cynic around here. Just the way I am.”
Rollins smiled briefly. “We wouldn’t want you any other way.” He checked his watch. “All right, let’s move up the training schedule and start on things right away. Ned, you good for that, or you need more time to prepare?”
Granger shook his head. “No need. Mary and I can take a group of ten right now and begin weapons training. Tonight I’ll draw up the plans for our defenses. Tomorrow we’ll go fetch the materials and get to work. After that, we’ll start running the drills. People need to be prepared for what to do if we ever come under attack.”
“We should run nighttime drills too, as well as during the day,” Olvan suggested. “That’s when we’re most likely to be hit.”
“Absolutely,” Granger agreed. “It’s never going to be the same as the real thing, but preparation is everything. We need to make Camp Ocoee a place people think twice about trying to take over.”
“Speaking of Camp Ocoee,” Sadowski said, “I was thinking perhaps we ought to change the name to Camp Benton in memory of our old town.”
“That’s a nice idea,” Rollins said. He looked around the table. “Everyone agreed?”
The others nodded. “I like it,” Granger said. “Not only in memory of our old town, but for those that died too.”
“Camp Benton it is. Tomorrow I’ll go pick up some signs back in town and we’ll put them up.” Rollins stood up from the table, a pleased look on his face. “All right people, there’s still a few hours of daylight left. Let’s get back to work.”
CHAPTER 20
Since burying Joe and Chrissie, Cody thought he was all done with disposing of bodies. He was wrong.
Their first task on arrival at Wasson Lodge was to check for any corpses inside. While there were signs that the seven bedrooms had been recently occupied, six of them were empty. In Room Three, however, four decomposing bodies lay together in a large double bed; a mother and father, and two young children that looked to have been around six and eight years old. To either side of the bed, the children’s heads rested on their parent’s chests, while the mother and father leaned in toward each other, their foreheads almost touching.
It was a gruesome, yet pitiful, sight, and none of the group relished the thought of having to remove them. After a short deliberation, Chris assigned Cody and Pete the job.
Chris had been unusually subdued during the negotiations with the Benton group. It was obvious he didn’t enjoy the attention Walter was getting. Rollins and his deputy had been far more interested in Walter’s skillset than in what Chris had to offer. His brashness and over-assertiveness hadn’t done him any favors either.
As soon as they arrived at the camp, though, he reverted back to his normal self and immediately began organizing the work that needed to be done. To give him his due, he had been tireless, thriving on the challenge of setting the camp up. Chris wasn’t somebody low on either ideas or confidence.
Of course, that had been when he put Cody and Pete on burial detail.
Cody’s first instinct had been to refuse. He had a fair idea why Chris had assigned him the task. However, somebody had to do the job, and he didn’t want it to appear like he wasn’t prepared to be helpful.
It was summer. The bodies stank in a way that was almost unimaginable. They smelled like a piece of rotting meat that one flossed out of one’s mouth, mixed with diarrhea and urine, multiplied by a factor of a hundred.
Luckily, Greta came to their aid. She gave them each gloves and surgical masks, onto which she added several drops of peppermint oil.
“That ought to help with the smell. It’s an old nurse’s trick,” she told them.
Greta was a tall, athletic woman. Attractive, with shoulder-length dark hair, she had a no-nonsense way of speaking. Bossy was how Eddy described her. Cody simply put her manner down to her profession. Working in a hospital meant you spent a lot of time telling people what to do each day.
“Greta, you’re not old!” Pete exclaimed. “You don’t look more than thirty-five. That’s ten years younger than me.”
Greta stared at him frostily. “I’m thirty-four. I was talking about the trick, not me.”
Cody and Pete wrapped each of the dead bodies up in a blanket and dragged them into the forest, where they doused them in gasoline and set them alight, thinking it a more hygienic way to dispose of them. Easier too.
While the bodies burned, they dug a shallow trench. Then, armed with spades, they scraped the charred remains into it. Chucking their gloves and masks into the grave afterward, they filled it in again, then made four small crosses and planted them along the trench.
Cody said a small prayer, the same one he’d said for Joe and Chrissie a few days ago, and the two trudged silently back to the camp.
“I’ll say one thing for Chris, he’s chosen a heck of a place,” Pete said as they emerged from out of the forest and headed over to their trailers parked on the west side of the grounds. They were set apart from the rest of the group, who’d camped in a field overlooking a horseshoe bay at the back of the lodge. “Just look at the lake and all those mountains. Bound to be great hunting and fishing around here.”
Cody nodded absently, thinking of something else. “Pete…I think Chris has it in for me,” he said hesitatingly. “I knew he was going to put me on burial duty before he even opened his mouth.”
“That so?” Pete said, looking across at him curiously.
Cody quickly went on to tell him what had occurred at the gas station earlier on. Listening carefully, Pete sighed once he finished. “So I’m on gravedigger duty with you through guilt by association, is that it? Okay, two points…you ready?”
“Sure, hit me.”
“Point one. You’re a good looking kid, same age as Emma. That makes you the competition. Point two. Chris is a competitive guy. Watch out.”
Cody laughed. “Guess I better mind my step around here, that what you’re saying?”
“Absolutely. Though lucky for you, maybe not for long. Walter wasn’t too impressed with Chris down at the roadblock earlier. ‘Man, that’s one arrogant guy,’ were his exact words. Who knows? Maybe the three of us will be moseying out of here sooner than you think.”
“Really? Walter is planning on leaving already?” Pete’s words alarmed Cody. Though he’d just met Emma, he felt a certain connection between them. He didn’t want to have to leave the camp that quickly.
“He didn’t say that exactly,” Pete replied. “I’m just reading between the line
s. We’ll see, kid. It’s early days.”
CHAPTER 21
In downtown Knoxville, Mason Bonner sat in the living room of the luxurious condo he’d recently moved into, staring at the curved 50-inch UHD television on the wall. The TV wasn’t on, but he stared at it anyway. Where else was he going to stare? Besides, the blank screen helped him think. Right now, he had plenty to think about too.
In the kitchen, Tania was preparing dinner. Without power, the fancy touch-control hob didn’t work, so perched on top of it was a two-ring camping stove on which Mason could hear a pot coming to the boil.
“We eating pasta again?” he called out grumpily.
“Yeah, baby. Fettuccine with Alfredo sauce. That all right with you?”
“I guess. Though it’d be nice to have something different for a change.”
Mason had only known Tania a week, and knew precious little about her life before the pandemic. One thing was for sure, though: she’d never spent much time in a kitchen. Stacked up on one side of the marble counter were jars of every conceivable pasta sauce imaginable, and Tania’s idea of “changing things up” was to boil up pasta and throw a jar of exotic sauce over it. The previous night it had been puttanesca. The night before that, marinara. Today it was Alfredo. Sure, it all sounded great, but right now Mason could kill a ribeye and fries. That wasn’t happening anytime soon, though.
In fairness to Tania, his limited dietary regime wasn’t just down to her. By now, all the fresh food had either disappeared or gone rotten in the supermarkets. Pasta served with tinned meat and bottled sauce was about the safest thing to eat.
Every day, food and water got that much harder to find. Dazed survivors who’d initially scavenged their meals one day at a time were now hoarding food or stocking up their vehicles and leaving town. With no supply trucks arriving in the city to replenish the supermarket shelves, things had reached a critical level.
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