It was why Mason controlled a gas station and three supermarkets across the city. Other street gangs had done similarly. It would keep his group in supply a while longer. Soon, though, like every other survivor, he would be forced to leave town, and with a crew of over twenty men and several women, he would be under pressure to keep them all fed.
Years ago, Mason had been a prison guard at Tennessee’s state prison. Before being fired for displaying too many “overt sadistic tendencies”, he’d witnessed enough to see how the gangs operated. If he failed to provide for them, his crew would soon fall apart.
One thing that favored a large gang such as his was, just like he could control a large section of the city, he could control a large patch of countryside. He just needed to figure out where. It was why he’d recently sent several scouts out of the city to find a suitable location.
There was a knock on the apartment door and Doney, Mason’s chief bodyguard, a pale-faced, stocky man with quiffed black hair, poked his head in. Before vPox, the pair had worked together at a private security firm and had been the only two to survive.
In Doney’s hand, he held a two-way radio. “Russ is downstairs. Says he needs to see you real urgent.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. With other things pressing on his mind, he’d forgotten all about Russ, who he’d sent looking for Walter the previous day. “All right, bring him up,” he said.
Over the radio, Doney instructed the downstairs guard to send Russ up. With so much gang activity in the city, Mason made sure he had adequate protection at the condo. You couldn’t be too careful these days.
A few minutes later, Doney ushered Russ into the room. He was wearing a red and black motorcycle jacket and carried his helmet in one hand. He appeared hot and flustered, like he’d been riding for some time.
Mason stood up and came over to the door, staring Russ up and down. Small and ferret-like, he was unlikely to rise through the ranks of his organization. Still, with shiny, furtive eyes, he had a crafty intelligence that warranted attention.
“Well now,” Mason said gruffly. “Wasn’t sure I’d see you again. You got news for me?”
Russ nodded emphatically. “Sure do, Mason. I found Walter. It’s better than that…he’s still with Pete and the young guy who jumped us at the station, remember?”
Mason scowled. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d forget that afternoon in a hurry. It was why he’d sent Russ out to find them in the first place. “So where they at?”
Russ drew his breath. “They’ve joined a bigger group and left town. I spotted them on the I-40 this morning as they were leaving.”
Mason frowned. This was yet another group who’d left the city. Pretty soon, his would be the only one left. “How big is this group?”
“Including Walter and the other two, there’s twelve total. They drove out in trucks hauling trailers and went south to Lake Ocoee, down by the Georgia border.”
“They going to stay there or head off again in the morning?”
“Can’t say for sure, but it looked to me like they’re planning on putting down roots,” Russ replied. “They sure put a lot of work into persuading the guys at the roadblock to let them up to the lake. Once they—”
“Whoa, back up there. What damned roadblock you talking about?”
“There’s already another group at the lake. They’re at the YMCA camp,” Russ explained. “They’re well organized too. A few minutes after Walter arrived, a bunch of armed men showed up at the roadblock. From what I saw, they got a sheriff in charge of things. That’s how it looked, anyway.”
“And the sheriff let Walter and his people through?” Mason asked, a puzzled look on his face. In his book, letting a large group of strangers into your camp was an invitation for trouble.
Russ shook his head. “They didn’t take the turn for the YMCA. The road continues on to a place called Wasson Lodge. I’m pretty sure that’s where they went.”
That made more sense. “What was the vibe between the two groups? Everyone get along?”
“Looked that way. The sheriff and Walter, along with another couple of guys, sure talked a long time.”
“What’s the distance between the YMCA and this lodge?”
Russ hesitated. “I’m not sure. I couldn’t pass the roadblock to check it out. Not more than a couple of miles, I’m guessing.”
“I see…”
Mason stood leaning against the wall, mulling over Russ’s news. He’d never been to Lake Ocoee, but had heard about it. The area had been popular with hunters, and the forests were full of whitetails and wild boar. There were plenty of fish in the lakes and rivers too. Exactly the kind of place where a crew like his could set themselves up nicely, especially if somebody else put the hard work into fixing it up first. On top of that, if he could settle a score, all the better.
Russ stared at him, a sly grin on his face. “What you think, Mason? We go south and surprise the hell out of Walter?”
“Maybe. First I’m going to list down everything I need you to find out for me, then you’re going to go back down and case the place out some more.”
Russ gulped. “All right. When?”
“This evening.” Mason pointed over to where Tania had just brought out a plate of steaming hot pasta and placed it on the table. “You hungry?”
Russ stared at the plate, his eyes practically eating it up. “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Then get your ass over there. It’s fettuccine with Alfredo sauce. Tania makes it real good.” Mason turned to Doney, who’d stood waiting by the door all this time. “Radio down and get someone to fetch me a tin of salmon, barbecue chips, and a pack of cookies. If I eat one more pasta dish, I think I’ll fucking puke.”
CHAPTER 22
By the light of a kerosene lamp they’d hung on the wall, Ralph, Clete, and Maya sat at their usual spot in the Hilton bar. It was late evening. The two men drank Jack Daniels and Coke, while Maya was on the Laphroig.
“We’re getting there,” she said, taking a sip from her drink. “Day after tomorrow, we should be ready to leave.”
Ralph nodded. “We got food, accommodation, and the wheels sorted. Tomorrow we pick up the hunting and camping gear. Right, Mr. Hillbilly?”
Clete grinned. “Damn straight.”
That morning, Ralph and Maya had broached him about their plans to leave Atlanta, and whether he felt like heading out to Tennessee with them, seeing as he was from that way.
Clete’s eyes had lit up like pinballs. “Why, I’d be happier than a tick on a bloodhound’s balls!” he exclaimed. “Been telling Ralph we need to get out of the city ever since we got out of the joint. Pretty soon there’ll be nothing left here but a bad smell. Can’t wait to show you the place I’m thinking of taking you to. It’s right on a beautiful lake.”
Thirty minutes later, the three had left the hotel to start looking for everything they needed for their new life.
They began with transport. Clete insisted on American vehicles, and their first stop was a Ford dealership on the north side of the city. A short time later, they drove out in two brand new F-150 pickups, their motorcycles stored in the load beds. No way in hell was Ralph leaving his Harley behind.
They drove south on I-75 to Southern RV. Though it was on the far side of the city, it was the only trailer outlet Clete knew of. They picked up two nineteen-foot travel trailers. Hitching them up to their trucks, they spent the rest of the day in and out of supermarkets, snagging as much tinned and dry food as they could find, along with other provisions.
When they got back to the hotel, they unhitched the two trailers in the lot of the nearby Thrifty Car Rental, then drove their pickups into the Hilton underground parking area, where they unloaded the Harleys.
Maya had told Ralph that she rode motorcycles pretty well. She wasn’t kidding. When she got out of the truck, she grabbed his keys, started the CVO, and roared out of the bay. Dropping the motorbike to its maximum lean angle, its foot peg scraping t
he concrete, she tore up the circular ramp. Outside the hotel entrance, as Ralph pulled up beside her on Clete’s Dyna, she cut the engine and tossed him the keys.
He was liking this woman more and more.
He picked up his pack of Marlboros off the table, lighting one up. “Now Clete, you sure you’re as good a hunter as you say you are, or were you just shooting your mouth off in the can?” People said all sorts of things in prison, where they had nothing better to do and no one to disprove them.
“Damn straight, I am!” Clete exclaimed. “My pa used to take me fishing and hunting since about as far back as I can remember. I can knock a squirrel out of a tree from seventy yards, and trap or hunt just about every critter that lives. Big or small, it don’t matter to me.”
Maya reached down and picked up her handbag from off the floor. Opening it, she took out a small notepad and pen, and placed them on the table. “How about we make a list of everything we need tomorrow?” she said. “This is your big chance to convince us you know what you’re talking about. First off, where we going to find all our hunting gear?”
“There’s a Dick’s at Lennox Square,” Ralph told her. “We should start there.”
Clete shook his head. “I prefer Cabela’s. There’s one out at Acworth. It’s a little far from here, but I know the store layout good. It’ll save us time in the long run. We’ll start with hunting, then move onto fishing and camping. We need good clothing too, for all seasons. This time of year it’s hotter than two hamsters screwing in a wool sock. Come winter, it’ll be colder than day-old penguin shit.” He grinned at Maya. “If you pardon my French.”
“Don’t mind me, Mr. Hillbilly. I speak French pretty good too,” she replied. “So…hunting?”
“We’ll need rifles and shotguns. That’s the kind of shit that goes fast, though. If there’s nothing good left at Cabela’s, we’ll just have to bust open a gun store somewhere. Depending on the caliber weapons we find, I say we take all the ammo we can lay our hands on. Come to think of it, we should get ourselves some .22 rifles as well.”
Ralph raised an eyebrow. “A hunting rifle, shotgun, and a .22? You sure you’re not going a little overboard on this?”
“Nope. We need rifles to hunt deer and boar, a shotgun for birds, and a .22 for the squirrels.” Clete looked at the two. “Ever seen a squirrel killed with a big ass .300 Winchester, 150-grain round?”
Ralph and Maya both shook their heads.
Clete chuckled. “Me neither. ‘Cos there ain’t nothing left. That’s why you need a .22.”
He went through fishing gear, followed by outdoor clothing, camping equipment, backpacks, range bags, and other necessary accessories. The more Clete added to the list, including the simple items that made up his trapping kit: picture wire, bank line, and 16-penny nails, along with his explanation on exactly how they should be used, the more impressed Ralph became with his encyclopedia-like knowledge. While he was sure of his own skills in anything requiring a little muscle, his confidence in leaving the city grew with every item Maya added to the rapidly expanding list.
“Last thing…pack list,” Clete said. “That’s the list I make every time I head into the forest, the stuff that ticks me off if ever I forget to bring it with me. First thing that goes in is a compass. I’ve been hunting so long, I could get home blindfolded, but I take one all the same. Ain’t nothing scarier than being lost in the woods, and it happens a lot easier that you think. Especially for you two. You got that, sweetheart?”
Maya nodded. At the top of a new page she’d written: PACK LIST. Below it, 1. COMPASS x 3.
“Next thing that goes in is a safety belt and a folding saw. That’s for preparing a tree stand. My favorite way of catching deer. Boar too, for that matter. The safety belt allows you to stay in a tree for hours without falling out. Kinda important.”
“And the folding saw?” Ralph asked.
“That’s for cutting branches. You don’t have that, forget ninety percent of the trees you want to select for a stand. Useful for making traps too, also firewood if you’re camping out. Next in goes the binos and rangefinder. A rangefinder gives you the yardage of your prey. You’ll need that for taking long range shots.”
“Color me impressed,” Ralph said. “Anything else?”
Clete scratched his head. “Can’t forget the small stuff: gloves, matches, lighter, emergency blanket, and cordage. I think that’s it, oh, and add deer scent…for luring the suckers in. We’ll pick up a few all-season sprays, maybe some doe and buck urine for the fall.”
“Buck urine? Fuck that,” Ralph said, shaking his head. “That’s where me and you part ways, Mr. Hillbilly.”
Clete grinned. “Guess that’ll just be my special sauce then. Well, that’s about it. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Maya placed the notebook and pen down on the table. “I have two more things we need to think about, that’s gasoline and water.” She stared at the two men. “We’ll need to siphon as much gas as we can before leaving. Who knows where we can find it once we leave the city.”
Ralph nodded. “We’ll do the same with water. We got plenty today, but let’s pick up some more. We got lots of room in the trailers to store it.”
“Water is a real problem,” Maya said. “It’s going to run out fast. At some stage, we’ll need to source it locally.”
Clete looked at her thoughtfully. “There’s giardia and all sorts of shit in river water. We’ll need to pick up water purification tablets, filters too. 2 micron filters will get rid of any nasty ass bugs born in the USA. Seeing as everything is turning third world real fast, 1 micron would be even better.”
Maya nodded. “Tomorrow I’ll source the water purification tablets. A drugstore might have them. That ought to keep us going a while until we figure things out.”
“Come to think of it, we should pick up a few boxes of powdered pool shock,” Clete mused. “A pound of that will disinfect a hundred thousand gallons of water. It’s got a long shelf life too. Add it to the list.”
“Done,” Maya said, chucking her notebook and pen down on the table again.
Clete stretched out his arms and yawned. “Think I’ll hit the sack and leave you two lovebirds to it. Tomorrow we’re going to be busier than a one-armed monkey with two peckers.” Standing up, he grabbed his rifle from off the wall and headed out of the room.
“Looks like I’m going to be sporting a mullet and dungarees in no time,” Ralph said dolefully once Clete had left.
“Stick to the biker look.” Maya grinned. “That’s how I like you.”
The two talked some more. Maya sat with her back erect, her legs crossed, while Ralph slouched in his chair, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers and a soft buzz in his head from the Jack Daniels. He’d gotten comfortable at the Hilton. If it was in any way practical, he would have elected to stay in the city. Maya and Clete were right though. Soon, all that would be left was a bad smell. It was time to move on.
A short time later, in mid-conversation, Maya’s voice trailed off. She stared in the direction of the bar entrance, her eyes widening.
“We got company,” she said in a low voice. “Could be trouble.”
Ralph swiveled in his seat to see two men armed with rifles step into the bar, spreading out as they crossed the room.
He leaped out of his chair and reached over to the wall to grab his Bushmaster.
“Pick that up and you’re a dead man!” a harsh voice yelled out.
Ralph spun around. From behind the counter, another man stepped forward with a semi-automatic rifle raised to his shoulder. It was an AK-47, instantly recognizable from the distinct curved shape of its magazine. The man must have entered the bar ahead of his companions. Ralph cursed himself for not taking Clete’s spot facing into the lobby after he’d left. Too much JD in his bloodstream had made him sloppy.
“The fuck you want?” he growled, his back to the wall.
“Start by reaching into your holster and take out y
our piece,” the man told him. Short in stature, though barrel-chested and with muscular arms, he had dark, receding hair and several days’ worth of stubble on his face. By now his companions had reached the table, their rifles pointing at Ralph.
Ralph didn’t have much choice. He reached his hand across to his left hip and pulled out the cross-drawn Glock.
“Drop it on the floor and kick it over here.”
Ralph bent down and laid the pistol on the carpet, kicking it away with the tip of his boot. Immediately, one of the men picked it up, then strode over and snatched his Bushmaster from off the wall.
The short guy took another couple of steps forward. “Well now,” he said, staring at Ralph. “You’re one handsome devil, ain’t you? Who the hell cut your face up like that? Looks like somebody used it as a chopping board.”
“A guy twice your size. He didn’t survive to tell the tale though. While he was working on my face, I buried a shank in his liver.”
The stranger smiled. “I can believe that. Though I’m guessing he didn’t have two other men with the drop on you at the time, did he?”
“Nope. Just me and him.” Ralph stared at the man. “What the hell you want? Plenty of room for everyone in town. Why don’t you guys go across the street and check in at the Marriott?”
“Plenty of room, all right,” the stranger agreed. “One thing there isn’t plenty of, is talent.” He turned his attention to Maya. “Darling, how long you known your boyfriend? Three days tops, I’m guessing.”
“Two days,” Maya replied coolly. “We met right here in this bar.”
The man grinned. “So it’s not like you two are in love.”
Maya shrugged. “Not much room for love in these times. I’m a practical girl, just looking for someone to take care of me, that’s all.” She glanced at Ralph, who stared back at her stony-eyed.
The stranger spread his arms open. “Why honey, I’d be happy to take care of you,” he said with a wolfish grin. “I’m not as big as your friend here, but I got my own crew. Eight in total. That counts for a lot more these days.” He turned to his two companions. “What did I tell you? Soon as I saw this girl ride her Harley up here this evening, I said to myself, that’s my kind of woman.”
No Direction Home: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series Page 11
