by David Nees
“So how does a hiker, someone passing through, get into town? Is that even allowed?”
“Don’t know for sure. Probably is, but there’s probably a toll. I know they collect tolls for people going past the city on I40.” Joshua looked at Jason and Clayton. “You boys look too well armed not to arouse suspicion. They’d think you might be a danger. Or they might want to draft you into the militia, without your permission, if you know what I mean.”
“So where do you think our boys are?”
“They’re most likely in the holding cells for the courthouse, right here.” He marked the map. “Be right in the middle of it all, with the Chairman and his men next door almost in the city-county building. Don’t see how you’ll pull this off, let alone get out of town after.”
“We be working on that,” Clayton said. There was no smile on his face. Jason knew what he was thinking. This was going to be nearly impossible, but Jason knew Clayton would not shirk from the challenge; neither of them would.
The room was silent as everyone considered the enormity of the task.
“Can you show me how to sight in my rifle? Before it gets dark?” Enoch asked finally.
“Sure,” Jason answered. He got up. “Let’s go look at it.”
They walked outside. Enoch gave Jason the .30-06. It was serviceable. The scope moved slightly which would have to be fixed.
They walked to the workshop so Jason could dismantle the weapon and check it thoroughly. After going through it and tightening the scope on its mount, they went back outside.
“How far do you usually shoot for a deer?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to estimate the distance.”
“Show me.”
Enoch pointed to a far fence about seventy yards away. “Bout that far, I guess.”
Jason figured he was overestimating the distance. One usually didn’t get a seventy yard shot at a deer in the woods, especially in the denser parts. “All right. Go put something the size of a deer up against that fence. Enoch went back inside the shed and came out with a piece of plywood.
“Okay if we shoot holes in that?” Jason asked. The boy nodded and walked it down to the fence.
Jason grabbed a small box from the workshop and lay down on the ground. He rested the rifle on the box and aimed from the prone position. With the cross hairs centered, he squeezed off a shot. The bullet hit the dirt in front of the board. Jason turned the elevation dial and then tried another shot. By this time everyone had come out to watch the show.
This time the shot clipped the top of the board. “Bracketing it,” he said with a grin at Clayton. “I’ll get it this time.”
Another adjustment to the elevation and the next shot hit near the middle, but off to the right. Jason dialed in a sideways correction and his fourth shot hit the center of the board.
“Wow, you hit it dead center!” Enoch exclaimed.
Jason didn’t answer. He zeroed the dials on the scope. “Now see the marks? They’re set at zero. You are zeroed in for this distance. If you want to shoot longer you have to set the rifle some clicks higher, like this.” He demonstrated to Enoch. “If you shoot a shorter distance, which is probably what you’ll be doing. I don’t see many deer shots in the woods at that distance. Am I right Clayton?”
Clayton nodded. “That’s way further than most shots, less you get them out in a field.”
“So, you turn the scope this way to lower the aim for shorter distance.”
“How many clicks does it take?”
“Depends on how much you change the distance from your zero setting. You can test this here in the yard. Just keep notes so you know how far to go from your zero setting.”
“I didn’t know it was so involved.” Enoch replied.
“It gets even more involved when you start shooting out five hundred yards or more.”
“So, you kill anyone?” Enoch asked.
“Enoch!” Emilia said sternly. “That’s not a polite question to ask.”
“You ma’s right. Ain’t none of our business,” Joshua said.
Jason looked Enoch in the eye. Jason felt his face go hard. “I have killed way more men here in the U.S. since the EMP attack, than ever in Iraq. There are very bad people out there who will harm you and your family. If you want to protect them, you better learn how to shoot properly, how to take care of your weapon.” He paused. “And how to tell friend from foe and not put yourself in a foolish situation for no reason.” Jason kept his eyes locked on Enoch as he let the message sink in. “You understand what I’m saying?”
Enoch looked away. “Yes sir.”
Jason looked up and smiled at everyone. “You’ll be all right then.”
Chapter 13
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A s the evening deepened the talk turned to the Chairman. Joshua didn’t know much about him. He had never talked with him and only seen him a couple of times.
“What’s he look like?” Jason asked.
“Nothing special. Tall and thin with white hair. I’ve been told he can talk up a crowd. They say he moves fast and makes decisions quick.”
“So how we gonna recognize him?” Clayton asked.
“He always wears a white navy dress cap. I’ve seen it. Got lots of gold braid on the bill and all white on top. Nobody else wears anything like that.”
“Does he wear a dress uniform?” Jason asked.
“No. Fatigues or battle uniform they call it. The hat stands out. Everyone knows it’s the Chairman when they see that coming.”
“You know where he lives?” Jason asked.
Joshua shook his head. I wouldn’t try anything like kidnapping him. He’s well guarded.”
“Not planning anything like that. But it might be helpful to have a private meeting with him at his home rather than his office.”
“Can’t help you there.”
“Well you’ve been a big help. I’m glad we stopped and I’m very appreciative of your hospitality. We probably should be going now.”
“Since it’s late, why don’t you bunk down in the shed next to the workshop?” Emilia asked. “I can feed you a good breakfast tomorrow before you go.”
“You’re welcome to spend the night, if you like,” Joshua said.
Clayton nodded to Jason. “Thank you. We’ll take you up on your offer,” Jason said.
The next morning after ham and eggs, biscuits and jam, Jason and Clayton stepped out the front door and shouldered their packs and rifles.
“I’d get off the interstate from here,” Joshua said. “You should head west. Keep close to the National Park. Head for Gatlinburg. You’ll have less chance of running into the militia down there. From Gatlinburg go north, off the road. You’ll probably want to skirt Pigeon Forge. Just increases your chances of getting stopped. Look out for the Mountaineer Motel on the south side of town. The militia allow it to operate but it’s a dangerous place.”
“Full of lowlifes and farmers who should know better than to spend time in such a place,” Emilia said with disdain.
“The man who runs is pretty tough and seems to be connected. I stopped once to ask him about the work I had been offered and he gave me a pretty good take on what I was getting into.”
“You didn’t go in there, did you?” Emilia asked.
“No. Just stopped the truck in the lot and asked some questions. The truck was enough of a novelty, everyone came out to look.”
“Well I’m glad of that. No telling what a body could catch in a place like that.” She sniffed her disapproval.
“After Pigeon Forge, head northwest, cross-country and you’ll run into Knoxville.” The two shouldered their packs. “Good luck to you all,” Joshua said.
“Thanks, and good luck to you,” Jason said. They waved and headed north out of the truck yard to the highway.
“We should head west, soon as we can,” Clayton said.
They walked up the local road bordering the Pigeon River instead of the interstate.
/> “If we see a shallow section, let’s cross the river where we can. From the map we have to head not just west, but a little south of west to get to Gatlinburg.”
Clayton shook his head. “Don’t see no reason to aim for Gatlinburg, just head to Pigeon Forge. It be shorter.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Jason asked.
“Depends.”
“Well I’m thinking that this guy that runs the Mountaineer Motel might be someone we want to talk with.”
“Could be. Could be dangerous, we give away what we’re up to and he passes that around.”
“That’s true, but it might be worth a stop. We could just say we’re on our way to Missouri. I expect that’s what Rodney and Billy would have said.”
“If they come by there.”
They hiked in fields when they could, used the woods for cover to stay out of sight when they saw farmhouses. The going was slower than on the highway but less depressing to Jason. There wasn’t the constant reminder of the breakdown of society from the littered interstate. At night they made camp as deep into the woods as they could go. If they were too close to any houses, they would cold-camp, not risking a fire.
The nights were filled with the increased sounds of night predators. Since so many people had died out, the wildlife had moved in closer to the towns, many of which had been abandoned. Jason wondered if the die-off had been over seventy percent. Certainly Hillsboro was greatly reduced in population. People who had managed to keep farm livestock, had to work harder to protect them from the increased boldness of predators. He shivered as he thought of the wild dogs being added to that mix. They didn’t come with a fear of humans which made them more dangerous.
Two nights out the rain came in late in the afternoon. Clayton and Jason rigged their tarp as best they could and started a fire started before the rain got too heavy. They spent the night feeding it and huddling in their rain ponchos trying to stay warm and dry without much success.
It took two days of careful hiking to reach the road heading into Pigeon Forge. They walked north, in the woods, paralleling Route 321. Late in the afternoon, they saw the Mountaineer Motel. Jason picked an observation spot across the highway from the motel, about a third of a mile away. They were up on the hillside, looking down with good cover. They could watch through the binoculars undetected and, later move deeper into the woods to sleep.
The motel consisted of a central lobby which Joshua said had been converted into a bar with a stage at one end. Food could be had but the attraction was alcohol, a band, and strippers. From the lobby two rows of rooms branched out forming a ninety degree angle to one another. The rooms were on two levels.
“Figure the best thing is to watch for a while. See what goes on.”
Clayton nodded. The two men got as comfortable as they could and began their vigil.
As the evening progressed, people arrived on foot, entering the lobby of the motel. A band started up. Clayton and Jessup could hear the sound through the stillness of the night. There were electric lights, a generator ran in the background. The growing intensity of the crowd noise coming from the lobby confirmed that much alcohol was being consumed. Along with the growing male shouts there were the occasional screams from a woman. The general noise brought back bad memories for Jason of his rescue of Judy from the gang that had captured her.
Around one in the morning people started funneling out. Some staggered under the influence. Some headed to the rooms, some wandered up the road.
“Them be easy prey for dogs if they’re about,” Clayton said.
“I wonder how many don’t make it back home.”
“Weapons won’t help if they too drunk to use ‘em.”
There were women joining some of the men headed to the rooms.
“They got a regular industry going,” Jason said.
After things quieted down, the lights were turned off. The two could see some of the women making their way back to the lobby from different rooms. Clayton and Jason headed farther back into the woods to sleep the rest of the night away.
“Not sure they’s any reason to go in there tomorrow. Could bring more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
Chapter 14
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T he next morning after some cold jerky, dried fruit and water, the two men crawled back to their overlook. The motel was quiet. It looked empty, like a relic of the world before the EMP attack. But closer inspection showed signs of human activity, a trash pile on the side of the building, tire tracks in the dirt and within an hour, smoke rose from the chimney.
The two men waited for another hour, then shouldered their packs and rifles and headed out of the woods, down the slope and across the highway. They walked across the dirt parking lot and opened the door to the lobby. It was dark inside. The windows had been painted black. A strong smell of booze and sweat permeated the air. A coat check area was immediately to their left. From there the room opened up. There was a dark, worn carpet on the floor. Jason couldn’t make out the color in the dark of the room. A bar ran along the left wall. It looked transplanted from another place. The large room was cluttered with small tables and accompanying chairs. At the far end of the room was a stage with some sound equipment on it. On each side of the stage were platforms with poles in the center of them.
“Anyone here?” Jason called out. “Hello.”
A door on the left, near the front of the bar swung open. A man came out wiping his hands. Jason could see a kitchen behind him before the door closed. “We ain’t open yet.”
The man stopped part of the way towards them. He eyed them warily. “You ain’t from around here,” he declared.
“No, we’re not,” Jason replied. “We saw the smoke and thought we stop by. Not many people about to talk to.”
The man stood only about five foot eight inches tall but seemed as wide as he was tall. He presented a fireplug of a figure, solid and tough. He had large hands and bulging forearms.
“You the owner?” Clayton asked.
“I’m the cook. Carl’s my name. They call me “Cookie”. The owner ain’t up yet. His name’s Bubba Garrett. Don’t know him by any other name than Bubba.”
“Well, Cookie, can we wait for him? We’d like to ask him about things in these parts. We’re passing through. It pays to know what’s going on in each area.”
“Where’re you headed?”
“West to Missouri, maybe further.”
“Don’t know why anyone wants to travel. Seems to me things gonna be about the same everywhere. You can wait, but I got to warn you, Bubba don’t like nobody bothering him first thing when he gets up.”
“We’ll be careful. Don’t want to offend anyone,” Jason replied.
Cookie looked at both men. “Looks like you two can handle yourselves. Got some stout weapons there. You some kind of militia?”
Jason shook his head. “No, but we know the importance of being well armed nowadays.”
“You got that right,” Cookie said. “Can I get you breakfast or something? I got eggs and some bread.”
“We don’t have any money to pay you. No one uses money back east.”
“You can pay in ammo. That works.”
Clayton shook his head. Jason said, “No we best hold on to our ammunition.”
Cookie shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll stand you to a cup of coffee, on the house.”
“You have coffee?” Jason said in surprise.
“Yep. Boss gets it. He’s got connections. Comes from Central America. We get it up from New Orleans. ‘Course we cut it with chicory to make it go further, but it’s still better’n nothing.”
“We be thanking you,” Clayton said.
Cookie looked at him. “You’re from the mountains. Don’t hear that much around here.”
He turned and disappeared back into the kitchen. Jason and Clayton went over to a table on the right side of the room which gave them a v
iew of the kitchen and the front door. They had their backs to the wall. They put their packs on the floor and propped their rifles next to them.
Cookie came out with two mugs of steaming coffee. “Here you go. I got to get back into the kitchen. The boss’ll be here soon and the whores’ll be up. They’ll be wanting me to feed them. Those girls sure like to eat. Must burn a lot of calories dancing and screwing.” He leered at the two men and headed back into the kitchen.
Jason and Clayton nursed their coffees, enjoying the rare drink. A half hour later a large man came into the lobby. He stopped and looked over at the two sitting along the wall. The man stood about six feet tall. He had a large face. His cheeks showed scars from what Jason guessed were years of boxing. His ears were disfigured from scar tissue which only convinced Jason of his guess. He was portly, but still solidly built. Jason guessed he weighed a good two hundred-fifty pounds. Not a man to be trifled with.
“Cookie,” the man shouted out in a deep, gravelly voice. The cook came running out of the kitchen. “Who’re these?” he said jerking his thumb at Jason and Clayton.
“Travelers. Passing through. They stopped and wanted to talk with you.” Cookie looked at his boss with concern. “I told them they could wait…thought you might want to talk to them.”
“Not first thing in the morning,” the man said. So far he had ignored both men, talking only to Cookie. He walked towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get something to eat first.” This last seemingly directed at Jason and Clayton.
Ten minutes later, the man came out from the kitchen with a large mug of coffee. The rich aroma preceded him as he walked over to the two at the table.
“So who are you and what do you want?”
“My name’s Jason and this is Clayton. We’re heading west and someone mentioned this place. We thought it might be a good place to stop and get some information on the territory. Can’t be too careful.”
