The Off Grid Survivor Box Set: Complete The Off Grid Survivor Series Books 1-4

by Connor Mccoy

  Conrad moved in closer to the warehouse, on the eastern side. In a strange way, he also felt obligated to keep Tom alive. It was an awkward pairing, fueled in part because Sarah was once Conrad’s wife. But she had left him thirty years ago, and today Tom was her lover. Conrad knew Tom had kept Sarah happy for a long time. If he reached Sarah but lost Tom, it would seem like a failure on his part.

  Conrad scratched his hand. He still wasn’t getting anywhere. He had to move in closer. Fortunately, several cars and a few old, rusting barrels lay between him and the building. They would provide adequate cover to move in closer.

  Once he had closed the gap, Conrad resumed checking out the warehouse exterior. Unfortunately, this part of the facility wasn’t all that remarkable, with its closed overhead doors, reclining ramps, and stairwells to small doors to the inside.

  He was about to turn and head back in the other direction when a familiar scent caught his nostrils. He inhaled more deeply to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. It was fresh smoke, mixed with the odor of cooking fish. It reminded Conrad of summer afternoons near the lake when he cooked outdoors. Yes, now he remembered. It was after he had made some fine catches in the lake. He’d then slap the fish over a cooking grill. The present scent was uncannily similar.

  Conrad crept in the direction of the smell, still sticking to the cover available on the parking lot. Stopping behind a set of barrels, he gazed into his binoculars in the warehouse’s direction. Two men with their shirts off surrounded a pan on top of a small burner, which in turn topped a small propane tank. One of the men was stirring a set of fish on the pan.

  Is that propane? Conrad focused the lens a little better. The tank was unmarked, but it could have been filled with propane, perhaps before the solar event occurred.

  Just then, a third individual stormed his way into view. He was dressed in nice looking brown slacks and a white tank top. Whoever this guy was, he was mightily pissed at the two men. He shouted at them, but from this distance Conrad couldn’t hear more than just loud ramblings, although a four-letter word or two still was easily audible from here.

  One of the men held up his hands in defense while the other shouted back. The well-dressed man pointed back in the warehouse’s direction, to somewhere past Conrad.

  He’s worked up over something. Conrad swung his binoculars in the direction the man had pointed. It was beyond the eastern corner of the warehouse. A set of large tanks were located there, near a closed overhead door. The flammable logo and warning decals practically shouted to the world that there was gas in there.

  I get it. Those two must have filled up from over there, Conrad thought.

  Conrad returned his gaze to the shouting match. The man in the tank top was jabbing his finger in the face of one of the men. Then, he turned and pointed to the open doorway. Someone else was emerging, an overweight older gentleman with a big hat that protected his head from the sun. He also was dressed in neat, fancy looking pants, and wore a buttoned shirt that was open up top but buttoned down at the stomach, where it fought a battle to contain the man’s girth.

  The moment the older man stepped outside, the two men suddenly stopped talking. In fact, they stopped doing anything. They just stood there as if Death himself had approached. The man in the tank top spoke calmly to the older man. One of the two “chefs” tried to explain himself, but quickly silenced himself when the older man looked at him. Then, the newcomer simply walked up to the pan, jabbed the fork in one of the fish, blew on it a little, and then finally took a bite out of it.

  The two “chefs” looked more petrified than ever.

  I wonder if that’s Maggiano? Conrad thought. It had to be. He fit Tom’s description of the man, plus he commanded fear the likes of which Conrad never had seen outside of thugs or crime bosses in movies or on television.

  Maggiano—if that was him—took a few more bites out of the fish. Then he motioned to the man who had tried to explain himself earlier. Maggiano wiggled his finger in a “come closer” gesture. The man obeyed.

  Maggiano then jammed the fork into the man’s arm.

  The man leaped backward while screaming loudly and horribly. Conrad winced. Then Maggiano barked something to the other “chef” while gesturing to the gas tanks. He waved to the front door. Both of the “chefs” hurried to the door, with the wounded man cradling his jabbed arm. Maggiano barked a few instructions to the first well-dressed man, then turned and left.

  Why do I get the feeling that poor bastard got off easy? Conrad only could guess, but it seemed as though these two men had decided to have a little outdoor cookout, only they had siphoned off some propane because they were probably too lazy to build a campfire. The older man in the hat, probably Maggiano, was pissed that they were wasting valuable fuel, and only refrained from killing them because he liked their cooked fish.

  But as Conrad watched the well-dressed man drag the gas tank inside, he pondered what would happen beyond those closed doors. What brutal means of enforcement did Maggiano exercise over those who stayed under that roof?

  Tom Richards wondered, for the umpteenth time, what he was doing here.

  For one thing, he was scouting out a large building, checking on its sentries and trying to find areas of vulnerability that he and his partner Conrad could exploit. But that was a job for soldiers, a SWAT team, even policemen. But a former technical consultant? It was ludicrous even thinking about it.

  Chill, Tom thought. Hey, you’ve seen plenty of Bruce Willis movies. Maybe you can find one of those air ducts to shimmy through and sneak over the bad guys. Another part of him, the more sober and cynical part, warned him that in real life air ducts typically were not big enough for human beings. It was not going to be that easy to penetrate that building.

  At the moment, Tom was on the western side of the warehouse, about forty yards away from the facility itself. The binoculars that Conrad had given him did a good job of zeroing in on the place. So far, the only things of interest were the few guards he spotted outside, and the air conditioning and heating system on the building’s northern end.

  After nursing some disappointment, Tom retreated toward the edge of the western end. He put his binoculars back up and studied the furthermost window. It was a first story window, so it wasn’t difficult to see inside. He saw movement.

  Hey now, who’s this? Tom focused the lens as much as possible. No doubt about it, there was a female figure on the other side of the warehouse glass. She was just standing there, her back to the outside world. She was nodding as if someone was speaking to her.

  Her hair was blond. So, that’s not Sarah, Tom thought. Sarah had dark hair. Even so, Sarah might still be hard to spot from a distance.

  Tom kept a close eye for a while, until the woman retreated from view. Tom was about to turn away and search elsewhere, but then a second lady appeared in the warehouse window. Again, she wasn’t Sarah. But two women showing up in a row piqued Tom’s interest. He had to investigate this further.

  Gently, he panned to the left side, to the next window over. Being further away, it was difficult to make out anyone, but there was definitely a feminine figure behind that glass. Now he was more certain than ever he had hit the jackpot.

  Okay, Tom, you may have just found the women! he said to himself. They must be being kept in that quarter of the building.

  He took down the binoculars. But then he saw a bald man in a white T-shirt and dirty jeans patrolling the parking lot, quite close to Tom, just a few yards. More ominously, he was brandishing a rifle in his arms.

  “Shit!” Tom said in a loud whisper. How the hell did he not spot that man?

  He turned around, looking for instant cover. An old car lay a few feet away. Keeping his head down, he dashed for it, then rolled around back.

  Damn. I hope he didn’t see me.

  Tom looked under the car. The patroller’s feet marched past, unnervingly close, but he wasn’t heading directly for Tom. He was instead making a loop out from the war
ehouse and then back toward it. He only stopped to spit on the cement.

  Even so, Tom didn’t move. He was paralyzed with fear. This was just another reminder of how dangerous this mission was, and how likely it’d be that he could get killed. He waited another few minutes before looking back under the car. He spotted no sign of the sentry. He hesitated another several minutes before looking around the car. To his relief, he spotted no one in immediate sight.

  Just then the radio on his belt buzzed. Tom yelped. Then he let out a curse before snatching the radio.

  “Tom?” Conrad’s voice filtered through the speaker. “Hey, you there?”

  “Yeah!” Tom coughed. His throat was dry. “Yeah, I copy.”

  “It’s been thirty minutes. I’ve gone over this side of the building with a fine-tooth comb. I think I found us a good place to throw a party for our friends in this building.”

  “You did?” Relief claimed Tom’s insides. At least Conrad had done the heavy lifting for both of them. “Perfect. Let’s fall back to HQ.”

  “You find anything out there?” Conrad asked.

  “No. I mean, yeah. I think I found where they’re hiding the girls. They’re on the north side, near the western corner. I saw some girls through the windows.”

  “Great. Enough chatter. Let’s get going,” Conrad said.

  “Okay.” Tom switched off the radio. He let out a long breath. At least now he’d be retreating from Maggiano’s property. He’d be sure to live at least through the day, until the sun went down. Then, their plan, whatever it would turn out to be, would go into action.

  Tom stood up and cast a last look at the building. He wondered what was going in there. He had had a taste of the brutality of Marco Valentino and two of his men when he was slammed in the head with a rifle and left unconscious in the street. All three of them were working for Marcellus Maggiano. He rubbed the back of his head. The bump still was there. It would be a long time before it healed properly.

  As Tom retreated from the parking lot, he pondered what Maggiano could be doing with Sarah at that very moment.

  Chapter Two

  Jack watched as Maggiano raised the glass, three-quarters full of wine. “Cheers,” the old man said in a vague Italian accent.

  The woman sitting across the table raised an identical glass. “Cheers,” she said, softly.

  The two clinked their glasses, then drank. Jack eyed the wine bottle on the table with some envy, yet he knew not to touch it. If Marcellus Maggiano wanted Jack to join in, he would say so. The elder restaurateur shifted slightly in his seat, struggling a bit against his own girth. Jack fought the urge to smile at Maggiano’s slight difficulty with his weight, as Jack never had had weight issues, even when he indulged himself in lavish, fancy meals.

  Maggiano let out a sigh. “Better enjoy this while you can.”

  He sat back, letting the sunshine wash over him through the office windows. While Maggiano stuffed his female captives and his henchmen in the barracks in the main part of the warehouse, Marco held court in the main offices near the eastern end of the warehouse. “It’s a bitch trying to keep this stuff cool without refrigeration. Fortunately, Marco has found cool places around here to store my drinks.”

  Jack’s ears bristled at the praise for Marco, but let it pass. He knew Maggiano found Marco Valentino, a fellow restaurateur, quite useful to his burgeoning empire. Unfortunately, Jack held a much dimmer view of Marco, not only due to the man’s slights against Jack’s manliness and courage, but for his rape of one of the women under Maggiano’s roof. As far as Jack Sorenson was concerned, these women were his sanctum, and Marco had trod on forbidden territory.

  But for now, he put the anger aside and focused on the woman sipping wine with Maggiano. What was her full name? Jack scratched his head. Oh, of course. It was Sarah Sandoval. He always took great joy at thinking of her name, perhaps because he particularly enjoyed women with Latin heritage. As always, he did his part to make Sarah look appealing. Even though she was in her mid-fifties, she had aged well, and the spandex sports bra and biker pants Jack had provided had accentuated her body to its fullest.

  “It must be hard to do anything,” Sarah said, “The way things are now.”

  “The way things are now, there’s nobody left to look over my shoulder,” Maggiano said gruffly. “There’s no detectives snooping on my affairs. There’s nobody to show up at my door and serve me an arrest warrant. There’s no police to put cuffs on me. No judge to throw me in jail.” Maggiano drank the rest of his glass. “I think it’s perfect the ways things turned out. How many men get to be kings in their own time?”

  “I guess not many,” Sarah replied.

  “Exactly.” Maggiano poured Sarah more wine. “Jack, did your boys bring the books in from the library?”

  “They brought in the first load last night,” Jack replied. “I made sure to haul in the classics.”

  Maggiano grinned, slightly, but to see a smile from him at all was enough to ease Jack’s nerves. “I’d like my ladies to have some brains between their ears. I’ve heard from some of my clients that they want their companions to talk at some length.” Then he downed a large swig of wine. “They want learned women who can discuss poetry and literature. Not vapid stuff such as clothing or…” He snickered. “I suppose discussing reality shows now is rather pointless.”

  Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded brown book, Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky. He chuckled, then set it on the table. “Besides, I’m sure without television or the Internet at your fingertips, it does get boring in the barracks.”

  Sarah swallowed. “Boring? It didn’t seem boring last night.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked quickly.

  Sarah looked down at the table. “I heard…screaming. A girl near my room. It didn’t last long. Then I heard loud footsteps. Somebody walked away.” She shivered. “I looked in later. She was sitting in her bed, quaking and crying. She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.”

  Jack looked to Maggiano and said, “Interesting.”

  Maggiano raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said softly.

  “I’m sure it’s just an emotional outburst from captivity.” Jack spread his arms. “It’s to be expected. We’ve seen it before.”

  “Then who left her room?” Sarah looked up at Jack. “Someone was there. I heard him.”

  “Who? The men are ordered to stay out of the women’s quarters. And, of course, I make sure the doors are locked at night.” Jack cleared his throat. “Of course, I’m not the only one around here with access to the women’s barracks.”

  Maggiano looked at his glass, frowning. “This is actually the second time I’ve heard this little tale, and you know what it means when two different people start telling the same story.”

  “But the only person I saw near the barracks last night was Marco,” Jack said, “And he knows the price for mistreating your…” He glanced at Sarah. “…property.”

  “You know who this girl is?” Maggiano asked, “Bring her to me by noon. I want to talk with her.”

  Jack nodded. “Of course, of course.”

  Jack held Sarah’s arm as he led her from Maggiano’s office into the women’s barracks. They were a hastily constructed yet secure enclosure of wooden rooms accessible by this main hallway. An barred iron door secured it from the rest of the warehouse.

  “Magnificent performance,” Jack muttered. “You had him convinced. That’s no small feat, but I suspect he’s taken a liking to you.”

  “But that wasn’t a lie,” Sarah said.

  “Of course not,” Jack replied, “Marco is guilty as sin. But sadly, there were no witnesses. So, why not create a few instead? It’s not much, a few ‘vague’ recollections, nothing too specific, but in the end the signs point unmistakably to one Marco Valentino.”

  Jack stopped at the room where Sarah had been assigned. He flashed her a smile. “And you see how that works?”

 
; “You really have it out for him,” Sarah said.

  “Half the ladies in this building have it out for him. You would, too, in time. But Marco is ruthless. He has to be taken out in the right way. I don’t think Maggiano would appreciate Marco being eliminated without a good reason.”

  “What happens when he’s gone?” Sarah asked.

  “Life goes on as normal.” Jack lifted Sarah’s hand. “Maggiano rules the town, and I take care of business in here. A nice arrangement, don’t you think?” Then he kissed Sarah’s knuckles.

  “No freedom, I guess,” Sarah muttered.

  Jack chuckled. “Freedom? Well that’s an elusive concept. We’re all prisoners of something.” Jack then pointed his finger in the middle of Sarah’s bra. She recoiled, but Jack took hold of her and kept her steady. “I’m a prisoner to my passions. Actually, I think we all are.”

  Sarah trembled a little. Jack didn’t move his finger.

  “You’ve definitely captured Maggiano’s interest,” Jack said coyly. “He will expect great things of you in the near future. My advice? Try pleasing whoever Maggiano decides to send your way.”

  He was about to walk off, but then he stopped. “Oh.” He fished out Crime and Punishment from his pants pocket. “Almost forgot.” He put it in her hands. “A little homework. Try reading a lot of it each day. You never know when Maggiano will call upon you.”

  Then he walked off, leaving Sarah standing in her doorway. Once he got farther away, he chuckled. Sarah seriously was hoping she’d earn her freedom by helping him, wasn’t she?

  Cute, he thought as he reached the end of the barracks. Real cute.

  After leaving the women’s barracks and heading off into the warehouse’s storage area, he found himself with a less inviting sight. Marco Valentino was seated at a table near scaffolding that held some of Maggiano’s bigger crates. Five other men sat with Marco. The smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. The men were playing cards while drinking beer or smoking cigarettes.