by Lopez, Rob
“Not the details, no.”
“Rick doesn’t give away details.”
As the stretchers were carried into the clinic, Packy’s Road Runner thundered down the track from Salt Gap. It was an unsuitable track for most vehicles, but Packy traversed it nevertheless. He skidded to a halt outside the cabin and looked around at the bodies.
“You guys have been busy,” he said.
“I get the impression you guys have been busier,” said Harvey.
“You know how it is,” said Packy dismissively. He looked across to Mud’s body. “Hey, that’s my Mac-10,” running over to pick it up. He checked it over for scratches and dints. “I missed this,” he said.
“Why?” said Harvey. “That guy couldn’t hit a damned thing with it.”
Packy gave him a serious look. “That’s because he lacked affinity. It’s like the One Ring. It calls to its master and won’t perform for anyone else.”
Harvey gave him a serious look back. “You know, Packy? Sometimes it’s good to see you, and sometimes it’s good not to see you too often.”
“Ahh, you don’t mean that.”
“No, really, I do.”
Packy unclipped the magazine and was disappointed to find it empty. Seeing the bag nearby, he opened it and looked inside. “Ewww,” he said, dropping the bag.
“What?”
“Take a look.”
Harvey did and saw the severed, moldy hand inside. “My God, what kind of person carries that around?”
“A crazy person,” said Packy with a knowing look. “That’s just, like, extra weird. I mean, on the scale of weirdness, an easy ten. Compared to that, I’m a five or six. Complain about me all you want, but I ain’t ever going to reach that level of sickness.”
Shamefaced, Harvey stared at the bag. “Point taken.”
“You look tired, man.”
Harvey looked at him. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For treating you like an asshole. You’re a good man, Packy.”
“Hey, don’t get all mushy on me. You ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“I have. I’ve been hitting on you for being some kind of loon, and it ain’t right. I’ve got to start seeing the good side of people that mean something to me, because I’m getting really tired of seeing humanity’s dark side. Like today. Greed and avarice, the deadliest sins. It’s like the devil himself has come out and corrupted the world, and there’s no redemption. It’s wearing on me.”
“Chill, man. We may not be angels, but there’s still enough goodness around. Well, some anyway. Still worth fighting for. Gotta keep the light shining.”
Harvey watched as they carried Scott out and maneuvered him into the back of the car. He’d regained consciousness, but still looked out of it. April and Daniel got in the back with him while Red loaded the scavenged militia rifles into the trunk. Another patient was strapped into the front passenger seat and given bed sheets to hold.
“Looks like you’d better get going,” said Harvey.
“Yeah, man. I’ll see you up there, but I don’t know when. I think you’ve got a long walk.”
Harvey hitched up the belt of his pants. “And a mountain to climb, but I guess it can be done. Thank you, Packy.”
“No problem, dude. Take care.”
14
To the Northwest of Biltmore House, in the low rolling hills that overlooked the French Broad river, rows of vines stood, just as they had done for over thirty years. Only this time, they were guarded and patrolled by militia to ensure that this year’s crop of grapes didn’t get pilfered by hungry hands. Fick arrived at the checkpoint outside the winery main building and tethered his horse.
“Where’s Connors?” he said tersely.
“He’s busy, sir,” said a miltiaman.
“Don’t sir me, I work for a living,” said Fick. “Where is he?”
“I’ll send someone to fetch him. Sir.”
“Just tell me where the fuck he is.”
The militiamen exchanged glances, and for a moment, the possibility that they might defy Fick hung in the air. Then one of them casually nodded.
“The colonel’s in that barn over there. Sir.”
Fick stared at the militiaman. “He ain’t no colonel.”
The look on the militiaman’s face suggested that he begged to differ, but he said nothing. Fick noticed for the first time that these militiamen wore red armbands, rather than the green scarves issued to the rest.
“What’s your name?” demanded Fick.
“Taylor. Sir.”
Fick was quite willing to punch him for being a smartass, but he got the sense that something wasn’t right here. He barged through the checkpoint, forcing the militia to step out of his way, and strode to the indicated barn, yanking open a side door. The dusty interior reeked of the acid smell of wine, and empty or broken barrels had been pushed into a pile by the wall. In the center was a stack of filled sacks, partially covered in a tarp. One of the sacks was clearly labeled as farm seed. Connors emerged from a back room, blinking hard and swaying slightly, like he’d just woken up.
“What do want?” he said when he saw Fick.
Fick studied him for a moment. “What’s this doing here?” he said, referring to the farm seed.
Connors scrutinized the bags, like he was surprised to see them. Still swaying, he pulled the tarp over to cover them completely. “Waiting for the price to go up,” he said, his voice slurred. “Can I help you with anything?”
Fick narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been smoking that shit, haven’t you?”
Connors found a box to sit down on, steadying himself. “The meth? Yeah, I’ve been testing it. Good stuff. Your boys did a great job.”
“We didn’t make it just for your personal consumption.”
“Hmm? No, I’m aware of that. We received the shipment, everything’s good and we’ll be distributing it soon. What’s the matter? You telling me you didn’t try some yourself?”
“No,” said Fick. “I didn’t spend a week in the mountains with a bunch of hicks just to get high. I’ve been busting my balls trying to get a lab and supply chain organized, and I come back now to see you slacking.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been busy down here.”
“Uh huh. What’s all this colonel crap?”
“I got promoted.”
“By whom?”
“Well, the good governor, obviously.”
“Did he give you a handjob as well?”
“I’m sorry, what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“A promotion from a jerk like Jeffries don’t mean nothing.”
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that, upon my recommendation, he promoted you to captain, Captain.”
Fick shook his head in despair. “This is just a fucking game to you.”
Connors took a deep breath and stretched his back, slowly sobering up. “No game. Just a vision. Long term.”
“What vision?” said Fick. “One of our patrols gets whacked and you’re sitting here getting stoned.”
“What patrol?”
“See? You don’t know.”
“Get to the goddamn point.”
“One of our patrols got ambushed. Wiped out. I just got into town and in five minutes, I know more than you do.”
“Wait a minute. We lost a patrol?”
“Barbara and her bums. They’ve been missing for two days and a patrol came across their bodies.”
“Barbara,” said Connors. “Well, no loss.”
“They got hit near Round Knob.”
That got Connors’ attention.
“That’s right,” affirmed Fick, reading his thoughts. “The guy you decided to ignore has just hit back at you.”
Connors thought about it. “Can you confirm it was Nolan?”
“No, but it would be one hell of a coincidence if there was another group in the area with that capability.”
“What else we got?”
&nbs
p; “Nothing. The pussies in Black Mountain didn’t want to hang around to investigate further, so they pulled back and now they’re screaming for reinforcements.”
Connors stood up. “Okay, we need to pull together a force and get out there.”
“Already done. I got everyone assembled. I just came to see if you wanted to pull your head out of your ass.”
Connors looked at him for a moment, then put his hand on Fick’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Fick,” he said, “but remember, you need me more than I need you. So cut that crap out.”
Fick caught the sudden change in tone and straightened up. “I’m not just your hired muscle,” he said.
“No, but you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me, so let’s have a little more respect.”
Fick held his gaze, considering his reply, but Connors’ eyes had lost their meth-softness, and were now rock-hard. With a grunt, Fick turned around.
“You’ll thank me, one day,” murmured Connors.
Fick kept on walking.
*
“There were just the two of them here. Said there was a typhus outbreak. They had a bunch of patients.”
“And you searched the compound?” said Connors.
“Yes, sir,” said the red-bearded corporal, “but we didn’t want to hang around. They told us they were contagious.”
“They did, did they?”
“Yeah. The patients looked real sick.”
“Uh huh. Find any weapons?”
“Just one shotgun. We, uh, let that pass.”
Connors looked across at the bloated bodies of Barbara and her cronies. “You think that was wise?” he said.
The corporal looked uncomfortable. “We had orders to register tier 3 weapons, not confiscate them. And I don’t think one shotgun could have done all this.”
Connors nodded to himself. “I agree,” he said.
He walked over to where Fick, Leon and Taft were inspecting the bodies. Out on the fringes of Camp Grier, two companies of militia were beating the ferns, looking for clues. Back at the lake, a pickup winched the car out of the waters.
“Barbara took a hit in the head,” said Leon, crouched down besides the fly-blown corpse. “I’d say it was a .308 or thereabouts.”
Fick squatted near Teebone, running his finger along the ricochet groove on the cooking pot. “I’d say this was the same caliber,” he said, “shot from high up there on the hill.”
Taft looked around, seeing the hundreds of spent cartridges, and the chewed up corner of the cabin. “Hell of a firefight,” he said, “but they weren’t shooting up the hill.”
Connors picked up the bag, upending it and dumping the decomposed hand and gold jewelry in the dirt. Pondering his find, he walked toward the cabin, stepping over Mud’s body and up the steps. He saw the empty beds, the blood stain on the boards and the 9mm casings on the floor. Walking the length of the cabin, he made it to the room at the end, seeing a bucket of bandages stiff with blood, and the copy of Cold Mountain on the nightstand. Absently, he leafed through it, carrying it out into the sunshine.
“So,” he says, “a Civil War deserter comes home from the war, looking to avoid the patriots who would hang him for his treason. Wow, I bet he had a lot of fun reading this book in his predicament.”
“Sorry, sir?” said the corporal.
“Did you search that room at the end?” asked Connors.
The corporal peered through the doorway. “Uh, no. I guess we didn’t.”
Connors clicked his fingers to two other militiamen and beckoned them over.
“Arrest this man for being an idiot,” he told them, nodding toward the corporal.
“Sir?”
“Take him to Black Mountain and put him in a cell. He’ll be court-martialed for dereliction of duty.”
The corporal cast about him, as if this was some kind of prank, then he faced Connors. “You can’t do that. I’m a volunteer.”
“I can,” said Connors. “Consider yourself demoted as well.”
Connors nodded to the militia, who reluctantly escorted the corporal away. Connors stared off into the distance. “Don’t look at me like that, Fick. I know what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say nothing,” said Fick.
“You don’t need to.” Connors looked around at the carnage, the bodies and the gold. “Seems Barbara got greedy. This wasn’t a planned hit. But they did stumble across something unexpected. Or rather, somebody.” Connors tapped his lips. “We know that Scott was injured. I figured he’d die from a hit like that, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was hiding here, just a couple of miles from Round Knob. And yeah, Fick, I know that means he was within our grasp, and we could have got him if we’d pressed on.”
“No comment,” said Fick.
“That’s diplomatic of you.”
“Might not have been Scott,” said Leon. “Could have been Rick. Maybe he was injured too. Could explain why he didn’t show up for the hanging.”
“It could. But I wonder what happened to the others. Why hide a wounded man here, without a proper guard?”
“They did have a guard. Barbara didn’t die of heatstroke.”
“Barbara was incompetent. A single shooter up the hill and a cripple in the cabin was probably enough to take care of her crew. This is nothing like the resistance we met at Round Knob. I don’t think Nolan was here.”
“Whoever did this took the weapons and split,” said Leon. “If we set up OPs here and at Round Knob, we can push patrols up into the mountains. Might be able to smoke ‘em out.”
“I’m not reacting to every single pinprick,” said Connors. “You could search these mountains for months and not find anything. Nolan’s people are scattered, and most of them probably quit. And if there really were patients here, they wouldn’t be taking them up into the boonies. There’s got to be other settlements east of here. Send a few vehicles out and see what we can find. Once we’ve expanded and consolidated our territory, we’ll have all the best real estate for farming and commerce. A few outlaws living on bugs in the mountains aren’t going to threaten us much. Cut them off from help and supplies, and they’ll starve. Come winter, they’ll be dead. What do you think, Fick?”
“You’re the boss,” said Fick, deadpan.
“That’s right. Let’s move, gentlemen.”
15
Harvey had never been an outdoors kind of guy. He’d never taken up hunting, and he hadn’t been the kind to get into the latest hiking gear and take to the mountains with trekking poles and a bandana. Driving to a camping ground, setting up a tent and indulging in a gentle walk were the extent of his endeavors. Going to the gym and sweating for an hour a week on the stair machine convinced him that, if he really had to climb a mountain, he could do it.
He’d come a long way since his last life, cutting wood and living in cabins, and he’d lost a few pounds, so he figured he was ready to climb a hill or two.
He couldn’t have been more wrong. The first day reduced him to a wheezing wreck, and when they bivouacked the first night, his legs were burning and his lungs were raw. The next morning he had to massage his cramped calves before he could even stand. He was meant to be looking after the patients who were being carried on stretchers, since Sally had accepted one of Packy’s shuttle lifts in order to care for Scott, along with some of the weaker patients, but he was close to being carried on a stretcher himself. The rest of the column consisted of folks from the Old Fort community, and they seemed to be better acclimatized to the ordeal, but it was tough work carrying any kind of weight, and progress was slow. Red was in charge of the column, and, along with a couple of other militiamen, walked tirelessly up and down the column, urging people on and making sure no one was left behind, as well as acting as the rearguard and covering their tracks. Harvey got tired just watching him.
On the second day, they were joined by some new faces, some of whom Harvey had never seen before, and the armed protection grew more extensive. They communicated in whistl
es and signs, nobody being allowed to talk much, and they impressed Harvey with how well trained they appeared. They looked very much at home in the mountains. Apparently, they maintained constant communication with their destination, and when someone arrived from the camp they were headed to, they would be riding mountain bikes on the trail. Harvey thought at first that meant they must be close, but every draw and valley was followed by another slope that they had to climb, and he gave up thinking they were nearly there, because it just drained his spirit all the more.
Somebody whistled, and Red dashed up the column, telling everyone to get down and keep quiet. They’d had a couple of scares like this already, as Red was worried they were being tracked. The militiamen sank out of sight into the ferns, and for a moment only the sound of the birds could be heard, but Harvey was glad to be lying down.
The respite was over too soon, and Red scooted along the column again, beckoning everybody up. “There’ll be food at the next stop,” he whispered. “We just need to get over one more ridge.”
Harvey’s stomach had given up groaning a long time ago, but the prospect of eating infused him with renewed determination, and he began taking big strides up the slope, anxious to cover the distance and be done with it.
Red reappeared suddenly, falling into step alongside. “You don’t take big steps in the mountains,” he whispered. “You’ll wear yourself out.”
Harvey was already worn out, but he noticed Red taking small, quick steps, like one of those wind-up toys.
“How much more of this?” he said.
Red slapped him on the shoulder. “Not long. Just keep going.”
Focusing on his steps, Harvey made his way up the slope, trying to ignore his aching thighs, nodding like a metronome. When they crested the ridge and moved down into a valley, they came across a prepared encampment, diffuse smoke rising from a camp fire as their food was cooked.
Dusk crept overhead and Harvey was ready to hit the sack, but he forced himself to check each of the patients, giving them their daily dose of antibiotics. In spite of having been carried, they weren’t in the best shape, the bumpy ride and the tense circumstances not being the best healing environment. Checking that they were comfortable, or at least as comfortable as they could be on the uneven ground, Harvey sat down and stretched his legs, wincing as he flexed his muscles. Out of nowhere, a bicycle shot past, and a young rider handed a message to Red. Turning the bike around, the young man was about to ride off when Harvey realized who it was.