Masters of Mayhem

by Franklin Horton

  "How many men?" Doc Marty asked, jumping straight into strategy.

  "They were scattered all over the damn place and constantly on the move. It was hard to get an accurate count but I think somewhere in the neighborhood of eighty to one hundred would be a fair assumption."

  "Eighty to a hundred armed men!" Ragus said, suddenly less confident about their abilities.

  "That's a handful of men, even if they’re untrained," Doc Marty said.

  "Agreed," Conor said. "I've got to catch some shut eye before I fall ass over teakettle. In the morning we need to beef up our numbers pronto."

  "We've been handing out flyers. You think that's enough?" Ragus asked. "You think people are going to be ready to join us? It’s one thing to agree when you’re safe but it’s an entirely different thing to volunteer when you know there will be gunfire."

  "Anyone who lives in this area should have a vested interest in us prevailing,” said Conor. “If we lose, they lose. They could all end up slaves."

  “And we couldn’t?” Shannon asked, setting a plate with a flatbread sandwich next to Conor. “I made one for Barb too.”

  “Thank you,” Conor said. “I don’t think we’ll end up slaves. I’ll fight to the death to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  "Those guys that you thought had attacked Johnny Jacks’ family came to check on him while I was there," Doc Marty said. "There were nearly two dozen of them. They said if there was anything they could do to let them know. They decided to stay on through the winter and they wanted to be good neighbors. Maybe this is when you cash in that chip."

  “There’s more of them back at their camp. A lot of women and kids. I’m sure they don’t want them ending up in the wrong hands.” Conor yawned again and rubbed his eyes. “I need to get some rest. Don’t know when the next opportunity will be.”

  “We’ve all slept,” Doc Marty said. “Is there anything we can do while you’re out?”

  Conor thought, his brain struggling to process clearly through exhausted pathways. “Maybe one of you could go alert those folks you were just talking about. They’re staying in the firehouse, like you were heading to West Virginia from Johnny Jacks’ house. Might be a good idea to stop by Johnny’s house, too, and let them know the score.”

  “I can do that,” Ragus said.

  “You sure you’re up for that, lad?” Conor asked. “You’ll need to keep your wits about you. Head on a swivel and all that.”

  “I got it,” Ragus said confidently.

  “The lad seems a little green, Conor,” Doc Marty said. “You sure he can do this?”

  Conor regarded his young friend. “I’m sure I need to let him try.”

  “Good enough,” Doc Marty said. “Shannon and I will work on squaring away our gear. We still have some goodies packed up that may come in handy.”

  Conor finished his sandwich and pressed up off the couch. “I’m going to bed. Ragus, be careful. Safety first.”

  “Roger that,” Ragus said, hoping it made him sound more skilled and proficient than he actually felt.

  About that time, Barb shoved her way through the door, her arms laden with gear. She dropped it by the door with a heavy thud. “As Dad is fond of saying, I’m so hungry I could eat the southbound end of a northbound mule.”

  “I made you a sandwich if you want it,” Shannon offered.

  Barb pursed her lips, staring at the other girl. “You spit in it?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Sprinkle poison on it?”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Shannon said, offended. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  Barb reached out and snatched the plate from Shannon’s hands. “Then I’ll eat it. Just had to ask.” She gave the exasperated Shannon a wicked smile.

  “She’ll grow on you,” Ragus said. “Or not.”

  Barb paused in her chewing. “I can kick your ass, Ragus, and not even drop this sandwich.”

  “Please, Barb, this isn’t the time,” Ragus said. “I need to get out of here. I’ll see you guys later.” He headed down the hall, to his room, to grab a few pieces of gear for his Go Bag.

  “Where’s he going?” Barb asked.

  Neither Shannon nor Doc Marty responded to her.

  “Excuse me?” Barb growled. “I’m talking and somebody should be answering.”

  “He’s going to see if he can recruit some men to come help in the fight. Your dad asked him to do it,” Shannon said, her tone implying that she wasn’t certain whether it was even any of Barb’s business or not.

  Barb’s eyes grew wide. “By himself? He’ll get killed. Or lost. Or some shit like that.”

  “Your dad seemed confident he could do it,” Doc Marty said.

  “Yeah, well, Dad’s cornbread isn’t done in the middle. He’s hardly a sound decision maker in the best of times and he’s sleep-deprived right now.”

  “Your dad is one of the best in this business of ours,” Doc Marty fired back. “The fact that he’s still alive when so many men want him dead is a testament to something.”

  “I’m not attacking my dad,” Barb said slowly, venom oozing from each word. “You can be certain he has no bigger protector in this world than I. In fact, when he expressed concern about your arrival here I was ready to put a bullet in your head and claim it happened in transit. I don’t know what happened between you and him in Helsinki, but when I find out, you better hope it’s not something that makes me lose my shit. When that happens, things get ugly.”

  “Out of respect for your father, I’m ending this conversation,” Doc Marty said. “I apologize if I’ve angered his child.”

  The way he emphasized child hit Barb like a splash of acid. She wanted nothing more than to jump on the man and kill him with her bare hands. The only thing that stopped her was, without Conor to break it up, this would be a fight to the death. Shannon would likely try to intervene and she’d have to kill her too. She knew how her father would feel about that. He would disapprove. That, and only that, saved two lives.

  Ragus entered the room wearing his patrol clothing, his plate carrier, and his Go Bag. Walking into the room, the tension was immediately noticeable, like stepping into the smell of burnt popcorn. He paused halfway to the door. “What did I miss?”

  Shannon and Doc Marty looked at Barb, which told Ragus all he needed to know. Barb ignored all of them, her attention focused on Ragus.

  “I’m going with you,” she said.

  “You need sleep in case this turns into a battle.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You, on the other hand, will not be.”

  Ragus opened the door and shot Barb a last look. “You’re not invited. You’re not welcome this time.” He eased on out, banging his rifle and pack on the doorframe as he squeezed through.

  Barb stared at the door, her face turning a brilliant red as if it had been intentionally slammed in her face. She coolly tossed her half-eaten sandwich onto the coffee table. “I’m about done being disrespected in my own home.” She turned on her heels, went to her bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.

  Shannon looked nervously at her father.

  He shrugged as if it were routine. “Lots of big personalities in this line of work. Lots of attitudes. You get used to it.”

  She looked doubtfully toward Barb’s room. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get used to it. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

  33

  Ragus wasn’t at his most comfortable on the back of a horse but he was getting better with every ride. He rode the horse he was most experienced with and pushed it to the limits of his abilities. The ride down the back side of the mountain was a long series of switchbacks. Miles and miles of them. In some places, where the mountain wasn’t nearly vertical, there were trails connecting the switchbacks made by game, logging roads, or off road vehicles. The trails, when passable, allowed him to take a more direct route down the mountain. It seemed to him that this route ended up cutting the distance in half.
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br />   Once at the bottom of the mountain he pushed his horse to a gallop, staying on the grassy shoulder where the horse felt more confident. He rode straight for Johnny Jacks’ house, wanting to give his horse the opportunity to drink and rest for a moment.

  He rode up the driveway, waving his hat in his hand, and announcing himself. Jason came outside and waved back to him. He pushed the horse back to a gallop and closed the distance between him and the house.

  “What’s up?” Jason called. “I wasn’t expecting anyone until Doc Marty came back to check on Dad.”

  “There’s trouble,” Ragus said. “An army headed this way.”

  “The army?” Jason asked.

  Ragus shook his head. “An army of bad men. Let me get this horse a drink and I’ll tell you about it.” They led the horse around the corner of the house and tied it off near a trough filled by the gutters.

  They went around to the front of the house and sat on the porch while Ragus filled Jason in on the entire story. Jason didn’t interrupt, stoically absorbing the information until Ragus reached the end.

  “I’ll help,” Jason said.

  “I don’t think that’s why I came over here,” Ragus said. “I think they expected you to stay with your family. They wanted me to recruit those men who offered to help your dad.”

  “Your family has gone out of their way to help me,” Jason said. “I believe in returning favors. Sam can stay with Dad. She’s a good shot and more than capable of keeping an eye on things.”

  “They’ll appreciate that. Every armed man improves the odds.”

  “How about I go inside and break this to Sam? You stay out here and give me a minute. I’ll need to get some gear together. Then I’ll go with you to the fire hall. Those guys have never seen you before. They might be more receptive to a familiar face.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s a curry comb right there,” Jason said, pointing it out. “You take care of your horse and I’ll be outside by the time you’re done.”

  True to his word, Jason was back out by the time Ragus was finishing up with a much happier horse. He had a pack slung across his back, a handgun holstered on his belt, and a rifle cradled in his arms.

  “Let’s go saddle a horse,” Jason said.

  They headed around to the barn and Jason saddled his own mount with an efficiency of movement that Ragus took note of. It was like Conor with his weapons. There were so many things he wanted to get better at. Minutes after reaching the barn, they were galloping back down the driveway.

  “How did Sam take it?”

  “She’s sad. Worried. But she understands. She knows it’s what has to be done.”

  Ragus nodded. There were a lot of things in the world he didn’t understand the nuances of. Most things, in fact. With great certainty, he knew that the intricacies of how husbands and wives negotiated such matters were light years beyond his comprehension. He’d never seen such things modeled in his own life having spent most of his childhood in a single-parent home.

  “I appreciate you coming, Jason.” It was all Ragus knew to say.

  They rode hard. Ragus let Jason pull ahead. He was a more experienced horseman and understood better which lines were more easily travelled by horse. With Ragus, it was a combination of guesswork and dumb luck. Jason was a lifelong horseman and his expertise allowed them to ride faster. He was always on the lookout for hazards that Ragus simply didn’t have the experience to recognize.

  When they closed on the fire hall, Jason extended an arm to his side, a gesture similar to the hand signals used by bicyclists. They slowed their horses to a walk.

  “The fire hall is just ahead,” Jason said. “Probably best we don’t ride up on it like it’s a raid. Too many nervous people with guns. I don’t want to get killed before the fight even starts.”

  Ragus fell in step behind Jason. They eased up to the fire hall and stopped in front of it, staying on the road.

  “Helloooooo,” Jason called. When there was no answer, he called again. “Helllooooooooo!”

  “We heard you,” came a voice from behind the riders.

  Ragus spun in his saddle, startled by the sudden voice.

  “Easy there,” the man said. “No fast movements.”

  “You with Wayne in the fire hall?” Jason asked.

  The man had a thick red beard and wore a grubby wool hunting jacket. “How do you know Wayne?”

  “Some of your men were at my house. Yesterday maybe? Hard to keep track of days anymore. Wayne said if I ever need anything to just ask. I’m here to ask.”

  The man lowered his gun, withdrawing a family band radio from his pocket. “Wayne?”

  It took a moment for a response to crackle from the radio. “Yeah?”

  “I got a couple of riders out here. Johnny Jacks’ son is one of them. They want to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be right out.”

  The bearded guy kept his distance, remaining vigilant but not threatening. In a few minutes, Wayne came out the front door of the fire hall with two other men. He waved Ragus and Jason over.

  “What brings you to our neighborhood?” Wayne asked, his manner congenial.

  “Trouble,” Jason said. “You can either take this as a warning or a recruitment visit.”

  The smile eroded from Wayne’s face. “That sounds serious.”

  “There were some men came through here a few weeks ago,” Ragus said. “They kidnapped a lot of women and killed several people. They took my friend Conor’s daughter and we went after them. He caught them north of here and they got the short end of the stick.”

  “So now they’ve come back with more men?” Wayne asked.

  Ragus shook his head. “Ain’t none of those men coming back. He killed every one of them.”

  Wayne raised an eyebrow at that. “How many men are you talking about?”

  “The kidnappers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe two dozen.”

  “And Conor, the one they call the Mad Mick, killed them all?”

  “Well, his daughter helped.”

  Addressing one of this companions, Wayne said, “I knew there was something about that guy.”

  “The point is that those men Conor killed had a boss,” Jason said. “Their boss is headed in this direction. They’re estimating as many as a hundred men.”

  “Shit!” Wayne said.

  “We honestly don’t know how far they’re coming,” Ragus said. “We know they’re determined to take Conor out. They want his head on a stick.”

  Wayne scratched his head, then asked, “How can we help?”

  “You told me if I needed any help to let you know,” Jason said.

  Wayne nodded. “I did.”

  “I came to see if you’d be interested in joining the fight. Conor’s a dangerous man but the odds are against us. We need all the men we can get.”

  Wayne didn’t respond, taking some time to roll the idea around in his head.

  “You aren’t obligated,” Ragus said. “We’ll understand if you say no.”

  “I ain’t said no yet,” Wayne said.

  “I will say that they killed dozens of men on their way down here. The women they took were meant to be used for slave labor on their farm,” Ragus told him. “That’s what the men told them. If they do beat us and they come for you, you all better pack your shit and run. There won’t be any peace with them around. Your families will never be safe.”

  “That’s a lot to think about,” Wayne said. “How long do we have?”

  “Best guess is tomorrow or the next day,” Ragus said.

  “Can I have time to talk to my people?”

  “Absolutely,” Jason said. “We’re going to head back. If you want to help, bring your men over the mountain tomorrow. You’ll see an office on the top of the ridge surrounded by fence. We’ll leave instructions on the fence as to where to find us.”

  “If you come, come ready to fight,” Ragus said. “Guns, ammo, food, knives, flashlights, hu
nting clothes, whatever you got.”

  “Will do. Either way, I wish you boys luck.” Wayne strode forward and shook their hands.

  Jason and Ragus turned their horses and sped away. It was already midday and they had a mountain to cross. By the time they got there, it was likely Conor would be up and pulling together a plan. They anticipated a long night that might stretch into several long days. Whatever battle they were preparing to engage in, it had already begun.

  34

  That same evening, Bryan’s army passed the McDonald’s at Claypool Hill and turned onto Route 460 toward Richlands, Virginia. The McDonald’s was looted and partially burned, empty Happy Meal boxes and French fry containers strewn around the parking lot. Bryan couldn’t imagine what people expected to find beyond sugar packets and straws. The food would have been gone quickly and what wasn’t eaten would have spoiled without electricity.

  They passed a home improvement store, the parking lot also littered with trash, but with smoke curling from an improvised stovepipe. Clearly there were people there, although Bryan didn’t feel like engaging them at the moment. Any force big enough to keep that store might be a pain in the ass to deal with and he couldn’t afford to lose any men the moment. They had enough food from their efforts in Tazewell to get them through the night and morning. The only thing they needed at the moment was information. Specifically, how to find the residence of one Conor Maguire, aka The Mad Mick, reputed to live in some area called Jewell Ridge.

  They got off the first exit and began looking for someone that might be able to provide them that information. They wanted easy pickings, someone vulnerable and easily intimidated. That someone turned out to be an old man with a shopping cart, scouring through refuse piles for anything that met the esoteric threshold at which he assigned value. The man had a pronounced limp and the cart appeared to serve both as an aide in walking and as a container for loot.

  The sound of the many horseshoes clattering off the pavement reached the man long before the riders were close to him. The town wasn’t big. Both a river and a railroad ran through it. Squat brick buildings lined the main street. The sound of hooves echoed off a post office, a beauty salon, a school, and a funeral home. The old man stopped what he was doing and watched their approach, squinting through his glasses. When the lead rider, Bryan, was closer, the old man threw up a hand in a friendly greeting.