“We are looking for hidden tractor-trailer rigs, not field mice. Let’s keep moving, counselor.”
Nancy’s playful rebuff made me smile as I shifted the Datsun into gear and Nancy programmed in the next location. I could remember when GPS was absolutely useless outside of town, but in pe-Rockfall days the network seemed to extend to every little scrap of countryside. Of course, that was an illusion, and I knew we now already had sizeable gaps in coverage. If the cell towers were down, or deprived of power, we would be back to paper maps in no time. Best use the technology while it was available, I reasoned while dreading the day.
We actually ran into two dead zones on our way to the next location, and Nancy was savvy enough to check ahead and keep us on course for when the network picked back up. When Nancy mentioned this, I told her my thoughts on the failing infrastructure and she was relieved when I told her about the detailed paper maps I kept stowed in a sealed plastic box under the seat.
“You really are a Boy Scout, aren’t you?”
“Not really. Never had time to join a troop growing up. Learned most of it from my dad, just like Mike and Nikki did.”
“You never talk about him, or your mom either. Why’s that?”
“Just don’t think about it much,” I lied. “They’ve both been gone for quite a while, now.”
“I’ve noticed that about all three of you. Is that a Hardin trait? Compartmentalizing your feelings?”
“Blame it on my mom’s side. All Germans. Very dour people, and not much given to showing their emotions,” I explained, which was only part of the truth, but I didn’t want to pursue that trail much further. Instead, I tried to redirect the conversation back to her.
“I was glad to see Lisa getting along so well with the other kids. I worried, what with all the upheaval and changes recently. But Lisa’s tough, like her mom.”
Nancy gave me a lopsided grin that I had trouble deciphering, so I just let it go now that we were back on more solid ground.
Our conversation ground to a halt as we approached the next address, which was another rural locale but fifteen minutes from the first and located at the end of a dirt road rather than on a graveled county road. I didn’t like the looks of the route, which showed considerable traffic in the rutted road despite the remote location.
“This is as close as the GPS gets us, I’m afraid,” Nancy declared, setting the phone aside. “What did Landshire’s map have on this location that merited a visit?”
“It showed an old campground, but with a TXDOT maintenance building off to the side. Two sites, really, but the metal building looked large enough from satellite images to house a couple of semis.”
I pulled the Datsun off to the side of the road, then nosed it into a small stand of what looked like holly trees. From the pile of beer cans and paper trash around the immediate area, this looked like a parking and partying spot for the local teenagers.
“We going in, or calling Pat?” I asked Nancy, more to gauge her reaction than anything else.
“Come this far,” Nancy responded with a shrug. “You think this is it?”
“Not really,” I confided. “Looking at the road, there’s lots of in and out traffic, but nothing large enough to qualify for what we are looking for. But we still need to check it.”
“So we’re just going to walk down the road?”
“Oh, hell no,” I retorted. “Even if this isn’t the place, Landshire also had this marked as one of this meth cooking locations. We go in through the woods. Let me call Pat and Mike first though and let them know what we’re doing. There’s brave, and then there’s just stupid.”
“Agreed,” Nancy said. “Let’s get to this.”
After making my calls, we traipsed, I mean, tactically entered, the woods parallel to the slightly winding dirt road and made our way through the thicket of pine trees and sprawling privet hedge bushes that seemed to eat up the landscape. After fifteen minutes, we came upon the edge of the forest, but we heard the residents long before we arrived. After exchanging a glance with Nancy, we simply stepped out of the woods and wound our way through the campers and the collected residents.
While the signs indicated the RV park was supposed to be closed, what we found was a packed collection of recreation vehicles of all shapes and sizes, all taking advantage of the scant amenities still available. Clearly these folks had been here for weeks, if the growing trash pile was any indication. If you looked hard enough, you might be able to see the dumpster that formed the base of the stacked trash bags that formed a pyramid nearly twenty feet tall.
What we didn’t see, though, was any sign of our targets. Somebody had forced open the side doors on the long, low slung metal building once used for housing and maintaining graders, dump trucks and tractors used by the Texas Department of Transportation, the highway department as we all called it, but now the open space seemed to be used for overflow residents and a few communal cooking and washing stations.
As we approached the opened building, I clocked two men approaching who were dressed in attire similar to our own, including the ammo vests and slung AR pattern rifles. Both men moved gracefully, even on the slick, icy concrete of the parking pad adjacent to the building, and I gave a hand sign only Nancy could see for her to halt. We found out what we came for, and while it was a dry hole, there was no reason to either rattle the locals or blow our cover.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The older of the two men demanded. He looked to be around my age, with a mixture of brown and gray hair peeking out from a ballcap with ear flaps. His dark eyes were partially concealed by his glasses, but his glance seemed to show he missed little.
I held my hands well away from anything that might be threatening and replied respectfully.
“I’m Deputy Hardin, and this is Prentiss,” I nodded to Nancy. “We were out on patrol and saw the tracks coming in, so we called it in and came up to see what was going on.”
“I know the deputy who patrols this part of the county, and you aren’t him,” the man said with a hint of a drawl that sounded more Alabama than Texas. Still, his diction and bearing indicated both a high level of education and most likely a military background of some type.
“If I may?” I asked, again politely, as I gestured to the badge fastened to my jacket. “I’m a reserve deputy, sir, and we were looking for something…else back here. Chop shop, really.”
“What’s going on? Deputy Hansen usually patrols here, and I haven’t heard anything over the radio about this,” the younger man said. “And Bill and I are going in for that reserve deputy thing tomorrow. We’ve kinda been doing that sort of thing here anyway, so Hansen suggested it.”
I stuck out my hand, slowly, and shook with the older man first, then the younger. The older man introduced himself as Bill Younger, and the other fellow, who looked to be in his late twenties, was Dan Farlow. I told them Nancy’s first name and left it at that before continuing.
Now, I wasn’t the most trusting person in the world, even before the world turned into a sodden, frozen wonderland. However, I’d been watching not just these two men since they came into view, but the other residents of the refugee camp as well. Clearly, these two were not just tolerated by the other refugees, but look upon favorably as well. In short, they were sheepdogs. Mike and Pat would approve.
With that quick bit of calculation done, I then spent a minute going into some detail about this morning’s happenings, starting with the ambush. As for the location of our farm, I left it as east of town and that was it. I did include my theory that the highwaymen were not only monitoring civilian radio but also had access to the Department’s encrypted radio system as well.
“So why are you here? You said something about a chop shop?”
Bill’s question got us back on track, so I explained.
“Not exactly. We’re fairly certain they took three rigs this morning. Six dead, and all in some kind of ‘driver livery’. So, driver and shotgun rider, and they probabl
y traded off. The thinking is, they will want to stash the rigs somewhere and maybe consolidate their loads before heading to their base. Maybe shift the loads to a clean trailer to throw off pursuit.”
“So you’re checking likely hiding spots, to catch them before dark when you think they’ll make their move,” Bill commented, but I knew he wasn’t looking for an answer from me. He’d already put the pieces together. I gave him a thumbs up in reply, which in black thinsulate gloves, really looks geeky.
“What are you planning when you find their hideout?” Dan asked.
“We’ll contact the sheriff and turn the operation over to him,” I lied, and I think Bill at least knew what I had done. Once we found the right location, we would even consider calling it in until we’d scouted the objective.
Like I’d told Nancy before, you try to kill me, I’m going to do my damnest to kill you right back.
Before our discussion went any further, my cell vibrated in my jacket pocket. I checked, and it was Wil, sending me a text.
“Got it. Sending you a rally point marker.”
“Well, look at that,” I exclaimed with fake excitement. “That’s my mom, calling us in for milk and cookies. Guess we better get going.”
Bill gave me a knowing look and held out a fist, followed by Dan. I bumped them with a solemn nod to each man, and Nancy followed suit.
“Keep your powder dry,” Bill intoned knowingly, and I held up my hand while I fished around in my wallet for a card.
“My number and e-mail are current, but the office in town is closed. Reach out to us if you need some help,” I explained. I looked around, taking in the several dozen trailers set up on the property. “Sorry, but we couldn’t come close to feeding this many, but if you need something else and the regular deputies are tied up, get with us.”
Bill took a second to read the printing on the card, and then he passed it to Dan with a little snicker.
“You think we’ll need your kind of help, Mr. Hardin? A little lawyering?”
To my surprise, Nancy finally spoke up.
“Hey, John Henry Holliday was a dentist, so don’t act so surprised.”
“John Henry?” Dan asked, confused.
“Most knew him better as Doc Holliday,” Nancy explained, her grin threatening to stretch from ear to ear. “Come on, honey, milk and cookies sounds mighty nice right now.”
“Yes, dear,” I replied, thinking, this last stop hadn’t been a complete bust after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The rally point turned out to be a vacant parking lot just off Highway 87, surprisingly just a few miles north of New Albany. These were the rideshare lots that many who worked ‘downcountry’ as we used to call it, would drop their vehicles and carpool to work. Since all those jobs had been washed away along with the plants and refineries that supported them by the hurricanes, these lots now saw very little use except as waystations for refugees.
Given our remote location out in the county, I was unsurprised to see we were the last to arrive. What did cause me a raise eyebrow was the presence of a dark brown sedan that might as well have Unmarked County Vehicle printed on the side in bright, neon colors. Our small group of vehicles squatted in the back corner of the lot, and I wondered who had overwatch on this rapidly freezing field.
As soon as we pulled to the back of the lot and parked, doors opened and I saw Pat, Nikki, and Ethan emerge from their respective vehicles, followed a beat later by Sheriff Bastrop of all people. Holy cow, what the heck? I opened my door and got out, and the look of shock must have still been on my face.
Nikki, never one to let an opportunity pass, immediately popped off.
“Oh, big bro, he followed me home. Can we keep him?”
Nancy laughed, but all I could manage was an eyeroll as I took the few steps to pump the Sheriff’s extended hand. Like the rest of us, he was equipped for cold weather operations in a long black coat that billowed out just enough to reveal his body armor overtopped with a tactical chest rig festooned with magazine pouches.
“I hope you guys haven’t been waiting for us long,” I said, trying to ignore my little sister. “We scouted a place out on 1004 that turned out to be an unofficial refugee camp.”
“Well, not exactly unofficial, but like private enterprise with local sanction,” Sheriff Bastrop explained with a wry smile on his lips. “The way I understand it, the owner of the camp invited some friends from Houston, and they invited a few friends as well. We carry them on the books and arrange for them to draw supplies from the same source point as the ones at the schools. Saves us floor space for the those that need it.”
“That makes a remarkable amount of sense,” I conceded. “They are using the old TXDOT building as a community center, so I guess our tax dollars really are at work. I just worry about how they are going to survive this winter.”
“As do I, but that’s a worry for another day. We have a mission to plan, and not much time to do it.”
“I take it you guys made Wil stay on site, all alone out in the cold,” Nancy piped up, making a point of looking around for our missing Marine.
“Hey, he has the Ghillie suit, and he volunteered,” Pat said defensively, and I tried not to smile. At times like this, I really missed Sally and her sense of humor, but between Nikki and Nancy, we were getting plenty of sass. Alright, I thought, that’s plenty of grab-ass.
“So, where is it? And what is it?” I asked, and we retreated to the Sheriff’s car to grab some of his paper maps to review.
“Back through those trees,” Ethan explained, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “About a half mile. Old pig farm that’s been closed down for the last five or six years. They have a big old metal barn that’s about two hundred feet long and about half that wide. We saw the trucks up inside, being worked over. That’s them, no doubt.”
“Okay, we’ll take it one step at a time,” Pat interjected, taking the forefront in the planning as usual.
As we moved to the hood of the high sedan, I saw it was an old Grand Marquis.
“Dang, sheriff, couldn’t you have brought your off-duty vehicle?” I had to ask.
“This is my POV,” Bastrop replied testily, and I wondered how many of the others had asked him the same question.
“How’d you get roped into being here? And where is the rest of the department?”
“Patrol reported suspicious activity here at the car park when he saw an unfamiliar truck parked up here,” Bastrop replied with his own little grin at tumbling to our plan. “When he ran the plate, you can imagine my surprise when it came back as one of my new reserve deputies. So I decided to check it out.”
“And where’s your backup? Don’t tell me you came out here on your own,” I said testily.
“Hey, once I knew who it was, I figured you guys were poking around on this hijacking crew,” the sheriff protested. Then, more softly, he continued. “We’re running so short-handed, I didn’t want to pull anybody else off patrol.”
“Well, Sheriff, I think this is where you go home to that lovely wife of yours, kiss those kids goodnight, and put this whole think out of your head,” I said, suddenly feeling tired by the events of the day.
“Is that some kind of threat, Mr. Hardin?” Sheriff Bastrop bristled, and I felt tension ratchet up quickly. I’d been afraid of this, of our official positions becoming entangled with the practical side of what we needed to do.
“Only if you take it as such, Sheriff,” I replied civilly, subtly signaling the rest of our group to stand down for the moment. “I think you know us well enough by now to realize we would never threaten women and children. Especially those belonging to someone we consider a friend.”
Sheriff Bastrop was peering closely at me, absorbing my words like they were gospel. I paused before continuing.
“We are just worried about the blowback from something like this. If we end up assaulting that position using law enforcement tactics, I strongly suspect we will lose some people. On the other hand,
if we use the skills of Pat and Wil and those of us with a little training, then we have a much better chance of eliminating this threat to the county. And doing so without endangering those same people.”
Sheriff Bastrop then looked around our group, his eyes touching on each of us in turn but his thoughts remained hidden as he maintained a poker face that Pat would have been proud to wear. Finally, he threw up his hands and muttered a curse under his breath.
“You guys really did take out Landshire and his whole crew, and you did it without getting any of your people killed. That was impressive as heck. The major said it was true, but I didn’t fully believe him until now.”
“No idea what you’re talking about, Sheriff,” Pat replied with his own mask firmly in place. “But making accusations like that could cause a serious crimp in what was previously a smooth relationship.”
Bastrop nodded, and I think he had just realized how close to the edge he was dancing with that little declaration.
“Can we talk, in private?” He finally asked, giving me a beseeching look as he did so. I looked over at Pat, who nodded imperceptibly. As the sheriff stepped back, walking around to the rear of his sedan, I noticed Nikki had her pistol out, held down by her leg to conceal the move. Pat and I took our time moving around the car from the other side, and I saw the retaining snaps unfastened on the pistol Pat wore on his hip.
“That was a really poor attempt at humor, Sheriff,” Pat began, but Sheriff Bastrop held up his hands, palms out.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Bastrop said, again holding up his hands in surrender. “I mean, I heard Major Carstairs when he said it before, but I just didn’t see it. Sure, Pat, you’ve got the training and experience, and I know Mike and Wil have seen action before, but there were a lot of bodies on that farm. Too many for just three men to take out.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sheriff,” I replied coyly, the continued more seriously. “Pat thinks we can clear out this nest of vipers, and maybe find something in there that would tell us where their main base is located. But we’ll need to do it quietly, and you don’t need to be there when it happens. In fact, it would be better for you all around if you were seen back at the office while we’re working this situation.”
Tertiary Effects Series | Book 3 | Bite of Frost Page 21