Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 3 | Havoc Endures

by Hunt, Jack

  “What news do you have for me?”

  “We are on track for the arrival of the anti-missile system. The last part of the work on the railway should be completed within the next few days at which time securing the city against aerial threats will be established,” Yong replied.

  “And the resistance?”

  “Driven back into the foothills of the mountains. It won’t be long before they’re a distant memory.”

  “Good. Very good. And what of the president’s daughter?”

  His stomach sank. Yong knew he would ask. It was a vital part of the timing of the attack on the states — another card in their hand that would ensure their success. What they hadn’t accounted for was the Hunter.

  “Everything is going to plan.”

  The commander stopped and looked at him. “We cannot afford any problems at this stage. Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “And the Hunter?”

  “A fly in the ointment. Nothing more.”

  They stopped at the Humvee and Yong reached for the handle to open the door for him. The commander didn’t step inside, he looked at him as if trying to gauge whether he was being truthful.

  “Why do I hear uncertainty?”

  “We have run into problems but nothing we cannot handle. I have collaborators working closely with the resistance, people I trust.”

  He grumbled and stepped into the vehicle. Yong followed and the door was closed, leaving him inside to answer a barrage of questions. The commander had a way of getting under his skin, scratching at the surface of his answers to reveal them for what they were, lies to cover his ass.

  “And this mayor?”

  “That was an unforeseen incident.”

  He chuckled. “Unforeseen? Understand, Yong, that if we are unable to secure this city, all the effort we have put in will be for nothing.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” he snapped at him. “Then why am I hearing different reports from the other generals? According to them, we are losing this battle.”

  “I can assure you we are not losing.”

  “Can you?” His words lingered as the driver pulled away, leaving Yong to wonder what the other generals had told him. They were meant to be on the same page, working together to ensure their necks weren’t on the line. He was beginning to question if it wasn’t just the American people he had to fear but his own kind.

  Miles stood on the banks of the stream, staring at the shimmering waters as they flowed over boulders. A hard sun beat down, causing him to step beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The mosquitos that nipped at his skin would soon be gone as winter approached. He could already see the leaves changing color, losing their lush green, and many falling to the ground.

  Behind him, he caught the sound of someone approaching. A glance over his shoulder. It was Snow.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, just needed some time to think.”

  Snow dropped to a crouch beside him. “What happened back there?”

  “Lies. That’s what.”

  “Ah,” he said nodding slowly.

  Snow picked out a smooth stone and skimmed it across the water’s surface. It was quiet, peaceful but his mind was still reeling. “I’m tired, Snow. Tired of this war. Tired of losing people. More than ever, tired of people lying.”

  He took a deep breath and released it. “We are living in unprecedented times, my friend. That’s for sure. No one knows who to trust. Though I would say if anyone has your back it’s Gunnar.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He gave Snow a quick rundown of what had happened with Demar dying and his friendship with August, the death of Scarlett, and the lies Morgan had perpetuated. Then he tossed in what Gunnar had told him.

  “I can see why you’re pissed but I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  “He knew but said nothing. He knew, Snow.”

  He looked as if he was considering his words carefully. “There is a time for everything under the burning sun,” Snow replied. “At least that’s what Western religion tells me. Maybe now was the time.”

  “A little late. Scarlett is gone. That could have been avoided.”

  He nodded. “You remember me telling you about how I came to America? How before that I was kidnapped because albinism in my country is looked upon as both a blessing and a curse?”

  “Right, you said that after you escaped, your mother took you out of the country.”

  “My father was killed before we left. I assumed it was some form of payback after I escaped. Years later when I was a teen my mother told me she killed him.”

  Miles stared back at him in disbelief.

  “It seems my father was behind my kidnapping. When she learned this she killed him and then got us both out of the country. She never told me until years later. If she’d told me at the time I might have thought differently. I might not have gone with her. Now I understand. What I’m trying to say is everyone has their reasons for withholding details. You can’t live in the past, Miles. It will eat you up.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  He squeezed his shoulder. “I know. Look, the resistance is meeting this evening. The heads of the militia will be there to discuss some important intel that has come to light. You should be there.”

  “I have to go and see if my father is alive.”

  “Do you think this is the right time?”

  “August could already be there. Look, I don’t know. Hours ago I thought my father was dead, now I’m told he’s alive? I have to go and see for myself.”

  “So you know where he is in Hannibal?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you expect to find him?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t know but that didn’t matter. Someone had to know.

  Snow tossed another stone out. It skipped six times before disappearing below the surface. “Then Tex will take you.”

  “No. I’ll go alone.”

  “After what you just went through, that’s not happening. Tex will take you. He’ll get you there quicker by helicopter. We need you back soon.” He rose to his feet and squinted into the light of day. “Go easy on Gunnar. I’m sure he had his reasons and in war, it’s not always black and white.” With that said he walked away, leaving him to ponder his words. He thought back to the time when he’d gone after August and Scarlett before he agreed to work with Gunnar. Demar was walking a fine line. He’d straddled the fence of militia and the PLA and lost himself in the process. If he hadn’t died that day, what other atrocities might he have been responsible for? And if his father was alive why lie to him? Navigating this war was hard enough with the curveballs but when he wasn’t getting clear answers from those closest, and he found himself questioning what was true, how could they ever hope to win this war?

  He missed Scarlett.

  He missed August.

  But more than anything he missed his parents.

  He missed the way things were, the ordinary days, the peace, and not having to worry that the person beside him would stick a knife in his back. Miles tossed the stick he was holding and got up and headed back to the house to prepare for his departure. He only hoped that August didn’t find his father before he did.

  11

  Hannibal, Missouri

  The city of Hannibal was perched in the northeast of Missouri. A town famous for being the boyhood home of Mark Twain, and the setting for Huckleberry Finn.

  Butting up against the Mississippi River, it had boasted of having almost eighteen thousand residents before the war. From above it looked like any other war-torn community. Homes smoldered, others burned out of control and people were absent from many of the streets.

  Like cities, towns, and villages across the country, there was no telling what they were heading into, who was in control, or what they’d encounter, that’s why Tex had opted to set the bird down on the outskirts, in a field east of Highway 168 and north of the city.

  C
amouflaging it amounted to tossing green netting over it and getting it as close as he could to the tree line. With so much weighing on his mind, he didn’t say much on the journey north, instead Tex had talked his ear off with stories of his time in the military.

  “You do like to live on the edge, kid, don’t you?” Tex said as he stepped back from the helicopter and observed it from different angles. He was worried someone would steal it but the field was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woodland, and the only sign of life came from a farm two hundred yards away on the other side of the tree line.

  “It will be fine.”

  They shrugged into their backpacks. They had brought a change of clothes, some dried meat, a tarp, a pot, and a fire starter with them just in case they had to camp out for the night. They were both packing M4 Carbines and wearing bulletproof vests and light camo gear. They jogged through the woods, and across a field before they came to the property line of the farmhouse.

  It was simple, a two-story country home with a huge red barn, animal pens, and a couple of outbuildings.

  “Why did you agree to come?” Miles asked as they kept up a strong pace working their way through a recently tilled field. “I mean you must know trying to find him will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “I’m a sucker for misery,” Tex replied with a laugh. “Besides, let’s just say I don’t get on too well with militia so any chance to get away, I’m game.”

  Heading into any city this large and looking for his father without a contact wasn’t just insane it was dangerous. Survival relied upon minimizing risk, keeping your head down, and not asking too many questions, they were about to do the opposite of that. They were there to shake a few trees, find out who was in charge, and in doing so, Miles was aware they might attract unwanted attention. If August had already arrived, there was a possibility he’d put the word out that if anyone came knocking to let him know.

  Of course, there was also the fact that maybe no one knew.

  Miles had wondered how August had found out.

  He certainly didn’t think Demar told him.

  Leaving his pal behind and pretending that he was dead while knowing where he was would have been risky. No, he had to wonder if his father had heard of his antics in Camden County and had sent a message and that message had landed in the wrong hands.

  The first order of business was to make contact with a resident, it didn’t matter who, only that they got a clearer picture of what they were walking into. Drawing near to their farmhouse, both of them kept their fingers near the trigger but barrels low.

  There was no movement outside or in the windows as Miles approached a vehicle and Tex went to go around the back. Outside the home was a green International Scout II that dated back to the early seventies. Miles placed his hand on the hood and noticed it was warm. He let out a whistle to Tex and motioned to the truck. Someone had recently returned. Cautiously he approached the house. He hadn’t made it within twenty feet of the porch steps when a gun erupted, firing a round near his feet. Miles darted behind the truck for cover. “Identify yourself!” a female voice called out.

  “You work for the PLA?” Miles bellowed back.

  He glanced over and saw Tex coming up the side of the house. Hopefully, he hadn’t been seen as he could see the barrel of a rifle poking out of the first-floor window.

  “Do you?” The lady asked.

  “Nope,” Miles shot back, observing Tex getting closer.

  “What’s your business here?”

  He went to say “we” but caught himself and replied, “I need to know what’s happening in town.”

  “What’s happening? War is what’s happening. You had your head under a rock?”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “What?”

  “Who’s running the town?”

  The question seemed obvious to him. In every community he’d been through to date, a mayor, a chief of police, someone in the city council was usually running the show under the direction of the PLA.

  “No one is.”

  The reply struck him as odd. He was about to respond when he looked again to see what progress Tex was making. He was almost upon them, a few feet away from the window and the barrel protruding. In an instant, Tex latched on to the rifle barrel and yanked it out of the open window. Both of them expected to see someone struggle or at a bare minimum tell him not to shoot but instead, what he retrieved wasn’t a gun, it was a sawed-off piece of a rifle made to look like someone was sticking a rifle out the window.

  “Tex!” Miles cried out.

  Just as the words came out, a woman already had a gun aimed at the back of his head from the corner of the house.

  12

  It was a brazen move exposing herself. The woman was in her late fifties with wispy gray flyaway hair tied back in a severe ponytail. Loose strands framed the sides of her face. She wore dark eyeliner that made her eyes pop. She was wearing black jeans, black ankle boots, and a tight cream-colored top that was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing a couple of small tribal tattoos. The way she was carrying that rifle made it clear she was comfortable with combat.

  Miles stepped out, his M4 locked on her, bellowing for her to put the rifle down.

  “Don’t do it. Put it down,” he yelled.

  Her eyes darted to him then back to Tex. “The only one disarming is you.” There was a pause then she hollered. “Serena!”

  Miles caught movement out the corner of his eye and saw a woman, early twenties, dressed in a blue and white plaid shirt and light jeans, stepping out of the tree line, a bolt action rifle pointed at him. “She’s a damn good shot. Trust me on that.”

  Having encountered enough scared and desperate people, Miles knew laying down a weapon was a last resort. Good folks were liable to shoot first and ask questions later. Strangers walking up on someone’s property even before the war could make anyone nervous.

  He knew it was best to get to the point.

  “All right. All right. We’re not here to make trouble. I’m looking for my father.”

  “Well, he’s not here.”

  “Grant Arrington. You heard of him?”

  “Nope.”

  Although he knew the odds were slim that anyone would have encountered him, even more so if the whole story was a lie, but he figured if he had made his way north, someone in the community would know. While there were many PLA sympathizers, the number of Americans aligning themselves with militia was growing by the day.

  “Daisy, maybe Gareth knows,” the young woman said.

  “Quiet, Selena.”

  Miles looked to the woman who had him in the crosshair. “Gareth? Who’s that?”

  “Conversation is over, stranger. I’m giving you to twenty to get out of here. Go on now!” Tex raised his hands, still holding his rifle, and walked slowly away from the house and over to Miles. Although he was certain this woman, Daisy wasn’t screwing around, walking away wasn’t an option if someone knew. Instead of addressing the older woman he turned his attention to Selena.

  “We’ll leave but tell me who Gareth is?”

  She looked as if she wanted to speak but a stern look from the older woman kept her silent. Miles’ gaze bounced between them as Tex motioned for him to leave.

  “Please?” Miles asked Selena.

  “I won’t tell you again. Get off my property!” Daisy said.

  “Miles,” Tex placed a hand on his chest. “There are other ways of finding out.”

  He nodded and backed up, feeling as if he was letting an opportunity slip through his fingers. They never turned their backs but slowly worked their way onto a driveway that snaked down to a set of gates. Daisy followed them, ensuring they didn’t have other ideas. As soon as they were off her property she shut the gate behind them and then waited a moment or two before walking back up to her home.

  Side by side with Tex, Miles kept glancing over his shoulder. He could see Daisy having a heated exchange with Selena, though he c
ouldn’t hear what it was about. It was just a whole lot of flailing her arms around, pointing their way, and then…

  He stopped walking.

  Tex looked back. “Miles. Don’t give…” He saw the same thing. Selena was hurrying down toward the gate. A second later she called out to them. Not wishing to give Daisy reason to shoot, they remained where they were as Selena made her way over.

  “I’m sorry about that. My grandmother has dealt with a lot of unfriendly people.”

  “What makes you think we aren’t?” Tex asked.

  “You walked away. Everyone else has opened fire.”

  “And the outcome?”

  “They’re buried in a ditch behind the house.”

  “Pleasant,” Tex replied. She turned her gaze to Miles.

  “Gareth Evans is my uncle. If your father came into town, he would know.”

  “How so?”

  “He heads up a group of guys that are protecting the town. The roads have checkpoints. No one gets in or out without his approval.”

  “So he works for the PLA?”

  She stared back, looking confused. “Hell no. They wiped them out. They were here a few months ago but word reached us of a resistance doing big things in the south. It lit a fire in the belly of those here.”

  Miles glanced at Tex.

  “Anyway, I’ll take you into town.”

  “That’s fine, just tell us where he is.”

  “You won’t get in without me,” she said.

  Miles looked past her toward the farm they’d just come from. Daisy was still standing defiantly high up on the hill, rifle in hand. “Your grandmother looks pissed.”

  Serena glanced back. “Don’t worry about her. That’s her default state. She has trust issues.”