Having turned the tables on the gang, one of its members was now in custody. If his leader, a man by the name of Mason, didn’t vacate Wasson Lodge by the following morning, Rollins intended on executing the prisoner for his crimes. According to both Ned and Liz, he was deeply implicated in all seven murders.
Walter stared at Rollins with a look of incredulity. “The leader’s name is Mason? Is he from Knoxville, by any chance?”
Rollins frowned. “That’s right. Why, do you know him?”
“Is he real big?” Cody butted in. “Bald, with long straggly hair at the back?”
“That’s him.” The sheriff leaned forward at the table, his eyes narrowing. “You two need to tell me how come you’re acquainted with the sonofabitch who killed three of my men.”
“Sheriff, we’re from Knoxville too,” Walter replied. “We had a run-in with him before we left.” He tapped the back of his leg. “Remember the bullet I took in my calf? Well, he’s the one that put it there.”
“I don’t understand. How the hell did he get here?” Cody said with a perplexed expression. “Walter, do you think he followed us when we got away from the gas station that day?”
“No,” Walter replied adamantly. “No one followed us through those back streets, I’m certain of it.”
“Then how come he’s here? Is this just coincidence?”
Rollins stood up from his chair. “I don’t know, but we’ll get to the bottom of it soon enough.” He strode across the room and flung open the door. “Jake!” he called out to someone outside on the square. “Go find Ned. Tell him to bring Russ here. I got some questions for him.”
Rollins closed the door and took his seat at the table again. “Russ is the name of our prisoner. He scouted out the area before Mason arrived. That name mean anything to you, Walter?”
“Nope, but if he’s part of Mason’s outfit, I might recognize him.”
The three had to wait several minutes until there was the sound of footsteps outside. A moment later, the door opened and Ned Granger stepped into the room. Using a stick as a cane, he hobbled over to the table and shook Walter’s hand warmly. Both men being Gulf War veterans, it was clear to Cody that the two had previously bonded. Granger shook Cody’s hand, then sat down beside Rollins.
“I hope you came back to fulfill your promise, Walter,” he said, staring across the table. “Camp Benton still anxiously awaits power. We hauled a couple of freezers here recently so that we can stock up on freshly killed game. Just waiting for you to do your magic.” He smiled. “Sure would be nice to read a book in the evenings too.”
“That’s the reason we came here,” Walter assured him. “Of course, that was before we heard the news…”
Just then, the door opened and two men hauled a small, wiry man into the room. Bedraggled-looking, his arms were cuffed behind his back. He looked familiar to Cody, though he couldn’t quite place him.
Walter recognized him straightaway. “Yeah, that’s one of Mason’s men. He was with him at the gas station that day.”
Granger’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you know Mason?” he exclaimed.
“Unfortunately.” Walter stared at Russ fiercely. “What the hell are you doing here in the Cohutta?”
A smirk appeared briefly on Russ’s face, like he couldn’t help himself. “I followed you on my motorbike. You guys didn’t spot me, did you?”
Walter’s frown deepened. “But how did you find us? You didn’t track us down after we left the gas station. I’m sure of it.”
“True, but the next day I rode the highways all morning until I caught up with you. You were heading for the Toyota dealership on Parkside Drive. Maybe I got lucky, but with no one on the roads, it wasn’t as hard as you might think.”
“Then you followed us here to Lake Ocoee, is that it?” Cody asked.
“I had no choice. I would have lost you otherwise. Mason told me not to come back until I knew where you were.”
“Are you telling me that Mason came all the way to the Cohutta just to find us?” Walter said incredulously. “That makes no sense at all.”
Russ shook his head. “He’d been planning to leave the city for a while. When I told him how good things were here, he decided to come take a look. Catching up with you guys was just the icing on the cake. Of course…everything’s changed now.” He looked at Granger pleadingly. “Ned, I’ve told you everything I know about Mason and his plans. That counts for something, right?”
“Sure it does. You didn’t get waterboarded, did you? The way you blubbered everything so easily, there’d have been no fun in it.” Granger stared at him coldly. “Whether you live or die is a different matter. That’s up to Mason.” He nodded at the two guards. “Take him back to his room. I can’t bear the sight of him a moment longer.”
The two guards seized Russ by each arm and dragged him out of the room.
Cody stole a glance at Walter, who sat stiffly at the table beside him, the muscles in his face twitching as he grasped the enormity of the situation. Unwittingly, they had been the conduit by which Mason and his gang had come to the Cohutta.
Gathering his resolve, Walter looked Rollins in the eye. “Sheriff, as you heard from Russ, we had no idea Mason followed us here.” He glanced briefly at Cody. “Still, I know I speak for both of us when I say how terrible we feel about what has happened. We owe you and all at Camp Benton an apology.”
“Absolutely,” Cody murmured.
“Thank you both.” Rollins said. “I can’t possibly blame you that Mason followed you here. It was just bad luck.”
“Bad luck that Mason survived vPox. Of all the people…” Granger added grimly. “But like John says, it wasn’t your fault he turned up here.”
Walter looked relieved.
“So what happens now?” Cody asked. “At the checkpoint, Sam said you’re at war. That true?”
“Depends on Mason,” Rollins replied. “I’ve given him an ultimatum to vacate the lodge by tomorrow morning or we’ll execute Russ. Somehow, I doubt that threat is enough to persuade him to leave.”
“I doubt it either,” Granger said.
Rollins stared at Walter and Cody. “The execution is scheduled for 9 a.m. tomorrow morning. You should both stay the night. I think it’s fitting you witness it as a tribute to those who have been murdered.”
“We’ll stay,” Walter said, firmly. “It’s the least we can do.”
CHAPTER 37
The next morning at 8:45 a.m., Rollins made the call. Sitting at the staffroom table, he picked up the radio keyed into Wasson Lodge and jabbed the Push button. Beside him at the table was Ned Granger.
“Mason, this is Sheriff Rollins. Do you read me? Over.”
A moment later, Mason’s sour voice came over the channel. “Yeah, Rollins. I hear you. What do you want?”
“Time to make your decision. If you want Russ’s life spared, you need to vacate the lodge right away. What is it to be? Over.”
There was no hesitation in Mason’s reply. “Fuck you. I ain’t leaving. Matter of fact, in the next couple of days, I’m going to be standing right where you are now, with my boot on your head.”
“Dream on, Mason. You got less than twenty men, not sixty. No way in hell will you take this place, over.”
“We’ll see about that. Either way, I’m staying.”
“Your choice. You got any last message for Russ? Over.”
“What’s there to say? Tell him that’s how war goes. Over and out.”
The radio went dead. With a shrug, Rollins placed the handset back down on the table. “Just like we thought, Ned. This thing isn’t over yet. All right, I’ll find Mary and the others. You go fetch Russ.”
Granger stood up from the table. “See you at the beach in fifteen. Time to rid the world of this weasel.”
***
Russ Willis lay on the bed in the cabin that served as his cell. His right hand dangled over the side where it was cuffed to a three-quarter inch steel chain that had been looped t
hrough a concrete hollow block. His ankles were chained too, in a set of leg irons courtesy of Benton’s sheriff’s department. Ned Granger wasn’t taking any chances.
He checked his watch. 8:50 a.m. The relentless feeling of terror he’d felt these past thirty-six hours burrowed deeper into his stomach. He prayed he wouldn’t die that day, but knew that the situation was out of his control. No amount of cunning would save him now. It was up to Mason.
At the crack of dawn that morning, his heart had lifted momentarily. He’d heard gunshots close by. His optimism was short-lived, however. After less than thirty seconds of intense gunfire, the shooting stopped again. It appeared that Mason’s attempt to break into the camp had been unsuccessful.
But surely his friend wouldn’t forsake him, he reasoned, and would acquiesce to the sheriff’s demands. Russ’s cunning and guile was worth more to Mason than the lodge, right? After all, there were plenty of other places they could move on to. The world was full of them.
He heard footsteps coming up the porch steps. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. Light streamed into the room, causing him to blink momentarily at a figure standing in the doorway, one that after a couple more blinks he recognized.
“Get up, Russ,” Ned Granger said in a quiet voice. “It’s time.”
He stepped into the room, followed by two more men who came over to the bed. One bent over and undid his manacles, while the other released him from the leg cuffs. Grasping him by each arm, they pulled him off the bed and up to his feet.
Russ stared at Granger. “Ned, did the sheriff talk to Mason?” he asked, so terrified he could barely get the words out.
“Yeah, ”Granger replied.
“Wh-what did he say?”
“He said he couldn’t live without you, of course. He’s packing his bags as we speak, ready to head back to Knoxville. The limo should be here to collect you any moment.”
Standing to either side of Russ, both guards sniggered.
“No…” Russ moaned as reality sunk in. His legs buckled as the last vestiges of his dignity deserted him. He sank to his knees and threw himself down at Granger’s feet. “Please, Ned,” he sobbed. “I’ll do anything…just let me live.”
Granger stepped back from him. “Get up, you piece of scum,” he grated. “Try and make the last few minutes of your life count for something.”
Try as he might, Russ couldn’t rise. His strength had left him and he flopped about on the floor like a jellyfish, blubbering incoherently.
Granger nodded to the guards and they dragged him back up to his feet, then Granger turned around and limped out of the cabin on his stick. Clutching him tightly, the two guards frog-marched Russ out of the room, down the wooden steps, and across the short grass after Granger.
They took him in the direction of the lake. A procession of men and women followed, grim expressions on their faces. At the back, he spotted Walter and his friend.
One of the group, a tall young man drew abreast of him. Russ recognized him as one of the men who’d rescued Granger two days ago.
“You killed my friends, you sick bastard,” he hissed. “Now we’re going to send you to Hell, where you belong.”
“Easy, Kit,” Granger said softly. He stopped a few yards ahead and turned around. “Let’s do this the right way.”
With one last glance, the young man spun away angrily and rejoined his companions.
The group passed along a trail through the forest. A few minutes later, they reached a small cove, where a twelve-foot post had been erected ten yards from the lake shore. Seeing it, Russ’s legs gave way again. The two guards gripped his arms even tighter and dragged him over to it.
When they reached the post, one of the men bent over and grabbed a length of rope that had been left coiled on the ground beside it. The second guard spun Russ around and pressed his back up against the post.
Starting at his feet, the first man looped the rope tightly around his ankles, securing them to the post. Making his way up, he soon wrapped the rope around Russ’s chest and under his arms. A few final loops were made around his neck to hold his head in place, and it was done.
Four men separated from the watching group, all carrying rifles. One of them was the young man named Kit. Sheriff Rollins and Ned Granger walked over to stand beside them.
“Russ Willis,” the sheriff called out in a loud voice, “as a proven murderer of three brave members of the Benton Survivors Group— Marcus Welby, Joe Macey, and Bob Harper—as well as four members of the Fort Knox Group, the council of Benton hereby condemns you to death by firing squad. Is there anything you wish to say before your execution?”
Russ was incapable of answering. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Was he really about to die? He scanned the rocks to either side of the cove, desperately hoping that this would be the moment when Mason made his move to attack the camp, but there was nothing to be seen other than rocks, trees, and brush.
“I said, is there anything you wish to say before your execution?” Rollins repeated.
“No,” Russ whimpered. His bladder opened up, and a warm river gushed down his leg. He felt no shame, though. Fear had totally overwhelmed his sense of ignominy.
“Very well.”
Rollins made a gesture to the remaining guard still standing beside Russ, who produced a white pillowcase from somewhere. Raising it, he yanked it over Russ’s head, and the last thing he saw of the world was the four-man firing squad as they each bent down on one knee.
The guard pressed his mouth up against his ear. “Enjoy Hell, motherfucker,” he whispered, before stepping away.
There was the sound of rifles being released off their safeties.
“Ready…”
Was this really happening? This wasn’t supposed to be.
“Aim…”
Russ let out one final whimper.
“Fire!”
He felt no pain as four fifty-five grain full-metal-jacket rounds ripped into his chest, instantly eviscerating his aorta into chunks of bloodied meat.
His head slumped forward and the light faded from his eyes. Everything went black, and he felt an indefinable essence of his being get sucked down to a dark, eternal place.
EXCERPT FROM ON THE EDGE:
THE NO DIRECTION HOME SERIES BOOK THREE
Mason Bonner sat in the living room of his 35-foot Highland Ridge Roamer, the luxurious trailer left to him by Wasson Lodge’s departed leader, a man by the name of Chris. A generous gift, Mason had joked at the time, considering the two had barely met.
Despite his comfortable living arrangements, however, Mason was in a foul mood, and had been for two straight days, ever since his hostage Ned Granger had been rescued and his friend and adviser Russ Willis captured in his place. Making matters worse, two of his crew had been killed in the process as well.
Anger and frustration gnawed at him while he came to terms with the dramatic turn of events. His girl, Tania, wisely stayed out of his way as much as possible, dutifully washing his clothes, preparing his meals, doing all she could to appease his ill humor.
At least fresh meat was back on the table, a welcome change from the soggy pasta dishes he’d endured for the past two weeks. Several of his men were experienced hunters, and returned to camp each day with venison and wild boar that was grilled every evening in large fire pits. Under normal circumstances, it would have put him in excellent spirits, but with his recent reversal of fortune, not even the succulent fresh meat could improve his mood. Mason wouldn’t be happy until he got even with Rollins.
That wouldn’t be easy. The sheriff now knew exactly how many men he had at his disposal, which was not the sixty he’d lied to him about, and he wasn’t in the least intimidated by his threats. The information had almost certainly been extracted from Russ during his capture. Mason doubted it had taken much work. While cunning and sneaky, Russ wasn’t exactly someone who had much going on in the bravery department, if that department even existed.
Nonet
heless, at dawn that morning, Mason had led a team of eight men into Camp Benton’s grounds in a daring bid to slip past their defenses. If he’d found out where they were holding Russ, perhaps he could have rescued him. Things hadn’t gone well. The camp perimeter was heavily guarded, and he and his men had been spotted, chased back with their tails between their legs under a barrage of heavy gunfire, worsening his mood even further.
Mason wasn’t the type of person to sit back passively and just give up, however. After he’d cooled down, he began hatching a new plan to get even with the sheriff, something practical that stood a real chance of succeeding. Soon, a grim smile came to his lips as he played with a certain scheme in his mind.
His thoughts were interrupted by a light rap on the door. “Come in,” he called out.
The door opened and Doney, his trusted bodyguard, stepped inside. Mason ushered him over to where he sat on the sofa.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Doney stared down at Mason a little uncertainly. With his recent dark moods, even Doney had to walk on eggshells around him. “Boss, the men just found Russ at the bottom of the driveway. He had a pillowcase over his head and four bullets in his chest.”
Mason stared back at Doney expressionlessly. He’d been expecting the news of Russ’s demise at any moment, though it hadn’t occurred to him that the sheriff would callously dump his body like that. Rollins was more ruthless than he thought.
“Well, they executed him,” he said in a flat tone. “Just like they said they would if we didn’t pick up and leave here.”
Doney appeared relieved that his boss hadn’t erupted into yet another of his explosive rages. “What do you want us to do with him?”
Mason shrugged indifferently. He’d already moved on from Russ. He wasn’t the sentimental type either. “Dump him in the forest. I’m told there’s plenty of wolves around. They’ll be happy to get a free meal.”
A tight smile came to Doney’s lips. Like the rest of Mason’s crew, he’d made it apparent that he hadn’t thought too much of Russ. “I’ll see to it.” He headed toward the door.
Eastwood: Book Two in The No Direction Home Series Page 15