by W. J. Lundy
“What about the car outside?” Dawson asked.
The man spit on the floor. “It’s empty, steering column’s been cracked—it was hotwired. Probably from a home in the same neighborhood they fled from. My guess, they circled back, stole a car, then drove straight here.”
Bill looked around. “Why would they tear the place up?”
“Rage,” the man said. “Probably pissed off they got the old man killed.” He spat again. “Bigger question, where the hell are they now?”
“Blue Ford?” Dawson said. “The sheriff says they had one registered at this address.”
The tactical man tightened his brow. “There is a shed. Looks like a vehicle was stored there, fresh tracks in the turf. I’d say definitively they fled. Hard saying how long ago.”
“We’re only ten miles from Sherman. They could’ve have gotten here and left anywhere from one to three hours ago.” She looked at Bill and asked a question he hadn’t been expecting. “Well, Sheriff, you’re the inside man here. Where did they go?”
Bill frowned. He knew there was a 90% chance the truck was on the bottom of the river. He’d assumed when they got to this phase, he’d be cut loose, and the agent would stay here, scratching her head, looking for answers. As the suspects never actually came up here, the trail would run cold, and the boys could vanish into obscurity, protected by the Legion.
The Legion had helped fugitives avoid arrest before, but nothing as high profile as the killing of agents. He didn’t want to be part of the investigation or the hunt. He wanted this search moved away from Sherman tonight. He looked around the room then back at Dawson. “My best guess is they would get on the highway and head into Wisconsin.”
“Not down state?” she asked.
He shook his head no. “The bridge is a bottle neck. It would be too easy to set up roadblocks and have the state police catch them there. They can’t go north, so it would have to be west.”
Dawson walked into the room and turned a chair back onto its legs, looking at family photos on the wall. There were at least four generations of Newsomes in the photographs, many of them in uniform. “You said they’ve owned this place as long as you can remember?”
Bill looked at the pictures and answered. “Well, yeah, Aaron did.”
She pulled the notebook from her pocket, opened to a page, and stared at it. “I’m going to task helicopters to patrol the roads headed west and alert the state police to look for the truck.” She paused and looked at the notes. “But something isn’t right. These people belong here, and the only thing those two men have in common is this place. They feel safe here. I don’t think they left.”
Walking into the room and putting a hand on the fireplace mantle, Bill said, “Look at this place. They tore it up because they were leaving. They skipped town.”
The tactical man spit again. “I think I agree with your local boy. They bailed out. They are probably a hundred miles from here already.”
Dawson tightened her gaze on the photos. Over the fireplace was a painting of three generations of men dressed in camo, holding rifles. She scanned the room; everything in it represented this land, or the terrain around it. “You might be right, but, Sheriff, I’d like to conduct a search of the area. Let’s start here and span out. I think I’d like to send a team back to their house and start a search from there as well. Can you arrange that for me?”
“I don’t have manpower for something like that,” Bill said.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that, Sheriff. I put in a call for another hundred agents this morning. I’ll have the people brought in. All I need you to do is close the roads. If they are on the mountain, I want to make sure they don’t get off it.”
Chapter Six
John woke to the metallic sounds of barking dogs. He sat up hard on his cot. He’d fallen asleep in one of the dome tents, finding the cot hard but the sleeping bag warm and dry. On the floor was the MRE package of the midnight meal he’d had the night before. He stretched and felt the grime on his body. He had stumbled around in the dark the night before and found the makeshift latrine but no shower. He made a note to ask Bobby about it.
Squinting at the lockers along the perimeter of the tent, he saw two packs just like the one the old man in town had given him. He could hear the faint drip of water and the scent of coffee. He spun his legs to the side and slipped on his dirty jeans and work boots. His shirt hung over the back of a chair, and he could see bloodstains on the sleeves. He clenched his jaw and left it hanging there, no interest in ever wearing it again.
Leaving the tent, he saw that lights had been turned on in the cavern. A series of electric lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting low LED light over the walls and floor. Smaller than he had imagined it to be the night before, it was still large enough to contain long rows of shelving and stacked boxes of supplies. He shook his head, looking at shelves of canned goods and boxes of ammo. With as far off the road as this place was, it must have taken years to get everything up here. He heard the metallic barking again and moved to the canvas tent.
Bobby was sitting at a table, watching a tablet, the barking dog sounds coming out of a small speaker to his front. “What the hell is that?” John asked.
The big man’s eyes stayed fixed on the tablet. He pointed to a coffee pot. “Just made it, if you want some.”
John sighed and moved to the small field table and filled last night’s whiskey cup with the black coffee. He then walked behind Bobby to look at the tablet. The screen was divided into eight squares showing black-and-white images of roads and gates, all marked with numbers. The barking continued in the speaker, but there were no dogs on the screen. “Okay, you going to tell me what you’re watching?”
Bobby handed him the tablet and stood from the table. He moved to a large double-doored locker at the back of the tent. “The tablet picks up the signal of eight solar RF cameras on the mountain. Closest one is three miles away. Don’t worry—they can’t find us tracking the signal. We hung repeaters all over on those 5G towers they put up a few years back. Bird watchers and hunters hang them everywhere, so they won’t be suspected. As far as anyone knows, they are trail cameras or survey tools for the forest service. We even put tags on them that say so. The RF signal is buried in the interference, and the tablet only receives; it doesn’t send anything back. The cameras have no security, so they broadcast in the open. Everything is completely passive.”
John looked at the grainy black-and-white images and set the tablet on the table. “I don’t see anything.” He pointed at the speaker. “What’s with the barking?”
“We have speakers all over the approach trails and lanes, up in the trees, and, just like the cameras, everything is solar. They work all day, and depending on the batteries, several hours after dark. The dogs started barking less than an hour ago. Best I can tell, it’s coming from a trailhead parking area about two miles south of here. They are getting together for a search. But they don’t have our scent,” Bobby said. “If they did, they would be coming from the other direction, the way we came.” He opened the cabinet, removed a set of camouflage fatigues, and dropped them on the table in front of John. “Get changed out; we need to move up the schedule.”
“Schedule?” John looked at the uniforms. They were basic Army-issue, brand new, with stock number tags still attached. “What schedule are you talking about?”
“We thought we’d have more time before they started searching this face of the mountain. The decoy at the cabin should have bought us two or three days. If they have dogs out already then something has gone wrong,” Bobby said. “They didn’t take the bait and chase the highway west. They came right back to Sherman and started the search pattern.”
“You said they couldn’t find us in here,” John said, dropping his jeans and pulling on the trousers. “Underground and hidden from helicopters and all of that.”
Bobby laughed. “Oh they can’t find us, but there is a lot more here than just us
.” He pulled open a side door on the cabinet and removed a chest rig filled with M4 magazines. He took the rig and set it on the table then reached in and removed a rifle. “If they are already on this side of the mountain, then it’s starting. We can’t give them any ground. If they flood this mountain with people, we’re hosed. We have to hold the high ground and the pass.”
John looked at the gear being dropped in front of him. “What the hell are you talking about? They’ll search, and if they don’t find us, they’ll turn around and go home.”
“Already told you, it’s more than just us.” Grunting, Bobby pulled a plate carrier over his shoulders then reached in and removed another M4 rifle. He checked the action and loaded a magazine. “It’s never been about hiding, John. The Legion has never been about that. It’s about fighting back. Sure, we could have waited a few more years for it to come to blows. They’ve been pulling people out of their homes for months, and the Legion has been content with just hiding and evading, waiting to get strong enough.”
“So, what’s different now?” John said.
“They killed my dad,” Bobby said. “And don’t forget, we are both charged with murdering federal agents.”
“Wait, Bobby, let’s contact these Legion guys and make sure this is what’s going on. There still might be time to get us out of here.”
“Under no circumstances can we lose the mountain.” Bobby clipped the M4 to a ring on his vest. “You know, for an Army captain, you’re not as educated as I thought you’d be.” He looked at the older man. “The order to fight was already given. You wanted to know where Gregory went—well, he is rounding up the troops.”
“How do you know?” John asked.
“Emmerson Pass, my friend. ‘The shot heard around the world.’ Ring a bell to you?”
“You’re talking revolution?” John said.
Bobby smiled and pointed at him. “In 1775, British troops went into Concord to disarm American patriots. Do you know what happened when they got there?”
“They were ambushed by American minutemen. That’s how the war started,” John said.
“And who wrote about it?” Bobby said. “Ralph frigging Emmerson wrote about it. Emmerson’s Pass. It’s always been the plan, we just didn’t know what would set it off. I guess Gregory made a command decision right then and there when he handed you that pack. When he told you to get to Emmerson’s Pass, I knew the order had been passed. This valley, the code name is Emmerson’s Pass. The next war was always meant to start here.”
John shook his head. “There are only two of us. What good will two dead assholes do in the big picture of things? It certainly won’t start a revolution. This is giving them exactly what they want. They are headed up here to find and execute us. They’ll call it a win.”
Walking around the table and sitting down, Bobby took back the tablet. He looked at the screen then flipped it over. “There are not two of us. This cavern right here, there are twenty more just like it, all in these mountains. Every one of them stocked just like this and filled with Legion boys. The delay was only to give the boys time to get to the mountain.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” John said. “You can’t hide a secret like that in Sherman.”
“The Legion is bigger than Sherman,” Bobby said. “Gregory and Dad figured that out years ago, back when they still had us wearing masks, and started doing everything they could to put us all out of work so they could force us into those contracts. Back then, the boys started putting all of this together. We knew we could never fight them face-to-face in the cities and on the streets. They would just disarm us all, one by one.
“Well, we could have fought them that way—hell, plenty of us have fought in city streets before. But we’re not like them, we have no interest in shitting where we sleep. We’re not going to burn our homes and businesses for social justice,” Bobby said.
“What then? You lure them up here for a fight?” John said.
Bobby looked at the man across from him. “You know you can never go home again, right? Even if you tried turning yourself in, they would kill you before you made it to the courthouse. Nobody that resists ever makes it in front of a judge. We’re the Iraqis now. The way I see it, you have two choices: you can run, or you can stand with us and fight.”
John scowled. “Yesterday I was sharpening my damn lawnmower blades. Now I’ll probably never see that piece-of-shit house again.” He grunted and put on the uniform blouse and dropped the armor over his body, securing the Velcro straps. “I don’t even think I took the ex-wife’s name off the deed. I bet she gets all of it. She’ll sell it and buy that new soy boy of hers in Houston lattes and skinny jeans.” He checked the magazine pouches and took the M4 rifle, slapped a magazine home, and charged it. “That cuck, spending my damn money on skinny jeans.” He moved around the table and swung the cabinet open and removed last night’s bottle of Wild Turkey. He took a long pull then handed it to Bobby. “If this is the plan, to die up here, then let’s get it over with.”
Bobby necked the bottle then set it back on the table. He left the tent and walked back toward the exit hatch, cutting lights as he passed them. He moved quick, talking over his shoulder. “We’ll probably be on our own today. The boys have been rallied, but it’ll take some time to get them all here.”
The big man duck walked up the gravel ramp then heaved the stone hatch, sliding it out of the way. He crawled through the opening and waited outside for John to exit beside him. Together, they resealed that hatch and slid branches back over the top. Bobby stood and looked down the slope to the south. “It’s this way,” he said then took off at nearly a jog.
“Don’t mess around and bust them stiches open,” John said.
Bobby grunted. “Right, now I’m just worried about making it through the day,” he said, continuing his run down the slope.
They moved two hundred yards from the stove entrance then broke into heavy woods, where Bobby slowed down and dropped into a patrol march. John moved in close behind him. “I assume there is somewhere specific we’re headed.”
The big man nodded and stayed with his eyes ahead as he patrolled forward. “This entire logged out valley is code named Emmerson’s Pass. It’s the only place you can get a vehicle up and down the mountain. Every Legion pair has a sector, and ours just happens to be watching the front door. This is the main road in and out of the valley. Every other approach is too steep. We need to hold that road if we want to hold the valley.”
John drifted back and let the big man run point. The terrain still dipped to the south, but the soil became sandy and gritty under his boots. With every step he started to feel like a soldier again. Things were coming back to him that he’d wanted to put away. Unlike the day before when he was running, he was once again feeling like the hunter-killer he’d been trained to be. He wasn’t running anymore; he had purpose again. It was a feeling that brought him energy and scared him. He watched as Bobby took a knee ahead of him, raised his rifle, and used the optics to exam the path ahead.
Maybe the kid is right, John thought. The America he grew up with was unrecognizable. There was no freedom left. Since the virus scares, interstate travel was restricted. International travel after the Iran War was nearly forbidden. There was no more drive, nobody gave a shit about anything anymore. Maybe it is my time to go, to die here on some mountain slope in North America. Hell, why not? It beats a mountain in Iran. At least here, his death would amount to something.
He watched as Bobby stood again and continued the walk forward. John had nobody; his wife had left him. She took everything they’d accumulated over his military career, with no interest in returning to their hometown. The only thing he had left to his name was the house in Sherman that his parents had left him. And after yesterday, he was sure he’d never see that again. He tipped his hands and looked at the rifle. To think they’d killed Aaron Newsome for a single-shot, twenty-gauge bird gun when the old man had a cave full of carbines.
John st
opped as he watched Bobby take another knee and then drop to his belly and begin to crawl forward. John did the same, worming up the trail until he was beside the younger man. Ahead and below, he could see the brown outline of a road that snaked in and out of the rolling terrain, following a river below it.
Bobby looked at him. “They’ll be coming up this road. Probably only a few of them at first, but there will be more later.”
Looking out, John could see where the road went uphill and then took a hard turn around a rocky outface. He pointed. “That bend, we should hit them there.”
Bobby smiled. “Damn, Captain, maybe you are educated. You see that bend? Look at the rocks about midway up.”
John looked through the scope on his rifle and followed the rocks. He could just make out what appeared to be a red plate with a white dot in the center of it. “What the hell is that?” John whispered.
“It’s a fifty-five gallon drum of binary explosive buried in the face of that outcrop. You hit that, and the road is shut down and anything on it goes tumbling down that ravine and into the creek,” Bobby said.
“We blow it now?” John asked.
Bobby looked at him hard. “Is that how you would have done it in Iran?”
John looked at the barrel through his scope again and shook his head. “No, I’d wait and see what comes up that road. Mess with them and see if they bring up something heavy and then send them all to hell.”
“We’re in a war now, John. We’re about to fire the shot heard around the world.”
Chapter Seven
Bill sat at his kitchen table, drinking coffee. His house was a rental near the station, one bedroom and a kitchen that served as everything else. He hated it; it was small and smelled like the animals that lived there before him.
He stared at the cup, watching the steam dissipate. It was after seven, and he was usually reporting to the station about now, but he had no car this morning. Dawson took his department vehicle after reminding him that private ownership of government vehicles was forbidden. Homeland had the authority to hand receipt any local assets they deemed necessary.