The Survivalist (Freedom Lost)

by Arthur T. Bradley

  Samantha looked to Tanner. “Prioress?”

  “Big cheese.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding.

  “Please, Sister,” said Father Paul, “tell them what you told me.”

  The nun stepped forward with a stiff stateliness.

  “Yesterday afternoon, men came to the monastery. They took our four youngest nuns, Sister Mary Elizabeth, Sister Mary Josephine, Sister Mary Eunice, and Sister Mary Clare.”

  Samantha raised her hand.

  “Yes, young lady.”

  “What’s with everyone being named Mary?”

  “The Blessed Virgin Mary gave birth to the Son of God through the Immaculate Conception. It’s only right that we acknowledge her holy contribution.” She cast a disapproving look in Tanner’s direction. “Perhaps you and your father need to spend more time reading.”

  “Oh I read a lot. Don’t I, Father Paul?” Before he could answer, she said, “Mostly I like books about animals. Kangaroos and rabbits are my favorites. I used to read a lot of vampire love stories, but honestly, just how many can you take? But you’re right about Tanner. He says that books make him sleepy. Truthfully, I think his eyesight may be going, you know, given his age and all.” She rattled the words off like she was playing catchup with her oldest friend.

  The nun stared at her with befuddlement, obviously not quite sure what to make of the twelve-year-old.

  Hoping to get to the meat of things, Tanner said, “Do you know where the nuns were taken?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I do.”

  “Where?” Tanner knew what was coming next. The captors were no doubt holed up in some flea bag motel or trailer park, having improper relations with four of God’s most faithful. It was just that kind of world nowadays.

  “They’ve been taken to the DeJarnette Children’s Asylum.”

  “Huh?”

  “The DeJarnette Children’s Asylum,” she repeated.

  “I heard you the first time. But why would they take them there?”

  She shook her head. “That I don’t know.”

  “What’s an asylum?” asked Samantha.

  “It’s a place where the mentally ill are confined and treated,” explained Sister Margaret.

  “Confined? Like prisoners?”

  She nodded. “The ones who can’t be helped otherwise.”

  Samantha turned to Tanner. “They locked kids up?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “But why?”

  “They were very sick,” offered Sister Margaret.

  “That’s what hospitals are for,” countered Samantha.

  Sister Margaret argued the point no further.

  “How do you know that’s where they were taken?” asked Tanner.

  “I overheard one of the men mention the facility.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “My ears work as well as most.”

  “How many kids are being held prisoner at the asylum?” Samantha was clearly having trouble believing that such a place even existed.

  “I should have made myself clear,” said Sister Margaret. “The DeJarnette Center has been boarded up for more than twenty years.”

  “Boarded up? As in closed?” said Tanner.

  “That’s right. There was talk at one time of converting it into a shopping mall, but that apparently fell through. For the past twenty years, it’s been the den of drug users and would-be ghost hunters.”

  “There are ghosts?” Samantha said in an excited tone.

  “Here we go,” muttered Tanner.

  “No, young lady. There are no such things as ghosts.”

  Samantha furrowed her brow. “But I thought Catholics believed in a Holy Ghost.”

  “We do, but that’s different.”

  “How’s it different?”

  “It just is.”

  Samantha shrugged. “Okay, but I don’t see how.”

  “Ghosts, monsters, and the like are all made up for late night storytelling. Our faith is most certainly not.” The nun’s tone was growing firmer.

  “You don’t believe in monsters?”

  “Of course not.”

  Samantha nudged Tanner and cracked a smile.

  “She doesn’t believe in monsters.”

  “Not everyone can be as wise to the world as you are, darlin’.”

  Samantha nodded. “I am pretty wise.”

  Tanner turned to Sister Margaret. “Why would these men take a handful of nuns to an abandoned children’s asylum?”

  “As I said, that I don’t know.”

  “You’re sure the women had no connection to the place?”

  Sister Margaret shook her head. “The nuns were barely old enough to walk when it was in service. Those of us who do remember the place were not taken. It’s a real mystery.”

  Tanner said nothing, noting the woman’s wrinkled skin and bulging midsection. The fact that men would take the younger, more nubile nuns wasn’t quite the mystery she professed.

  “All right,” he said. “What is it you want from us?”

  She looked to Father Paul to do the asking.

  “We were hoping you could help to free the sisters,” he said, shuffling his feet nervously.

  “By going to this abandoned asylum?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And facing off with the men who took them?”

  “I don’t know that you would need to ‘face off’ with them, as you put it. But yes, I was hoping to have a firm hand at Sister Margaret’s side.”

  “At her side?”

  Sister Margaret met his stare. “I would, of course, be going with you. These women are in my charge, after all.”

  Tanner looked over at Samantha. “I’m liking this less and less.”

  Instead of trying to convince him, she retrieved the map and once again spread it across the hood of the Power Wagon.

  “Can you show us where the asylum is?” she said.

  Sister Margaret took a moment to find the city of Staunton, Virginia.

  “There,” she said, touching the map with her finger.

  “There? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, dear. Is there a problem?”

  Samantha turned to Tanner. “You do see where she’s pointing.”

  “I see it.”

  “The asylum is directly in our path. We’ll literally be seeing it out our windows.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that this was meant to be.”

  “Our stopping by an abandoned insane asylum to free some kidnapped nuns was meant to be?”

  “Great,” she said, folding up the map. “I’m glad we both agree.”

  It was a trick that Samantha had played on him a hundred times before, but Tanner didn’t feel the need to contest the decision any further. Like it or not, they were taking a road trip with a cranky old nun.

  Chapter 3

  Issa awoke to the sound of women stirring on the floor around her. She didn’t know when she had dozed off, certainly not before two in the morning. The antique rocking chair pressed against her back and hips, bruises already beginning to set in. Dolly, the old black southerner, had stayed up with her until just past midnight before finally curling up next to the other women on the floor.

  Issa pushed up out of the chair. One of her legs tingled, and there was a painful crick in her lower back. Her cheek also ached from where one of the slavers had struck her. All in all, she’d had rosier mornings.

  She brought her hands down to her stomach and gently caressed her unborn child.

  “Time to get up, little one,” she whispered.

  The knob on the front door turned, and it began to swing open. Issa quickly bent down and snatched up the double-barrel rifle resting against the chair. Chambered in 470 Nitro Express, the Merkel 140-2 was designed for hunting big game and had proven itself more than capable of downing a man. She swung it toward the door, ready to unleash two loads of hell on any who sought to do harm.

  A young redhead
came into view. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the gun.

  “Issa,” she said, her voice trembling, “it’s me, Theresa.”

  Issa lowered the rifle. “What were you doing out there?”

  “I had to pee. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Issa motioned for her to come inside and close the door. As she did, the women on the floor began to sit up, yawning and stretching.

  Dolly stood up and came over to stand beside Issa.

  “You sleep okay, child?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Gonna be a long day today.” She looked around. “Be nice if we could find some food and water.”

  Issa thought of the supplies in the back of her car. They weren’t enough to give everyone a bellyful, but they would at least take the edge off their morning hunger. Sacrificing the food would put her without supplies for the return from Mount Weather, but surely Mother or someone else in the colony would see that she didn’t leave empty-handed.

  “Have them search the tavern as well as the slavers’ truck outside.” She started toward the door.

  “Where you goin’?” There was a worry in Dolly’s voice. Clearly, she wondered if Issa might have changed her mind about helping to free their loved ones from the slavers.

  “To fetch my car. I’ve got enough food and water to see us to Luray.”

  Dolly smiled and offered a friendly nod.

  Issa left the historic Yates Tavern, wondering how she had gotten herself into such a predicament. Not only had she killed three men, she’d been roped into leading a band of ill-equipped women on a rescue mission that was arguably none of her business.

  She hiked back across Highway 29’s business route. The navy-blue Toyota Prius sat beside the road, where she had left it the day before. The doors remained locked, and nothing appeared to be disturbed. Issa opened the hatchback and rifled through her supplies, finally coming up with a rag, a bucket, and a jug of water. She stripped off her clothes, relieved herself in a small gully, and took a few minutes to clean herself up. By the time she was finished, the morning air had brought chill bumps to her skin. She hurriedly donned a fresh pair of pants and a long-sleeved sweater.

  She closed the hatch and went around to the driver’s side. Inside, she retrieved the wooden box of ammunition and carefully set it on the hood of the car. She opened the lid and began lifting out the remaining brass cartridges, stuffing them into a shoulder satchel that she had taken from one of the slavers. Each cartridge measured four inches in length and sported a 500-grain flat nose bullet. Combined with the two rounds in the Merkel and two already in her pocket, it gave her an even four dozen. She couldn’t imagine needing more than that, let alone having time to use them. What the Merkel offered in raw power, it gave up in capacity and reloading speed.

  Issa lowered the big gun onto the floorboard and climbed in. As she slid behind the steering wheel and pressed the Power button, she eyed the open highway. It would be so easy to leave Dolly and the other infected women behind, and she could hear Tanner telling her in no uncertain terms to do just that. He would point out that she had already done enough. If they wanted to go off on some fool rescue mission, that was up to them. She had a baby on the way and a loving family waiting for her at home.

  Family. The word struck a chord that couldn’t be quieted. Family was what it was all about. Hers. Dolly’s. All of the women’s. The men who had enslaved their loved ones had destroyed those families without the slightest twinge of shame or remorse. Perhaps one day those same men would come for her family too.

  She took her foot off the brake and eased out onto the highway. A fight was coming, and it was better that she quit second-guessing her decisions. If she were lucky, perhaps the killing could be kept to a minimum.

  Then again, perhaps it couldn’t.

  “Who can tell me about Luray?” Issa said to the roomful of women.

  Jen, a middle-aged schoolteacher, raised her hand.

  “I lived in Luray five or six years ago.”

  “Is it a city or a small town?”

  “Definitely toward the small side of things. I suppose there were probably five thousand people living there back then. Now, I imagine it’s much less.”

  “How big is it from one side to the other?”

  “Maybe three miles east to west, and a mile or two north to south. The business route of Highway 211 runs right through the middle of town.”

  “Any idea where they might have set up a slave auction?”

  She shook her head. “About the only thing Luray’s famous for is its caverns.”

  “What caverns?”

  “Luray Caverns. It’s basically a big cave, filled with mud flows, mirrored pools, and stalactites. It’s beautiful though. Or it was, anyway. Without electricity, it can’t be much more than a dark hole.”

  “A dark hole might be exactly where they keep people who they think of as monsters. Which side of town are these caverns on?”

  “They’re to the far west. The highway runs right by the entrance.”

  Issa nodded. “Then that’s where we’ll start.” When she looked around at the roomful of women, every set of eyes was on her. “Those of you who decide to come along should understand that we may all be dead in a few hours. Keeping that in mind, I’d like a show of hands to see who’s coming.”

  The women looked around at one another. There were eleven in total, not nearly enough for what had to be done.

  Dolly was the first to raise her hand.

  “I’m comin’. Jerome and the Lord Jesus would ’spect nothin’ less.”

  Other hands began to go up. When it was all said and done, five of the eleven women had agreed to go, including Theresa and Jen.

  “All right,” said Issa. “Counting me, that makes six.” She looked to Dolly who had somehow become her de facto first officer. “What do we have in the way of weaponry?”

  Dolly stepped aside so that everyone could see a small round table. A lever-action Winchester carbine and two semi-automatic handguns sat next to a box of ammunition and several loaded magazines. A large Bowie knife had also been stuck into the far side of the tabletop.

  She picked up the Winchester and showed it to the group.

  “First up is a rifle and a box of shiny bullets to go with it.” She set the Winchester down and retrieved one of the handguns. “We also have a Beretta,” she said, reading the inscription on the weapon’s slide, “along with two magazines that look darn near full.” Setting it down, she picked up the second pistol and read its inscription. “Next up is a Gold Cup National Match with two smaller magazines, also full. And finally,” she said, motioning to the Bowie knife, “we have a big knife.”

  “Don’t forget about Issa’s rifle,” said Theresa.

  Dolly nodded. “That makes for a total of four guns and a knife.”

  “Four or fourteen probably wouldn’t make much difference,” said Issa. “Our goal should be to get in, free your loved ones, and get back out with as little fuss as possible.”

  “Makes sense, but who gets the guns?” said Jen.

  “That depends. Who knows how to use them?”

  None of the women’s hands went up. Admitting that they knew how to shoot was the equivalent of volunteering for combat duty.

  “All right then,” said Issa. “We’ll leave the guns here. Each of you get a rake or a shovel from the shed out back.” She turned and started for the door.

  “Wait a minute!” cried Theresa. “I can shoot… a little.”

  Issa paused and looked over her shoulder. “Oh?” She eyed the other five women who had agreed to come along. “Anyone else?”

  Two other hands went up, a big-boned woman named Marcy and a petite chain-smoker who insisted that everyone call her Lulu.

  “What do you know? Three volunteers. Three guns.” She turned to Dolly and the other woman who had not raised her hand. “You two need to find a weapon, be it a stick or the Bowie knife.”

  They nodded, but neither of th
em reached for the knife. It took a special kind of person to welcome the thought of killing a man with a sharp blade.

  One of the women who had not volunteered to come along said, “What are we supposed to do?”

  Issa shrugged. “You can either stay here and wait for Dolly and the others to return, or you can go your own way. The choice is yours.”

  “Does that mean you’re not coming back?”

  Issa shook her head. “I’m going north after this is done.”

  The woman eyed Issa’s rifle. “But shouldn’t we stick together… like a family?”

  Issa thought of Tanner’s gruff voice and Samantha’s innocent smile.

  “You make your own family. I already have one.”

  Chapter 4

  As the RV started north along Highway 17, Mason and Bowie settled into the trailer being pulled behind it. Most of the goods the junkers had collected were consumables: canned food, cigarettes, bottles of soda, toilet paper, boxes of nails, reading glasses. A few of the items were more valuable, including a pair of matching bolt-action hunting rifles, a mishmash of ammunition piled together into a large canvas sack, some cold-weather army jackets, a kerosene space heater, and a wooden crate filled with an assortment of hammers, wrenches, and screwdrivers.

  Mason piled a few of the army jackets between two 55-gallon drums of water and settled back against them. Bowie lay at his feet, sniffing a bag of charcoal briquettes.

  “You hungry, boy?”

  The dog’s head whipped around.

  “Yeah, me too.” Mason fished an MRE from his pack, and for the next ten miles, he and Bowie shared beef with black beans, chipotle tortillas, spiced apples, and pound cake. All in all, not too shabby for end-of-the-world cuisine.

  When they finally arrived at the intersection of Cowpen Neck Road and Morris Farm Lane, the RV came to a stop. A sprawling cornfield lay to their right, last year’s stalks dry and withered from never having been fully harvested.

  Bartley opened his door and came around to stand beside the trailer with Hoss watching him through the RV’s back window.

  “You sure this is the place?” Bartley turned and studied the empty Virginia landscape. “Not much here.”