Shane eyed the policeman with contempt as he walked into the middle of the square, just a few yards from the arguing men. Ben and David came up alongside him holding their weapons at the ready. The rest of the crew fanned out several feet behind him. Aside from the lone policeman near the church, there was no sign of the rest of the police department.
The bikers cast wary glances in his direction but quickly went back to drinking, minding their own business.
His curiosity rose at the commotion between the two men in the middle of the square. Was it one of these men who killed his son? Were they arguing about that? A red haze formed in his vision, and his heart pounded furiously.
He drew closer, near enough to pick up the conversation. It sounded like they were fighting over finding food for a man's son who was sick. They must have been at the train scavenging for food, it was too much of a coincidence.
It was time to put a stop to this nonsense and find out for sure. Shane lifted his pistol out of its holster and aimed it straight up into the air. He fired a round into the air to get everyone's attention.
The men froze, and frightened and confused faces turned to him from all corners of the town square.
"Listen up! Which one of you is Jack Miller?" Shane asked, his voice carrying loudly through the space.
The limping man who had been arguing with the biker stepped forward and got into his face, wearing a scowl on his face, apparently still heated from the argument. "Who the hell are you? Why do you want to know where Jack Miller is?"
Shane pushed the man back roughly. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to step up into his face after his son had been killed? Fury filled him.
"Are you Jack Miller?" Shane asked, feeling the heat rise up his neck.
The man wasn’t intimidated easily. "So what if I am?"
"Then you've got this coming," Shane said. He pointed the pistol at the man's midsection and pulled the trigger. Blood spurted from his abdomen and he fell to the ground, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence.
"What? Have something smart to say now, Jack?" Shane asked. He lowered the barrel down, aiming at Jack's heart.
The biker who had been arguing with the other man jumped between Shane's gun and the man on the ground, shielding him with his own body.
"No!" he yelled. "That’s not Jack! He's not the one you're looking for."
Shane laughed bitterly and then stepped around the biker, pointing his pistol at the man on the ground. "You mean this asshole just got himself shot for no reason? Who the hell is he, then?"
"Wyatt. He's my brother," the biker said.
"Your brother, huh? So where’s Jack? Your brother would really like it if you were a bit more specific. Tell me where Jack is and I'll let your brother live."
"Don't tell him anything, Roy," Wyatt said.
Shane stuck the barrel of the gun against Wyatt's head. "Last chance."
The biker glared at him. "You took Jack's son. He went to get him back. From what I hear, he's not somebody to mess with. He's probably already got his boy back and shot half of your town dead. I hope so, anyway. Now get that gun out of my brother's face before I gut you like a pig," he said.
"What was that? I don't think I heard you right,” Shane said, moving his gun to aim it at the biker. Somebody needed to teach this town of murderous savages a lesson.
The biker stepped back a few feet and crouched down to his brother's side. Hatred poured from his eyes, giving Shane some pause.
"Dutch," the biker yelled.
In an instant, the grey haired biker leaning on the motorcycle across the street was on his feet with a pump action shotgun in his hands. He shucked the shotgun's pump, chambering a round into the weapon and leveled it at him. Four more bikers stepped out from the front of the motorcycle club, pistols in hand, pointed at Shane and the men with him. It quickly became clear to Shane that he had read them wrong. They weren't standing around casually having a cigarette as he'd thought, but had been prepared for action since the moment he'd come into town.
"Don't even blink, assholes," the grey haired biker said. "You all right, Pres?" He asked.
The biker on the ground stared numbly at his brother. All of the anger has dissipated from the man. He shook his head, muttering to himself. "Wyatt, why did you give him attitude? Damn it, brother. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
Shane held his pistol leveled at the bikers and backed away a few feet.
"Shane. There's a lot of bikers here. Look over there. Police, too," Ben said.
He was right. More bikers had come out of the woodwork and his group no longer had the advantage of numbers. For each gun his group had, there were just as many pointed in his direction. Further down the street the police had finally come out of hiding. One of the cops who had emerged from the police station had a marksman's rifle in his hands and was busy setting himself on the trunk of a police car.
"It's time to go. Let's back out of here before this blows up. I don't care about these fools. I want Jack Miller's head on a spike," Shane said.
He backed away down the street, watching the bikers and police cautiously. Off to his left there was an alleyway that cut across to a side street. He and his makeshift posse slipped down the alleyway just as a shot rang out.
Red dust exploded as a round hit the brick façade of the building they just passed. Behind him more shots rang out on both sides. He turned to look behind him and saw that two of his men lay at the entrance to the alley, clutching at their wounds. They were in a shooting gallery here. He had to act fast or none of them would make it out of here alive.
"Come on. Follow me," he yelled. Shane used his gun to shatter the plate glass window of the department store next to them, and climbed through into the store. He ran past rows of empty shelves and entered the office space, and then kept going until he found a door into a warehouse area. At the back of the room, a ladder led up to the rooftop, exactly what he was looking for.
"Ben and David, you two come with me,” Shane instructed. Nodding at the others in his group, he said, “ You three get up there on that roof and cover us. Here, take our extra ammunition. We'll go get help," Shane said.
The three men took the ammo and quickly climbed the ladder, situating themselves on the roof. The men on the roof exchanged fire almost immediately and then called down through the open access door in the roof.
"We'll keep them pinned down. Go get help. Don't leave us hanging here," one of the men said. More shots rang out as he got back into position.
"I'll come back. Just hold them off for a while," Shane said.
He picked his way through the broken glass at the front of the store and made a break for it. He ran through the streets with Ben and David on his heels, cautiously peeking around the corners of buildings as he navigated a clear path through the streets. Further out from the town square the streets were deserted and the buildings boarded up. They ran through the empty streets, and as they reached the edge of town he moved into the tree line, pausing to catch his breath.
"Want me to run back and let them know we found a way out?" Ben asked.
"No. Those men are going to stay right where they are. They're expendable," Shane said.
Ben gave him a questioning look but kept silent.
If he could trust what the biker said, Jack wasn't here. He had no reason to suspect the man was lying. It made sense that Jack would try to free his son. He'd been blind not to see it earlier. Of course Jack would try to free his son. It was time to put the reinforcements he'd left outside of town in place to keep the Wheeler locals busy and free himself up. Jack Miller was out there somewhere, and he would hunt him down like a dog.
Chapter 9
Jack stopped in his tracks. He had been running down a winding, narrow trail that led through the woods and something caught his eye, standing out among the packed dirt, leaves, and twigs just ahead. Still panting hard from the run, he bent down to pick up a white object laying on the ground in middle of the trai
l. It was a bear's tooth with a small hole drilled into it. He rolled the tooth over in his hand, examining it, and then stuck it into his coat pocket. He now had four of the teeth, each dropped at about half mile intervals along the trail. Kenny, ever resourceful, had left him a trail of breadcrumbs to follow. All Jack had to do was keep following the trail and he would find his son.
His hope grew with each of the teeth he found. It was a sure sign that Kenny was still alive, captured and not killed. Where they were taking him was pretty clear by now. The trail wound through the woods as it snaked up and down the steep mountainsides and following switchbacks, but he knew it could lead to only one place: Long Branch. If they meant to harm Kenny they would have done it in the woods away from prying eyes. Bringing him into their town meant they were not sure what to do with him, or at the very least were planning on holding him hostage for a while.
His plan had been to follow the railroad tracks from Wheeler to the scene of the shootout at the boxcars and work his way backwards searching for signs of Kenny, but he had been forced to stop well short of the area. Teams of horse-drawn wagons were parked next to the train and a number of men were transferring the contents of the train to the wagons. Not far ahead of him, what appeared to be a sentry sat with his back against the base of a tree, daydreaming.
After that, he had backtracked along the railroad tracks, slowly retracing his steps and going over the area with a fresh set of eyes. A mile back from the train he had spotted Kenny's bike laying in the woods, ten feet inside the tree line next to a smaller side trail. Investigating the site, he half expected to find his son's body lying in the thick brush next to the bicycle or a blood trail leading off into the woods. Fortunately, all he found was the bicycle, which had been hastily tossed into the woods.
Jack had followed the side trail hoping to pick up some sign of where Kenny had been taken, and it was here that he had found the first of the bear's teeth. He knew it was no accident that they lay in the trail. Kenny had strung them on a nearly unbreakable length of paracord. He backtracked to the beginning of the trail and carved a discrete J shape into a fist-sized sapling next to the trail. The mark would give the Chief something to follow when he arrived with the posse. He made the cuts high up above his head in a spot that would only be seen by someone actively looking for it. Most people looked down at the ground when they walked and would miss the small carving.
Having found the tooth, he was convinced Kenny had been taken somewhere down the trail. He hid his mountain bike in a patch of thick brush off to the side of the trail where it was fully concealed. From here on out he would go on foot and hope to find more of the teeth. He carved a second J shape into a sapling and moved on.
Several miles up the trail after picking up more of the bear's teeth, Jack came to the crest of a tall hill. He warily peered over the summit to see what lay ahead.
In the valley far below a large town bustled with activity. Smoke rose from chimneys and people walked in the streets, busy with various activities. Long Branch. The large town spread out and filled the length and width of the valley below. Before the EMP the population would have numbered in the thousands, not hundreds like Wheeler. They outnumbered Wheeler by a factor of ten to one.
A deep growl sounded from somewhere nearby, startling him. Jack instinctively tensed up and his body went into fight mode, producing a rush of adrenaline and preparing him to defend himself.
The growl happened again, but this time was longer and more drawn out. Now able to pinpoint the noise, his curiosity kept him rooted in place, resisting the urge to run. The noise came from a spot high above him in the trees.
A man was perched high in a tree stand, some thirty feet off the ground. He was dressed from head to toe in camouflage clothing. The tree stand was also nearly invisible, painted in a tree bark pattern. The sleeping watchman had his head leaned back against the tree, his rifle resting in his lap. The man let out another long snore, breaking the serene silence of the woods.
Sweat broke out on his brow as he realized how lucky he was. If he'd come through here and the man had been awake he might be lying on the ground with a large caliber bullet through his chest. Jack backed up slowly and moved behind the trunk of a large oak tree, putting the tree in between himself and the sentry. The tree trunk blocked the sleeping man's line of vision as he continued to back away. If the man happened to wake up right now he didn't want to be caught out in the open.
Long Branch was cautious. They were watching the trails into town, just as they kept eyes on the train and railroad tracks. He would have to be more careful from now on and move more cautiously, checking the trees above him and the ground below for signs of danger.
Once a few hundred yards away from the sentry in the tree stand, he set his backpack quietly on the ground and fetched his pair of binoculars, scanning the town below him.
He counted heads, and was astonished to find over one hundred and fifty people working in the town. Most of the townspeople openly carried firearms, whether a rifle, shotgun, or handgun. To add to the problem there were just as many people heading in and out of the woods around the town. Foraging crews, scavenging groups, and hunting parties that numbered from just a few to groups of ten or more went about their business.
Jack glassed each of the buildings that had a column of smoke coming from the chimney, focusing only the occupied buildings as he looked for Kenny. A steady stream of people went in and out of a large central municipal building. Jack watched the building for several minutes, looking into every window that wasn't obscured by a window curtain. There was no sign of Kenny. Having thoroughly checked the main building, he started to check the outbuildings on the street next to it.
Through the window of a small brick building that looked to be an antique schoolhouse, he spotted Kenny tied to a chair. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest. From what he could see, Kenny was alone in the room. Two men guarded the front of the building, sitting on the steps they leaned against the wooden doors with apparent boredom.
Jack glassed the rest of the town, searching for a path to get at the schoolhouse without being detected. The town was just too busy. People frequently passed up and down the street in front of the building. The municipal building sat at the very center, with housing and communal buildings surrounding it. This section of town bore a concentrated population, making it difficult to find a way in.
Even more problematic was how to get into the town from the woods. A half mile of open fields separated the woods where he was concealed and the edge of town. Lookouts were posted in the woods along the tree line and would have an unobstructed view of him if he tried to cross the field. He had to come up with another way.
Jack stowed his binoculars back in his backpack and continued to circle the town. He encountered two more sentries sitting in tree stands just inside the tree line separating the wide open fields and the woods outside of town. Now that he was aware of their presence, they were easy enough to spot. Some of them slept, others fidgeted, unable to contain their boredom with guard duty.
Scouting out along the edge of the town, he finally found a weakness in their defensive perimeter. On the far side of town a foul odor was carried by the wind. The further he went the more intense the smell became. The town's dumping grounds lay just ahead, the smell of discarded animal carcasses left to rot in the sun mixed with the odor of burning rubbish. The smell was intolerable.
Jack peered through the binoculars again, verifying his hunch. There were no sentries posted anywhere near the dump. Some townspeople approached the dump, hastily dumping their wagon before they quickly departed the area.
He knelt to the ground and pushed aside dead leaves covering the ground, digging in the dirt until he hit a clean patch of brown clay a few inches under the surface soil. Jack took a handful of the material and rolled it in into little balls between his palms, and then stuffed them inside of his nose. The balls of clay were uncomfortable but they made it so that he could stomach the stench.
There was no point in waiting any longer. If he was going to get Kenny out of the town he would have to do it himself. He would go in tonight under the cover of darkness. He would be quick and quiet, using stealth instead of brute force. That was the only way he could get Kenny out, hopefully without firing a shot.
Jack walked over to the dump, looking for anything useful. He needed to create a diversion. He picked up a large lump of charcoal from the burn pile and found a spot underneath a large spruce tree to hide in until the sun went down and he had the advantage of darkness on his side.
He broke apart the lump of charcoal, applying it to his face and the exposed parts of his skin with a staggered zebra like pattern, making his skin less reflective and breaking up the pattern. He held his arm up and examined the result. Satisfied with the makeshift camouflage, he applied the charcoal to his clothes from head to toe, blacked the chrome barrel and stock of his rifle, and then blackened the blade of his knife. Tonight he would need to be invisible and pass completely unnoticed.
He sat patiently, waiting for darkness to fall, his back to a pine tree as he tried to think up some sort of a diversion. Sap from the sticky pine tree stuck to his hands and clothes, irritating him as he tried to wipe the sticky goo off on the forest floor without much success. Despite the aggravation, the sticky sap gave him an idea.
Jack toyed with the idea until it cemented into a plan. He rummaged through the trash piles, picking up odds and ends that would help him put his plan for a diversion into effect. His arms full of materials, he sat down underneath the spruce tree, packing the pieces into his backpack. If it worked as planned, his diversion would be sure to draw attention.
Desperate Measures: An EMP Survival Story (EMP Aftermath Series Book 2) Page 6