Madness Rules - 04

by Arthur Bradley

  “Like I was telling you, Miss Connie,” said Vince, “Bowie and the Marshal helped to save Boone. They’re both bona fide heroes.”

  “That’s good, because a hero is exactly what the good folks of Ashland need.”

  Mason took a long sip of his coffee before setting it on the small coffee table between them.

  “How about you start by telling me what’s going on?”

  She stared at her cup for a moment, choosing her words carefully.

  “We have a situation in Ashland. Something like what you faced in Boone.”

  “You’re overrun with convicts?” It wouldn’t have surprised him to hear that they were, given the countless number of prisoners who had been released when the correctional system collapsed under the strain of the Superpox-99 outbreak.

  “Exactly the opposite. We’re being terrorized by lawmen.”

  “Lawmen?”

  “A man named Joe Ward, along with his three sons.”

  Mason looked over at Vince.

  He shrugged. “Never heard of them.”

  “These men hide behind badges,” she continued, “but they’re nothing more than ruthless vigilantes.”

  “What exactly are they doing?”

  “They came down from Portsmouth a couple of weeks ago, promising they would help to stop the violence. Everyone welcomed them with open arms because we desperately needed law and order.”

  “That’s true of most everywhere.”

  “Exactly. So as you can imagine, townspeople came out of the woodwork with grievances against their fellow survivors, thinking that justice would be done. I don’t think most people meant any harm by it. They were just looking for a way to sort out disagreements.”

  “I take it that’s not how it worked out.”

  She shook her head. “Hardly. These men acted as judge, jury, and executioner, showing little mercy to anyone brought before them.”

  Mason hesitated to draw any immediate conclusions. People had used similar words to describe him on occasion.

  “There has to be order,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t argue that point with you, Marshal. But is cutting a man’s tongue out with a skinning knife order? What about smashing a teenage boy’s foot with a sledgehammer? Or branding a young woman for taking food from a house that she thought was empty?”

  Mason frowned.

  “I’m not talking about justice, Marshal. This is something else, something awful.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, I believe you. The question is what do you want me to do about it?”

  She turned to Vince. “You said he would help.”

  “No,” he corrected, “I said he could help.”

  She looked back at Mason.

  “Marshal, it’s your duty to come to our aid.”

  Mason met her stare. “Miss, I can assure you that I am not a man who needs to be reminded of my duty.”

  “They’re criminals. You’re a lawman.” She left the rest unspoken.

  “That may be true, but the entire country is overrun with criminals, hundreds of thousands of them I would think. I’m not able fight every enemy or right every wrong.”

  “What are you saying? That you won’t help?” Her lightly freckled face was beginning to turn an unpleasant shade of red.

  “I didn’t say that. I was merely pointing out that a man’s duty only reaches so far.”

  What he didn’t voice was the reason for his reluctance. He couldn’t allow anything to get in the way of finding General Hood. Every soldier knew the importance of completing one mission before taking on another. While her cause certainly seemed worthy enough, he had an even greater one already set before him.

  “You’d rather sit here in your cabin and drink coffee than rescue a town being tormented by the worst of men?”

  “I didn’t say that either.”

  A thought came to her, and with it, a grin that was anything but kind.

  “You’re afraid. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Vince scoffed. “Ma’am—”

  Mason raised his hand. “No need.”

  “Look,” she said, “I don’t mean to offend you. I came here to find a special kind of man. One who would stand up for those in need. The people of Boone assured me that you were that man. Were they wrong?”

  He let out a deep breath before answering.

  “I have something to see to in Lexington.”

  “Ashland is on the way,” she blurted.

  While that wasn’t entirely true, he didn’t argue the point.

  “Please, Marshal. The people of Ashland need you.”

  “Even if I come to Ashland, what exactly would you have me do to these renegade lawmen?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, wringing her hands. “Convince them to leave us alone? Maybe tell them that you’ll watch over the town? Anything to make them go away.”

  Mason studied her for a moment.

  “No,” he said, “I don’t believe that’s what you want at all.”

  “What are you talking about?” The redness began to return to her cheeks.

  “This isn’t about talking or convincing anyone of anything. You believe that if I confront these men, there’ll be bloodshed. You’re seeking revenge, Connie West.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Because I can see it in your eyes as clearly as I’ve seen it in my own.”

  She glared at him, but her anger slowly subsided as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

  “Fine. You’re right. I do want revenge. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. And I will have it, I promise you.”

  “Why?” Before she could answer, he held up a finger. “The truth this time.”

  Rather than answer his question, Connie slowly unbuttoned her denim shirt and slid it off one shoulder. Above her left breast was a patch of flesh the size of a silver dollar, blistered and swollen, neatly burned in the shape of a five-pointed star.

  Vince gasped. “It was you they branded.”

  “Yes,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “And I will see that they pay for what they did—not just to me, but to the others as well.” She looked at Mason and gently rubbed her fingers over the blistered flesh. “Marshal Raines, are you the kind of man to let this go unpunished?”

  Mason stared at the wound, imagining the hot iron pressed against her tender flesh as she screamed in agony. Perhaps it was true that he couldn’t right all the wrongs of the world, but some injustices could not be allowed to go unanswered.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s go make this right.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  After safely delivering the children to their mothers in Salamanca, New York, Tanner and Samantha had been adopted as lifelong members of the small community of survivors. With that honor, however, came a host of duties, including running off a couple of questionable men who had been eyeing the women, retrieving gasoline from abandoned cars, fixing the pump handle on an old water well, and helping to stockpile cupboards with food left behind by neighbors who had died during the pandemic.

  While Tanner might have been justified in blaming their stay on the string of newfound chores, the truth was that both he and Samantha quickly grew to enjoy the comforts of home-cooked meals and soft beds. Also, it didn’t hurt that he had the added benefit of sharing his bed with Ona, a beautiful American Indian woman whose affection seemed boundless. To say that she and Tanner had found love would have been stretching the truth. Nevertheless, it was a relationship that left both better off than when they had started.

  After a week in Salamanca, however, both Tanner and Samantha knew that it was time to move on. Like all visitors, they eventually came to feel less like honored guests and more like an imposition. So, with a few hugs and warm goodbyes, they were once again on their way.

  As Tanner steered their newly acqui
red Acura MDX onto Highway 219, Samantha let out a faint sigh.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was just thinking about all that delicious food we’re leaving behind.”

  “We’ve got food,” he said, glancing at a couple of sacks stuffed full of cans and boxes.

  She reached across the back seat, retrieved a can of SPAM, and began to read its label out loud.

  “Pork with ham, salt, water, modified potato starch, sugar, and sodium nitrite.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  She wrinkled her brow. “It sounds like a military ration.”

  “You know what soldiers used to call SPAM?”

  “What?”

  “Ham that didn’t pass its physical.”

  She snickered and tossed it back into the bag.

  “Mind if I ask you something?”

  “Probably, but go ahead anyway.”

  “Why didn’t you go and see your ex-wife while we were in Salamanca? It wouldn’t have taken hardly any time at all.”

  He sat, quietly considering her question. What she said was true. It would certainly have been easy enough to go and see his ex-wife, Grace, who lived in a nearby Amish community.

  “Would you two have argued?”

  He smiled. “Probably.”

  “Why? What could you possibly have to argue about after all this time?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The ingredients in Oreo cookies?” He chuckled.

  “Huh?”

  “We once argued over whether or not Oreo cookies contained any real chocolate.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “You sure?”

  She squinted. “I… I think they do.”

  He laughed again. “The point is that Grace and I used to argue over the silliest of things. I think we both wanted to be right more than anything else. Or maybe we just wanted the other to be wrong.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “Yeah. But it was our way.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t go see her? You were afraid that you would argue?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why then? I know you wanted to.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

  She nodded. “Sure. It’s easy to see that you still love her.”

  He shook his head gently but didn’t argue the point.

  “You could have at least stopped by to say hello. She probably still loves you too.”

  He reached over and laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “One day I’ll explain it to you.”

  “But not today?”

  “No, not today.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but I won’t forget. I hardly ever forget anything.”

  “I know you won’t. You’re like an elephant.”

  “An elephant? That wasn’t very nice.”

  He laughed. “Elephants have really good memories. People say they never forget anything.”

  “How would people know that?” She paused. “For that matter, what would elephants have to remember? It’s not like they learn multiplication tables, or history, or science equations.”

  “I don’t know. What do I look like—an elephant doctor?”

  She shrugged. “You could probably pass for an elephant doctor.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” he said, unconsciously sucking in his gut.

  “Nothing,” she said with grin. She turned to look out her window. “I guess we’re headed to my mom’s now, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  Without turning away from the window, she said, “I suppose you’re going to miss me.”

  “Not hardly.”

  “You’ll miss me. I know it. But it’s time, right?” There was a gentle questioning in her voice, as if she wasn’t quite sure of the answer.

  “Yeah,” he said, “it’s time.”

  The drive south skirted the eastern edge of the Allegany National Forest, passing through a host of small Pennsylvania communities, including Bradford, Lewis Run, and Wilcox. Each town or borough was essentially in the same shape, vacant and still, like a community sitting too close to a nuclear power plant after a meltdown.

  The road was lined on both sides with a thick assortment of trees, including white pines, spruce, birch, and ash, beneath which lay a dense growth of hawthorn and wild blackberry. The last people to have traveled across much of the virgin ground had been the Shawnee Indians, some two hundred years earlier. Modern man’s influence was not entirely unseen, however, as Happy Meal boxes, beer bottles, and an assortment of other garbage tossed from car windows littered the shoulder.

  As they neared the outskirts of Johnsonburg, Highway 219 became Wilcox Road, snaking back and forth across the Clarion River as if the inhabitants couldn’t decide on which side to build the road. A set of train tracks paralleled the highway, but there was no sign of engines or boxcars, either abandoned or still in use.

  A small sign hung on a thin metal pole, warning drivers that a school lay directly ahead. Tanner instinctively slowed, although he had no illusions about the school still being in operation. A few hundred feet further down the road, they came upon a single-story elementary school resting on a small hill. A huge cement truck had tipped in the center of the highway, blocking both lanes of traffic. Dark gray cement had spilled out the back, oozing across the asphalt like a gelatinous alien blob in search of its next meal. A splintered power pole leaned against the cab of the truck, and a tangle of heavy transmission lines lay draped across the wreckage.

  Tanner eased to a stop a few feet from the spill, and Samantha stuck her head out the window.

  “How are we going to get by that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know that we are.”

  He swung his door open and stepped out with his Remington 1100 sawed-off shotgun at the ready. The air was warm, and birds chirped from within the dense green forest to his right. He walked slowly to the spilled concrete and touched it with the tip of his boot. It was hard and dry. Days or even weeks old, he thought.

  Samantha came from behind him and stepped up onto the large spill, peering down the road past the overturned truck. Her Savage .22 rifle hung lazily over her shoulder with the muzzle pointed down.

  “I don’t see any cars that way. Not even abandoned ones.”

  Tanner glanced up at the elementary school. The parking lot was empty. The whole setup was looking more and more intentional. Someone had gone out of their way to keep people from getting into Johnsonburg, probably to limit exposure to the virus. Whatever the reason, it put a serious wrinkle in his driving plans.

  “Does this mean we’re back on foot?” she asked.

  “Either that or we double back.”

  “How far do you think we’ve come?”

  “Not far. Maybe fifty miles.”

  “And how much further is it to Mount Weather?” She turned and looked down Wilcox Road as if expecting to see a sign for the emergency operations center.

  “Another two hundred and fifty miles, give or take.”

  She stepped down off the concrete and walked back to the Acura. After a few seconds, she reappeared from behind the car door with her pack strapped across her back.

  “Well? Are we hiking into town, or what?”

  “You’re taking this awfully well for a girl who did nothing but complain the last time we had to hoof it.”

  “This time we have a road to follow and food to eat.”

  “What fun is that?” he said, slowly walking back to the car. As he readied his own pack, he tossed her a bottle of water. “Drink this as we walk. I don’t want you passing out on me.”

  The sun was already beating down on their heads, and it was only going to get worse.

  She unscrewed the cap and took a long swig.

  “You should drink some too.”

  “You worried about me?”

  “I’m worried what I’d do without you.”

  “I
’m not sure that’s the same thing,” he muttered as he swung his heavy pack over his shoulders.