No Direction Home (Book 1): No Direction Home

by Mike Sheridan

  “Careful, Marty, I don’t trust her,” one of the men growled. “Look at her eyes jumping all over the place. She’s just looking for an angle to get out of this.”

  “Well, there ain’t no angle,” Marty replied flatly, “And who said anything about trusting her? I just plan on having some fun, that’s all.” He waved his pistol at Maya. “All right, darling. Up you get. I’m taking you back to my side of town. Don’t worry, you’ll still be living in style. It’s another five star hotel.”

  Maya hesitated. “All right, I won’t cause you any problems. So long as you don’t hurt Ralph. There’s no need for that.”

  Marty shook his head. “It’s touching to see such loyalty, but see, your boyfriend looks the sort who holds a grudge. Can’t risk that.” He swiveled the AK toward Ralph, still standing by the wall. “Time to say bye-bye Ralph, hello Marty.”

  “Wait!” Maya called out. “At least let me say goodbye properly.” Before Marty could stop her, she jumped up out of her seat and walked around the table to Ralph. With her back to the three strangers, she spread out her arms to hug him. “I’m sorry, but what can I do? It’s the times we live in.”

  Ralph shrugged. “I guess so.”

  Obscuring Marty’s view, Maya stepped in closer and slowly closed her eyes. Ralph caught a brief whiff of Shalimar perfume as he whipped his P225 from the rig behind his back. Lifting it over her shoulder, he aimed and squeezed the trigger.

  A single shot rang out, and a 115-grain jacketed hollow point blew a hole in Marty’s chest. Mushrooming on impact, it went in like a penny and out the far side like a pizza, busting through a chunk of his aorta in the process. With a short grunt, he dropped to the floor.

  His two companions desperately raised their rifles to their shoulders. Ralph’s P225 was far the quicker to aim, and several more shots rang out around the bar in rapid succession.

  The man standing closest to Ralph went down first. Double-tapped in the chest, he toppled face first to the ground. A second later, his companion staggered to one side, then fell over onto his back. Ralph finished him off, then lowered his weapon.

  Maya turned around to see the three men on the floor without so much as a single twitch between them. Dead as doornails. She drew her breath and whistled. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

  “I might have had a little practice,” Ralph admitted. He stared down at the P225 in his grip. “Not bad for a just in case gun.”

  “I’ll say.”

  There was the sound of someone running through the lobby. A moment later, Clete burst into the room, his Colt M4 raised to his shoulder. He strode over to them, stopping when he saw the three bodies on the floor.

  “Aw, I missed all the action, didn’t I?”

  “Yep,” Ralph grunted, slotting the Sig into the waistband holster behind his back. He walked over to one of the slain men and retrieved his Bushmaster and Glock. “Thanks for showing up, though. It’s the thought that counts.”

  Clete stooped over Marty and picked up the dead man’s rifle. He gazed down the barrel appreciatively. “Now this here AK can join our hunting collection,” he said. “At two hundred yards, a 7.62 round is real sweet for taking down a wild pig. Trust me on that.”

  Ralph grinned. “You crazy hillbilly. Now you really are going overboard with the guns.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The following morning, the Knoxville group convened in the lodge’s huge living room for their first meeting. Earlier, Chris had washed and shaved down at the lakeside. He’d combed his hair, and wore a white Ralph Lauren polo shirt, a pair of crisply pressed khaki shorts, and looked very much the high-flying executive on a team-building weekend – with him as team leader, of course.

  “Good morning, people,” he said, coffee in hand, flashing an energetic smile around the room. “I hope everyone got a good night’s sleep, because we’ve got another busy day ahead of us.”

  A murmur of yeses went around the room.

  “All right. Seeing as yesterday was our first day, we went about getting stuff done without too much fuss. Today I’m going to assign formal roles for everyone here at the camp. It’s important we build a proper structure. Right now, there’re twelve of us in total. That number is only going to grow, so—”

  “Chris, before you assign roles, I have a question,” Walter cut in. “You say you’re assigning everyone their roles. Shouldn’t that decision, along with all other decisions, be decided by an elected council, rather than just you? Makes for a fairer system, in my opinion.”

  An annoyed frown came over Chris’s face. “Maybe you haven’t figured it out yet, Walter, but democracy is dead. This is a survival situation we got here. We’re going to face tough challenges. Challenges that may threaten our very existence. The group needs a leader who can make the right decisions in those situations, not some squabbling council.”

  Walter raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve proclaimed yourself king, that it?”

  “Call it what you will,” Chris said, staring at him coldly. “This is my group. I assessed and handpicked every person in this room individually. Except for you three. It’s why you’re still only provisional members so far. I’ve yet to decide if you’re a good fit or not.”

  “Likewise,” Walter replied coolly. “All right, go ahead. Sorry for the interruption.”

  Shooting him a final look, Chris continued speaking. “We’ll start off with security arrangements. Last night, I met with Sheriff Rollins and keyed in one of our radios to the Benton group channel. That way we can be kept up to date with outside events. I’ve given him a list of all our names, and he’s going to instruct those on duty at the roadblock not to allow anyone else up to the lodge without my specific permission.”

  He stared down at his notes. “I’m designating Eddy as our chief of security. He’s had extensive weapons training and is a sharpshooter with both handguns and rifles. As such, he’ll be in charge of managing our perimeter defenses, coordinating with the Benton group on security matters, and making sure everyone here is fully trained in handling guns. I know some of you are a little uncomfortable with that, but we’ve got a great setup here, we need to protect it. Make no mistake about it, at some stage we’re going to need to defend this settlement.”

  “Really?” Liz asked nervously from over the far side of the room. A short, stocky woman with gray hair who, according to Eddy, was a botanist. Cody guessed Chris intended putting her in charge of growing food at the camp. “There are so few survivors, and so much land for everyone. Why would anyone want to take over our camp when they can set up their own?”

  “Because gangs like to rob and steal. They’d prefer to occupy an existing camp rather than build one for themselves.” Chris shrugged. “Just the way it is.”

  Walter nodded. “Remember, not all gangs will be made up of bad people. Pretty soon, regular folk will become a problem too. Once food and water runs out in the cities, they’ll head to places like this. They’ll be aggressive. Hunger does that to a person. If they see us as a soft target, they’ll come right in and take whatever they—”

  “That’s right,” Eddy interrupted, anxious to get a word in. “First thing we’re going to do is prepare tripwire around the lodge, so we can hear if anyone approaches. Particularly at night, when we’re most vulnerable. I plan on building a perimeter fence too, topped with razor wire. That’ll stop anyone from rushing at us, catching us unprepared.”

  “Absolutely,” Chris agreed. “The better prepared we are, the better chance people will move on and look for a softer target.” He leaned forward in his chair, staring around the group eagerly. “We got a real chance to build something good here. Something of value. Sure, none of us are preppers, we’re learning this as we go along, but I plan on us thriving here. That means we need to be sure to hold onto this place. Agreed?”

  A murmur of assent went around the room. While at times Chris’s manner was abrasive, capable of rubbing people up the wrong way, at the same time, he had an abundance o
f energy, a ferocious will that was something to behold. His words rang true around the room. Even Mark and James, who both appeared rather introverted from what Cody had observed so far, looked enthused. Sitting together, the two leaned forward in their chairs, listening attentively.

  “Good. Next item…Greta, I see you’ve converted the children’s den into a mini hospital ward, that right?”

  Greta nodded. “Correct. I’ve stocked it with all my medical equipment and supplies. For the moment, it’s only got two beds. Lord forbid, if we were ever to have several people injured at any one time, it can easily handle a few more.” She glanced around the room. “For those of you that aren’t aware, I’m a trained ER nurse and worked at the Parkwest Emergency Care Center for seven years. While I’m not a doctor, I can deal with everyday problems. I can stitch wounds, set broken limbs, and diagnose most ailments.” She smiled. “Other than the X-Ray machine, I’ve pretty much brought the entire stock of Parkwest ER with me.”

  “How about gunshot injuries?” Tim asked. “You ever treat them?”

  Greta nodded grimly. “Plenty. Right now, though, our main concern is potable water. Once our bottled supply runs out, waterborne disease is a real risk. We have enough to last us about another week. After that, we’ll need to take it from a nearby water source. It’ll need to be boiled, and I’ve brought plenty of bleach too. We’ll use that to make double-sure we kill all disease organisms.”

  Pete pointed out the window to the lake. “Our nearest water source is fifty feet away. Are you planning on hauling water from there?”

  Greta hesitated a moment. “I’m not an expert, but my understanding is that it’s best to get our supply from moving water. I’m going to visit Camp Ocoee today. I’ll find out what they’re doing there, then make a decision.”

  “Camp Benton,” Chris corrected her. “That’s what they’re calling it.”

  “Greta,” Walter cut in, “I’ve brought the parts to build a simple water purification system. It’s just a couple of five gallon buckets and a ceramic filter, but it’ll do the job. Either lake or river water will do just fine.”

  “Excellent,” Greta replied, looking at Walter approvingly. “Given we’re such a large group, how long do you expect the filter to last?”

  “It’ll give us fifteen gallons a day for the next twelve months, so we’re good for a while.” Walter smiled. “Just so happens, I brought a couple of extra filters with me too.”

  “Very good,” Chris said, looking pleased. He consulted his notes again. “All right, we’ve brought plenty of dry foods with us, specifically rice, wheat, corn, and pasta. Enough to last several months. There are plenty of farms in the area. In fact, there’s one less than a mile away. It’s close to the Baptist church, if I remember correctly. Liz is going to go down there today. She’ll take a look and see what sort of vegetables we can start growing.”

  “Right,” Liz said. “I’ll also do a general search of the area and round up whatever farm animals have survived. I saw cows in a field on our way up here yesterday. I’m hoping to find pigs and chickens too. In this weather though, without water, unless they were let out of their pens and coops, they may all be dead. Still, you never know.” She paused a moment. “Another thing. We need to be careful checking these places out. There may be survivors at them. Some may not be too keen on talking to us either.”

  “Why not?” Chris asked, frowning.

  “Before the Internet went down, there was a rumor going around that those of us with immunity to vPox could be carriers. People who’ve had no contact with the disease and have isolated themselves at remote locations might not want to risk talking to us. They may even shoot at us.”

  There was silence around the room while the group considered the implications of what Liz just said. Nobody had thought of that before.

  “As for agriculture, it looks like they grew mainly soybeans around here,” she continued. “We’ll need to get a lot more diverse than that. The good news is, I raided several gardening stores before we left Knoxville. I’m confident we’ll get something going soon.”

  “That reminds me,” Walter said. “Back in Ocoee yesterday, we passed a farm store. We need to get back there soon and pick up supplies. It should have plenty of useful stuff.”

  “Like what?” Chris asked.

  “Rolls of barbed wire and T-Posts for defense. Water storage tanks, and galvanized tubs for washing clothes. Not to mention all that wheat and corn we can grind into flour and cornmeal.”

  Chris rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he said, his eyes shining. “All right, regarding protein, we got plenty of canned beef, ham, and tuna, though I’d prefer to hold onto as much of it as possible for emergencies. Good thing is, the lake is full of bass and catfish, there’s trout streams nearby, and whitetail and feral pigs in the forest.” He gazed around the room. “Who among us other than Eddy knows how to hunt?”

  Cody shot his hand up like an eager schoolchild. “I’m a good hunter. My dad taught me to hunt in the Chattahoochee forest south of here.”

  Chris smiled at him, though his eyes didn’t show a lot of enthusiasm. “Great. When was the last time you hunted?”

  Cody hesitated. “It was a while back. Maybe eight years ago.”

  Chris frowned. “You could only have been twelve or thirteen at the time.”

  “I was fourteen. Don’t worry, I have a real good eye,” Cody assured him.

  “The kid can shoot,” Pete chimed in. “He killed two people in a moving vehicle back in Knoxville. Put down two more on the gas station forecourt.”

  “Tim, how about you?” Chris said, turning away. “You told me you used to hunt.”

  “When I was younger,” Tim said hesitantly. “I’ve put on some weight since then. I’m not so mobile these days.”

  Chris looked at him sharply. “Spending time in the forest will get the weight off you fast. I’m going to nominate you alongside Eddy.”

  Cody’s face fell. While he could always hunt in his spare time, he’d really wanted this role. He was certain that Chris envisaged a less exciting job for him though, something with a little less allure. Perhaps he’d already been earmarked to build latrines? Gravedigger, shit shoveler, that would be sure to put Emma off the scent. Quite literally.

  Greta caught his crestfallen look. “Chris, give Cody a shot at it,” she said sternly. “Doesn’t do any harm. He’s young and athletic. Personally, my money is on him coming home with the meat ahead of Tim. No offense, Tim.”

  “None taken,” Tim said, looking relieved. “I say we give the kid a chance too. Once I lose a couple of pounds, I’ll give him a run for his money,” he added with a chuckle.

  “All right, we’ll give him a tryout,” Chris said reluctantly. “Eddy, how about you take Cody out into the forest later? See how he gets on. This is a job with a lot of responsibility. If he’s not up to it, I need to know right away.”

  Eddy looked over at Cody, a sour look on his face. “I’ll check him out good. Don’t worry.”

  While Chris continued to delegate positions to the remaining members of the group, Cody began mentally planning for the hunt. Something told him he’d have to really prove himself if he was going to keep this job.

  CHAPTER 24

  Shoulder to shoulder, Sheriff Rollins strode alongside Ned Granger as the two men toured the defenses in progress at Camp Benton. Since the crack of dawn, Granger had been working tirelessly on building its perimeter, constructing guard posts, sniper’s hides, and foxholes, and devising the strategies to be employed if they came under attack.

  “By tomorrow, the initial phase will be complete, with everyone drilled on what to do,” he told Rollins confidently. “They’ll know where to go, what avenues of attack they should defend and, if need be, the next line of defense they should retreat to. Understanding your role, maintaining discipline, and proper weapons training will be what keeps this property defended.”

  “Along with some damned fine planning,” Rollins
said, slapping him on the shoulder. “How is Mary doing?”

  While Granger organized the camp’s defenses, Mary Sadowski had been in charge of firearms practice at an improvised shooting range she’d set up.

  “She’s doing great. The perfect person for the job,” Granger replied. “She’s practical, a natural leader, and a damned good shot too.”

  Strolling along the camp’s north shore, the two men reached the point where the long, narrow inlet Rollins had marked on the map the previous day tapered to an end.

  “Let’s walk the perimeter,” Granger said. “Soon we’ll have four dug-in positions and an observation post that we’ve named Papa One through Five. They’ll stretch from here across to the south bay. Papa One is already built. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Rollins followed Granger into the forest, weaving in and out through the trees. Ten yards in from the lake shore, they reached a spot where, between two trees, a T-shaped trench had been built, its sides shored up with planks so that the walls didn’t cave in. The stem of the T was fifteen feet long. At the top, several burlap sandbags stacked two-high had been placed. In the trench stood a man named Jim Wharton, an AR-15 resting across the top of the sandbag.

  “Howdy, Sheriff,” he greeted Rollins cheerfully as the two men approached.

  “Afternoon, Jim,” Rollins replied.

  Slightly overweight, with a round face and wispy blond hair, Wharton had been an agricultural sales man back in Benton. Rollins hadn’t known him well, only enough to nod to.

  Granger jumped down into the trench and indicated that Rollins jump in after him.

  “Jim’s our top shooter,” Granger told him. “As you can see, there’s plenty of room for more men to defend this position if necessary.” He pointed behind him along the T’s stem. “Here’s the escape route if they need to retreat.” He grinned at Rollins. “In case you’re wondering how come we built it so fast, we brought in a mini excavator from Benton this morning. By tomorrow, we should have all four positions built, two on either side of the driveway.”