No Direction Home (Book 1): No Direction Home

by Mike Sheridan

  Rollins stared out over the sandbags and into the forest. “How far back has the tripwire been laid?”

  “Thirty yards,” Granger replied. “Close enough to hear anyone, far enough to give the sentry time to radio in for help.”

  Granger led Rollins farther into the woods, skirting around Papa Two where the mechanical digger was noisily scooping out earth. They emerged from the forest and onto the camp driveway.

  “This stretch of road gives us a good view both ways,” Granger explained. “If a force somehow managed to sneak past our checkpoints and guard posts, we wouldn’t want them to just march up the driveway to the camp, would we? John, where would you place an observational post around here?”

  Rollins took a good look around. To either side of the road, he saw no sign of anything manmade. There were no trenches or sandbags in sight. He tilted his head. Shading his eyes from the sun, he gazed up into the trees. On his second scan, he spotted a large tree twenty feet away where several wooden planks had been nailed across two sturdy branches. Sitting with his back against the trunk was a figure in dark green camos.

  Rollins pointed up at him. “I’d place Papa Three right about there.”

  Granger grinned. “Well spotted. And we’ve got a nasty surprise for anyone who makes it this far.” He pointed farther up the driveway, toward the camp. “There’s sandbag positions lined along the side of the road. By the time anyone makes it to here, they’ll be in the middle of a kill zone.” He grabbed Rollins’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ve one more thing to show you.”

  The two men crossed the driveway and walked through the forest, passing where posts Papa Four and Five would soon be constructed, then headed toward the south bay. Walking along the peninsula’s jagged shoreline, they reached the southernmost point where, overlooking the lake, was a family cabin.

  “The YMCA named this cabin ‘Apache’,” Granger said as they reached it. “I’ve renamed it the South Beach Post. Better to have a visual name for it. There’s a similar position at the northern tip as well – the North Beach Post. While I expect any attack will most likely come from land, we need lookouts on the lake both north and south. We can’t afford to get caught off guard.”

  Due south of the cabin was a clear view of the Baker Creek Inlet, its crystalline blue waters sparkling in the morning sun. It was a large expanse, more a bay than an inlet. At the very end, and out of sight, was where Route 302 passed by.

  Walking around to the front of the cabin, Granger pointed up at the porch roof. Staring out at the lake, a man sat on a cushion, a pair of binoculars dangling on his chest. Rollins recognized the man, though wasn’t personally acquainted with him. Even in a small town such as Benton, he hadn’t come to know absolutely everyone.

  “Sherriff, this is Bob Harper.” Granger introduced the man. “How you doing, Bob?”

  “Everything’s good, Ned. Nothing to report.”

  Granger checked his watch. “Not long to go. Another forty minutes and your shift will be over.”

  Harper grinned. “I’ll be heading straight to the canteen. I’m famished.”

  Rollins made a quick calculation. With four men currently down at the two Cookson roadblocks, five soon to be stationed along the forest perimeter, along with another two guarding the lake shore, it made for a grueling schedule for thirty-two adults. He voiced his concern to Granger.

  Granger nodded. “Once the Knoxville group settles in, I propose we dismantle both Cookson roadblocks and build a proper barrier on the driveway where Papa Three is. We won’t need the OP anymore, so it’ll free up three persons.”

  Rollins looked at him doubtfully. “That’s going to expose Chris and his group. There’s only eight of them.”

  Granger shrugged. “It’s their property now. It’s up to them to defend it.”

  “Still, if they get overrun, it exposes us too,” Rollins insisted. “Let’s think about that some more.”

  They headed back toward the camp. “I think we’re good to stave off any daytime raid,” Granger said as the two strolled along the lake shore. “My main worry is a nighttime attack. It’s harder to defend in the dark. People just waking up are more likely to panic, especially those who’ve never come under fire before.”

  “Keep drilling them,” Rollins replied. “Rouse them at four a.m. for the next few days until they get used to it.”

  “Don’t worry, Mary and I intend doing that. Once we get the primary defenses finished, I plan on building a fallback position where we can regroup if the perimeter gets overrun. And I’ve got a surprise up our sleeves for anyone sneaking in here during the dead of night too.”

  “What exactly?” Rollins asked, curious.

  “When we get back, I’ll show you.” Granger grinned. “Something I picked up in Cleveland yesterday.”

  CHAPTER 25

  As soon as the meeting ended, Cody went back to his trailer and fixed himself a second breakfast, consisting of cereal soaked in OJ, dry salami, and a sugary black instant coffee. After he ate, he spent the next twenty minutes getting ready for the hunt. Good preparation was everything, his father used to tell him. He tingled with excitement, a little nervous too. Chris had made it plain that this hunting expedition was to be a test. He would only get one shot (quite literally, perhaps) at applying for the role as hunter in the group.

  He was outside unhitching his trailer when Eddy showed up. They quickly slung their gear into the back of Cody’s truck and drove out of the camp. Above them, a bright yellow sun beat down from the cloudless blue skies, and Cody turned the air con onto full blast.

  At the end of the driveway, he steered left and quickly arrived at the South Cookson roadblock. After radioing their camp, the two Benton guards waved them through and they wound their way east along Lake Ocoee’s southern shore. The previous evening, Sheriff Rollins had given Chris several copies of a detailed U.S. Forest Service map of the area. Cody was grateful to have one. Surrounding them was a spider’s web of roads, trails and forestry tracks that required careful navigation.

  A mile out of camp, the road swung north. After another mile, they came to a crossroads, where they turned onto Baker Creek Road and headed east in the direction of an area known as Harris Branch. From the map, they could see it was comprised of a small clearing in the middle of the forest. Far away from human habitation, both men agreed it would be a good place to look for game. A 30-point buck was on Cody’s mind, though he would settle for a pig. Anything but return to camp with nada.

  Fifteen minutes later, they reached the clearing. Cody drove under the shade of a large oak tree and pulled up. Once the two had gotten out, he locked up the Tacoma.

  Though only ten a.m. he immediately began to sweat. Mid-June, the temperature had been increasing these past few days, and insects buzzed around his face. He grabbed his day pack and took out the mosquito repellent. After spraying his arms, face and neck, he handed it to Eddy.

  As well as picking out a hunting rifle and fishing gear at Dick’s that day, Cody had also selected plenty of outdoor clothing, the best that money could buy. Today he wore a baseball cap, nylon hiking pants, a short sleeve omni-wick shirt, thick socks, and a pair of good waterproof boots.

  Inside his pack were a few snack bars, beef jerky, spare water, spare ammo, spare socks, a hatchet, a length of rope, a rolled-up heavy duty plastic bag, and a first aid kit. Strapped to either side of his belt were his Kimber and his fixed blade hunting knife. In the side pocket of his pants he carried a compass.

  Eddy was similarly dressed, other than he wore shorts rather than long pants. Cody thought it a poor choice. In the forest, his legs would get badly scraped.

  Eddy nodded at him curtly. “Let’s go.”

  Briefly checking the map, the two headed south in the direction of the Conasauga River, five miles south of their position, starting down a forest track that wound its way along the side of a narrow valley.

  “We’ll need to keep our eyes on the ground as well as watch out for game,” Cody sa
id. “Plenty of copperheads and rattlesnakes around here.”

  Eddy gave him a look. “I know, kid. I know.”

  Slung over Cody’s shoulder was a Remington Sendero SFII. Like all good hunting rifles, it was bolt-action, chambered for a .300 Magnum round. With its 26-inch barrel for long range accuracy, and the scope on, it weighed over ten pounds. Heavier than most, it was based on the older 700 model his father used to own. It was the reason he’d chosen it.

  Eddy had brought a .308 caliber Sakko Finlight. It was a lighter gun, and in his opinion, a better rifle than the Remington. They would soon see.

  Emerging out of thick forest, the trail took them through open woodland. They passed a creek, hiked up and down several hills, all the time the sun getting stronger.

  “Damn, it’s hotter than hell,” Eddy griped after about twenty minutes, wiping his face.

  “How about we get off the trail and into the forest?” Cody suggested. “It’ll be cooler, and that’s where we’ll find the deer.” Eddy had the map and had been giving the directions until now. Cody had been patiently waiting for him to suggest this.

  Eddy shrugged. “All right.”

  Once off the track, the going got tougher as they made their way through ferns and briars. Cody couldn’t help but smile to think how Eddy’s legs were faring, and every so often, he let out a loud curse. Under the thick forest canopy, it was far cooler, though.

  After a while, they crossed another creek and entered into a large clear cut.

  “This is a good spot for deer,” Cody said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We’ve got steep terrain to either side of an open clearing. It’s a typical funnel for deer to pass through.” Cody pointed out a tree at the far end of the clearing. “That’s white oak. During fall, this is where they’ll come to eat.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not fall,” Eddy objected.

  “True, but unless there’s a good reason, they won’t move too far away from it.”

  Farther ahead was a sapling tree. Cody walked over to it and stopped. Eddy followed him over.

  “Deer rub,” Cody said, pointing at the base where the bark had been removed. “Too early in the year to have been made recently though. See how there’s no fresh markings? Still, we’re in a travel corridor, that’s for sure.”

  “Dammit, kid. You’re good,” Eddy said grudgingly.

  Cody grinned. Perhaps Eddy was a good marksman at the range, but by now he’d have figured out he didn’t know a damn thing about hunting, and Cody felt confident in taking the lead. “Next time, we’ll set up a stand somewhere along the corridor, but that’s a waiting game and best done on your own. For now, let’s see if we get lucky.”

  Farther ahead, they came across a tiny forest trail that took them up a steep sloped spur and into the hills. Cresting the ridge, they gazed down into a lightly forested valley. About to continue on, Cody raised a hand to Eddy’s chest.

  “Wait,” he whispered, pointing down at a small stand of pines.

  He lifted his rifle and peered through the scope. Eddy did likewise. Two hundred yards away, in a patch of briars and hawthorn, a buck grazed. He looked about two hundred and fifty pounds, about the average weight of a mature whitetail. The huge antlers atop his head looked grossly out of proportion to the rest of his body.

  The buck was facing head-on, but hadn’t spotted the pair yet. With them being downwind of him, he hadn’t picked up their scent.

  “That’s a hell of a rack,” Eddy whispered excitedly. Both had dropped to one knee, staring at the buck through their scopes. “What do you think? Worth taking a pop?”

  “Not yet,” Cody whispered back. “Too difficult a shot. Best to wait until he turns broadside.”

  “All right. When he turns, I’m taking the first shot.”

  Eddy’s blood was up. He wanted to claim the kill, even though Cody had been the one to spot the buck. If he missed, the whitetail would wheel away, making Cody’s shot far harder.

  A few moments later, the buck slowly turned.

  “Now,” Cody whispered.

  Eddy took a moment to steady his aim, then fired. There was a sharp crack. Through his scope, Cody saw the deer raise its head in alarm. Eddy had missed.

  As the buck took a step, quartering away, Cody fired. The shot hit the buck just behind the shoulder, right on the money, where the heart and lungs were. It staggered, then dropped to its knees and keeled over.

  “Dammit, kid! That’s a hell of a shot!” Eddy exclaimed, unable to help himself.

  Cody lowered his rifle and grinned. “Thanks.” He stood up. “Come on, our work’s not done yet. Here comes the messy part.”

  Hiking down the valley slope, they approached the buck from the side away from its legs, just like Cody’s father had taught him. He withdrew his Kimber. A downed animal was not necessarily a dead animal, and thrashing legs could cause serious injury, especially a big one like this. Checking its chest movement, Cody saw that it wasn’t breathing. He examined its eyes and noted they were glazed.

  “It’s dead,” he said.

  He holstered the Kimber, lay down his pack and rifle on the ground, turning the deer over onto its back.

  He took out his hunting knife. “Okay, here goes.” Locating the sternum, he made an incision through the hide and abdominal wall.

  “Shouldn’t we slit his throat and bleed him out first?” Eddy asked.

  “No need. A normal field dressing is going to do that anyway.”

  Careful not to cut any of the buck’s internal organs, he slit the animal’s belly open and removed its bladder and urinary tract.

  Engrossed, Eddy watched Cody roll the carcass onto its side and allow its entrails to roll out. “You’re a real killer. No doubt about it,” he marveled.

  “My dad taught me well,” Cody replied, cutting away to fully free the entrails. “Even if I was only fourteen years old.”

  He cut the diaphragm away from the ribcage, rolled the buck over again, and took out the heart and lungs.

  Holding up the heart, he pointed to his pack. “Fetch out the plastic bag. We’ll keep the heart and liver.”

  Eddy screwed up his face. “Who the hell is going to eat that?”

  “Me, for one,” Cody replied. “You know what parts of the body a wild animal eats first? The heart, liver, and kidneys. They’re the most nutritious parts.”

  “I’ll stick to a nice venison steak,” Eddy replied, unconvinced.

  After draining the body cavity of blood, they were ready to go. What remained of the buck was still a heavy weight to carry, however. Cody took out his hatchet and went about cutting down a sturdy branch from a nearby tree. Delimbing it, the two bound the buck’s legs at both ends with twine, then slung the pole through it.

  Lifting the pole up by either end, they raised it over their shoulders and began the march back to the pickup.

  “So, do I pass the test?” Cody asked as they trudged back up the hill.

  “Yeah, kid. You passed,” Eddy replied, breathing heavily. “You’re a natural born killer. Ain’t no point denying it.”

  Cody smiled. He looked forward to seeing the look on Chris’s face at the following morning’s meeting.

  CHAPTER 26

  Jonah and Colleen spent the morning planning everything they needed for their upcoming journey. They intended leaving Orlando the following day. The previous evening, they had talked to Klaus and the American woman, Susan, inviting them to come with them. Both had politely declined.

  Susan was from Baltimore and anxious to return and look for any surviving family members. Klaus had offered to accompany her, and the two had departed at dawn that morning. Secretly, Jonah was relieved to hear the news and suspected Colleen felt the same. The couple would fare better on their own.

  While Jonah knew everything he needed off the top of his head, Colleen prepared a comprehensive list. Some of it she scribbled down from memory, then spent another hour scanning through her Kindle and adding additional it
ems, tut-tutting when she forgot something she felt she ought to have remembered, such as a blood-clotting agent, which she added to the first aid section.

  “It stems the blood flow of serious injuries,” she explained to Jonah, sitting beside her on the bed. “Like gunshot wounds, for instance.”

  With their newly-acquired Glock 21s strapped in holsters by their waists, and their Armalite M-15s slung over their shoulders (which Bill O’Shea had assured Jonah was a fine rifle), the two left the hotel.

  Their first stop was the North Face outlet on West Oak Ridge Road. Jonah had stumbled across it the previous day when he’d taken the wrong exit coming back from the gun shop with Klaus. Inside the store, they picked out matching dark-green backpacks.

  Initially, Jonah chose one in “Papaya Orange” for Colleen. “Kinda perky,” he said when he showed it to her. “You’ll look hot on the trail wearing this.”

  “No,” Colleen argued. “People will spot it a mile away. I don’t think that’s what we want.”

  Jonah immediately took her point. While he mightn’t have read any post-apocalyptic books, he’d seen Deliverance many times. The thought of Colleen and him being chased through the forest or forced to squeal like a pig didn’t appeal to him very much.

  They selected a couple of sleeping bags, a tent, a tarp, and a ground pad. Also hiking boots, rain gear, fleece jackets, shorts, waterproof pants, hats, caps, and gloves.

  After that they drove to the Florida Mall, a huge mall ten minutes farther south. Cruising the building, they saw that someone had already busted open the entrance leading into the food court. Pistols in hand, they headed inside and wandered around the complex until they found a CVS.