by Paul Kirk
“Regrettably, it seems they only follow Brad’s orders,” suggested Mark, smiling.
“Yep. But they’re sworn to protect you, and only you, Mr. Harmon,” said Brad.
“And, as you can see, Brad refuses to call me Mark.”
“Makes sense, Mark,” said Andy, “Nowadays, you probably warrant a twenty-four hour personal guard that has some combat experience.”
Pete and Jake did glance at Andy after his comment. They had registered a fellow comrade in arms. Always cautious, Andy appreciated the tightening of security since their last visit. “You’re the man in charge over here, Mark. Brad’s here to keep it that way.”
“Hmm.” Mark Harmon relished the obvious compliment.
“Finally, someone who sees the sense of what I’m trying to do around here.”
“Ahh, Brad, pull down that tutu and take it easy,” said Ryan. He gave a mock salute to the huge bald-headed man, and then settled into devouring his pancakes. All ate well, exchanging pleasantries while small talk continued until their bellies were stuffed. In time, Terry relented first, pushing her plate away. The men were not that far behind.
“Wow, Mark. That was incredible.”
“Yeah, you outdid yourself,” added Andy.
“Thanks, Mark,” said Ryan.
"Yes, sir. Thank you,” said Kevin.
Mark beamed, waving the waiters to the kitchen with a final word of thanks.
“You’re welcome. All of you.”
Brad gave Ryan a telling lift of his eyebrow. Clearly, he wanted to know the purpose of this “official” visit request. Of the same mind, Mark Harmon decided to immediately explore the purpose of the visit. “Well, Terry, Andy, you guys asked for this formal meeting, so...what’s on your mind?”
Terry wiped her mouth gently with the white cloth napkin, smiling before answering. “Two things, at this point.”
“Yeah?”
“One is...you have a woman here, Aldonza and her boy.”
“I do.”
“I know she works your books, tracks your trades.”
“Yep.”
“I hear she’s pretty good at it, too.”
“Go on?” said Mark. Talk of his money always made him cautious.
“You’ve taken Aldonza under your wing and have grown quite fond of her and her boy Carlos.”
“Ahh, your point, Terry?”
“I meant like a father figure.”
“Again, your point in all this?”
“Okay, well in that regard, Kevin here wants to talk with you some about that...Kev?”
Kevin Kowalski stood from his end of the table, walking around to stand near Mark. Pete and Jake took hard notice of his movements, but did nothing other than move a step closer. Nervous, Kevin was intimidated by the easy power and charisma of Mark Harmon and knew how Connor Mac had loved this man. Gathering his reserve, he motioned for Mark to stand. Interested, Mark did so.
“What’s this?”
“Mr. Harmon, sir, I’d, uh...like your permission...to marry Aldonza. Take her and Carlos into our clan.”
Mark blinked and smiled as he caught up to the request. After a few seconds, he softly grasped Kevin’s shoulder. He glanced at the MacMillen group, before refocusing on Kevin. “Umm, Kevin, I don’t have authority over Aldonza and her boy. There’s no blood between me and her.”
“I know.”
“She can do what she wants—”
“I know that, sir. She knows that, too. It’s just that she respects you, like her father, and told me she wouldn’t do anything to make you unhappy.”
“Oh, I see.” Mark blushed deeply beneath his tanned face, clearing his throat a few times before answering. Touched by the request, he walked away a few steps, deep in thought. Kevin looked a bit lost; Terry decided to help Kevin along.
“So, Mark, we wanted to formally ask for Aldonza’s hand in marriage, isn’t that right, Kev?” suggested Terry.
“Umm, yeah, straight up. That’s right. I’d like to ask for Aldonza’s hand in marriage.”
Mark paced a few more steps forward beyond his bodyguards, rubbing his chin. With a furrowed brow, he seemed troubled by the request. Mark walked back to Kevin, holding out his hand. “I think she’s made a wise choice, Kevin.”
Exhaling a held breath, Kevin shook hands. “Thank you, sir.”
“Not a problem, Kevin.”
“Okay. Great.”
“But, I do have one condition I’d like you to consider.”
Emotionally spent simply asking for Aldonza’s hand, Kevin sought Terry's help with a glance her way. She nodded that he continue and that he was doing fine.
“Umm, sure. What condition is that, sir?” asked Kevin.
“Well, would you mind if we had the wedding here?”
“Here...at Nemacolin?”
“Yeah. Here at Nemacolin.”
“Umm…”
“You know, I’m told I can put on quite a show when I want to.” Mark chuckled at his own comment. He seemed in good spirits.
“But, ahh...I don’t think I can afford that,” said Kevin.
Terry laughed loudly and Andy and Ryan joined in. She stood, walking to Mark. Standing in front of him, she sensed his mind churning as to the logistics of putting on a special wedding reception for Aldonza.
“It would be on my dime, Kevin,” suggested Mark.
Terry interrupted his thoughts. “Which brings me to my second request.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a similar situation.”
“Alright.”
“It concerns Andy and I.”
Mark stared at Terry for a moment. Making the connection, his eyes lit up. A second later, the deep creases of concern etched his brow. “Oh. Aww...shit, Terry...you mean...really?”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
CHAPTER 7.16-A Democracy
“Crap! Our straight shot to Liberty Bridge and into the Tubes isn't gonna pan out,” said Connor. He let the binoculars drop gently to his chest.
“Why not?” asked John.
“The Liberty Bridge connection to the Veteran’s bridge into the city’s ripped out. Shit!”
“We make our way around then,” said Marty. He edged toward John and Connor for a better view.
“Yeah, but that means we'll have to slip through into downtown proper and back around to reacquire the Liberty bridge and the Tubes.”
“Let’s do it, then,” said Marty.
“More exposure.”
“We’ll avoid most of it.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. We can try.”
“This team’s ready for that kinda heavy shit, Surf Boy? This is a city center we’re talking about.”
“I know.”
“Lest you forget, we got us a few new non-coms.”
“I know. But, they’ll do it. They did good in Cleveland, right?”
“Yeah, they did okay.”
“And responded near perfect to the wolves attacking, right?”
“Yeah. Not bad.”
“So, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“Good idea, you do that. John, let’s draw up a route together through this mess to arrive at the Liberty Tubes by 17:00 today.”
“Okay. Jackson? Give me that map,” said John McLeod.
Like a soft wind, the team slipped through Pittsburgh street-by-street and building-to-building in the early morning light. They patiently waited for the occasional strangers to clear before advancing.
“Keep an eye up top. Everyone.”
“Uh, huh."
"Got it.”
“Yep.”
“Understood.”
“Copy that.”
Uneasy, all incorporated a slow scan of the upper level windows of the buildings nearby; no one wanted to feel the impact of an unannounced bullet. Walking slowly, they spread out with the horses held in reserve by Jason and BB covering the rear. With care, they eased their way through cars, trucks, and vans rotting w
here they sat. Huge rats ran around in heavy wave-like concentration and strewn junk was scattered everywhere.
“This city's dead,” said Marty.
“Yeah, this particular section hasn't fared well,” said Connor.
Broken office desk chairs with flaking paint and rusting Swingline staplers dappled the streets in a weird theme of corporate decay. Downtown center was a dusty ghost town.
“More rats! Check it out,” said Jackson.
An agitated wave of fat brown rats cruised in and out of several buildings nearby, making the horses fairly nervous. The team made every effort to avoid the larger clusters scurrying about.
“I hate rats!” whispered BB to no one in particular.
They all knew rats were prolific, dangerous carriers of many diseases, especially in the broken-down cities.
“Be glad we don’t have to eat ‘em,” suggested Marty.
“I’d die first,” said Rhonda.
“You’d eat it,” challenged Roger.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’d feed them to you to keep you alive.”
“Then you’d be doing me a disfavor.”
“You’d eat it.”
“Honey, I’d eat just about anything, but if it comes down to eating rats or living, I’m dying.”
“So you say.”
Connor studied the two and their discussion. “Quiet up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, Mac,” said Rhonda.
The team slipped past endless buildings with blown-open doors, many ripped off hinges. Nearly all glass storefronts were bashed open to the weather, and probably had remained so for many years. The majority of skyscrapers and smaller, multi-story buildings were dark inside. Hard trash, like battered cash registers and dingy, gray-metal shelving billowed out around many entry doors and into the streets nearby. The city had not fared well, at least in this sector. Though, occasionally, at a few of the older storefronts, plywood or metal sheeting boarded up windows or doors along with a subtle detection of a cautious human presence.
"Cody. Shit!" whispered Roger. Furious, he glared when Cody stumbled, kicking a small board across a huge piece of broken sheet glass. The loud wood scraping, probably due to an exposed nail or two, etched a high squeak until it ceased.
"Sorry."
"Sounds more like a rat squeal that anything, Roger. Nothing to worry 'bout." Connor winked at Cody.
“Yes, sir.”
They slipped carefully toward the crumbling businesses near a large building with a sign designating it as the David Lawrence Convention Center. Once near, they discovered the formidable presence of armed guards all dressed in makeshift uniforms, possibly old Pittsburgh Police outfits based on the shoulder insignias. The armed men moved about with rifles or shotguns, a few pistols, and were fairly well purposed. On the other hand, the casual swagger and sloppy dress of most suggested discipline, hygiene and the honor of the uniform were not priorities.
"I don't think those guards are in the habit of upholding pre-apocalyptic laws in the ‘Burgh," said Connor.
"There's a full squad heading away from us, west, 200 yards," said Marty. With his sniper rifle snug to his cheek, he scoped the area.
“Roger that,” said Connor.
“Two squads are heading east in the same uniforms,” said BB from behind the team. His Bosch & Lomb’s carefully scanned the area.
"Got it, BB. I see ‘em. There's ten more men and a few woman hanging out near the river," said Connor, "The convention center’s probably their central command." With a quick hand signal, Connor waving all down into better cover. “Let's hold up here for a moment. Decide our workaround."
“Will do,” said McLeod.
“Marty, slip close as you can with BB to secure a better activity assessment.”
“Copy that.”
“Roger, you’re ridin’ overwatch.”
“Got it.”
"Cody. Stick with BB, Jason and the horses."
"Right, Mr. Connor Mac."
“Judy, you’re with Rhonda.”
"Yes, sir."
“Jackson, keep scanning up top.”
“Yes, sir.”
So far, they'd avoided a few token patrols, as they glided deeper into the city. With determined success, they kept exposure to an absolute minimum. Though, this was not as hard as expected, since most people they crept upon moved in pairs or groups of three, seemingly unconnected to any larger group. Studying their paths through the street, most seemed intent to be making their way toward the Point, the geographical juncture of flat land where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers merged into the Ohio River. It was not terribly hard to figure out their destination. Since early morning, a repetitive beat, a pounding of large drums, pulsated from the Point as a veritable siren call.
"Everyone’s heading to the Point," said Connor, “I know the area and that’d be as good a place as any to congregate for news or trade at the river’s edge.
"We're not going there are we?" asked Rhonda.
"Hell no," said Jackson, "Sorry, sir." His outburst was overlooked, but he disliked being near strangers in a big city more than most.
"Nah, but we do need to fade back and make our way closer to Liberty Avenue and around this area. Let's give the convention center a wider berth," said Connor.
"Copy that," said Marty, "Hey, there’s more boats coming down the river.”
“I hear ‘em,” said Connor.
By late morning, they’d made it undetected onto the base onramp for the Liberty Bridge that headed south out of town. Beneath an overpass and to their left, near the crumbling onramp, stood the heavily fortified main entrance to the Duquesne University campus. At the bottom of this steep cobblestone road, vigilant guards hid behind a thick metal structure that stretched across the road, well anchored to the concrete bridge pillars and nearby buildings. There was movement behind the steel barrier and voices rose in fast-paced whispers suggesting that the guards inside registered the team’s movement toward the bridge.
“Damn! We’re tagged!” said Marty.
“I hear 'em,” said Connor. Their presence had caused somewhat of a disturbance behind the cold steel of the guard station. Voice volume increased behind the wall, discussing their activity. BB, McLeod, Jackson and Roger all swore upon hearing the guards.
“Keep going,” said Connor, “act as if we don’t know that they’ve seen us. I think we'll be okay.”
The team moved toward the bridge, faster than they would've liked, though the guards issued no obvious alert. Hoping the Liberty Bridge was still intact based on all the destructive military activity in the city, Connor, John, and BB took some time at the top of the onramp to study it with binoculars. On one knee, Marty scoped the far end with his rifle.
"Might as well stop here for lunch. Those Duquesne guards would have to come out and around their metal walls to see us from here up here, so I’m hoping we should be safe for a time,” said Connor.
“You think?” asked McLeod.”
“I’m hoping they make it their business not to make it their business on shit happening outside their campus.”
“One can hope.”
“Yeah. Hope. A valuable commodity in this day and age, John.”
“So true.”
“Keep a close eye on our six everybody, in case those guards decide to do something more heroic. Jackson you’re primary."
"Yes, sir."
"Marty, give me a better read on that far side of the bridge."
"Copy that."
"Jason, what's wrong with John's horse? She was limping."
"Yes sir, she started about ten minutes ago.”
“Well?”
“Dunno sir, she’s favoring her right foreleg a bit, but I checked it out. Nothing."
"Lemme see," said John McLeod.
"You think I missed something, dad?"
"Just let me see."
BB joined John and Jason while they studied the foreleg. BB took center stage base
d on his expertise. "She’s only cramping up a bit, John, she should be okay. Get some water into her."
"Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
"Okay."
Connor walked toward the men. "We good?"
"Yeah, I think so. Tawny's cramping up a bit. She'll need to rest for a few while I rub her down.”
“Huh.”
“She gets like that sometimes, Mac. Every so often, when she's not had enough salt and hydration." John McLeod glared at Jason, not happy. "Son, let's make sure to give her some salt and water right away, okay?"
"Yes, sir. Sorry." Jason had the grace to apologize, realizing he’d forgotten to let Tawny drink her fill in the early morning.
"You know, those horses travel with us better than I expected, I'm continually impressed," said Connor. He knew little about horses and never expected they’d be a part of his team.
"Give BB the kudos for that.” He nodded toward BB who was helping Rhonda pull out lunch from the packs.
“That right, John?”
“Yeah. He's spent some time training them the past year. He has some background with them."
"Hmm. I will say they still leave a broader hint of our tracks than I’d like."
“Can’t be helped.”
“Yeah, well. I'll keep thinkin' on it.”
Rhonda and Roger moved around the group passing out the small lunch of jerky, dried apples and a moist mash of tomato, zucchini and spices that everyone had grown to appreciate.
“Thanks, Rhonda,” said Connor. He began eating with purpose and hunger.
Marty, BB, and John McLeod nearby did the same. The rest ate more slowly, their hunger not as apparent. Once done, the team traversed the Liberty Bridge onramp mindful of the many huge, gaping holes punched clear through the bridge decking. Though still a sturdy span, there was damage by at least one, if not two, large tank battle engagements near the downtown ramp. As they made it onto the main span of the bridge, the rushing water far below made it clear how high they were should they stumble and drop through a hole. A blackened and crumpled Abrams A-1 tank had taken a huge hit to its hatch and was jammed sideways on end, resting against the concrete guardrail. With one track ripped off, it lay in shambles and three Humvees and a Bradley near it were in no better condition. Across the bridge, at the other end, two more tanks stood blackened and bruised with both hatches left open.