by Paul Kirk
“Wow, Del, that’s incredible foresight.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks. I’ve...I've hated planning for that awful time when we can’t hold our own. I don’t like it, but I knew we needed to be prepared.”
“You’re a wise man.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Where’s this Dr. O’Reilly?”
“He should be here soon. In fact, we should be getting our sausage and ale delivered about now, too. Gotta have our bellies full. Your men are probably being fed right now.”
“I have to admit that I’m pretty hungry, Del.”
“They’re probably shoveling it down now that they’ve heard the news about the bug out, but they have only you to blame for that.”
“I’m sure they appreciate the food anyway, Del,” said Connor, ignoring the underlying barb.
A small man knocked timidly on the door and waited for eye contact from the group before letting himself into the room. He was wearing black-framed glasses under thick brown eyebrows. His gaze was a question mark, deeply inquisitive and highly penetrating. John McLeod and Connor MacMillen both knew that the overall intelligence in the room increased several fold by the man’s presence—he gave off that aura.
“Commander?”
“Dr. O’Reilly. It’s good to see you. I want you to meet some new friends of mine.”
The doctor walked to the side of the table opposite Connor and John and gave each of them a cursory, but intense once-over. He turned to Del Re. “What’s going on, commander? I was told you needed to see me for some emergency?”
“Yeah—I guess we’re on emergency footing here, doc. This is Colonel Connor MacMillen and Major John McLeod. Gentlemen, this is Doctor Danny O’Reilly.”
“It’s nice to meet you both,” said the doctor, shaking hands with each of them. His attentive look was one of concern and curiosity.
“Yeah, doc, it’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Doc,” said Del Re, “they’re representatives of the President of the United States.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So, the chain of government has survived the Sickness?”
“Yep.”
“Doc,” interrupted Connor, “we’re a little pressed for time, so I’ll make this quick.” He grinned while he reached into his backpack and removed a large Ziploc bag of Gobstoppers. There was about a pound and a half of the colorful candy in a quart-sized bag and he tossed it to Dr. O’Reilly. The doctor caught the candy, surprised by its weight, and lifted the bag to his eyes, staring at its contents. “I’m told you like candy, doc. Is that right?”
The doctor fingered the contents through the plastic without speaking. He opened it and, after careful deliberation, he selected a green one. He popped it into his mouth and rolled the jawbreaker around, never removing his gaze from the three men. His look was priceless.
“They’re yours, doc. I have men who need your dental expertise—they have some teeth that are giving ‘em some problems.” The doctor didn’t respond—he simply continued his inquisitive stare. “We need you to get started, doc. There’s a shitstorm coming this way and we don’t want to be around for it when it gets here.”
“Okay, colonel. How’d you find these Gobstoppers?”
“I was told they were your favorite.”
“They are, colonel, but I haven’t seen one for at least three years. How’d you find them?”
“Blind shithouse luck, doc. I meant it when I said they’re yours. I have about a half dozen guys that need your attention though. And very quickly. When you’re done, make sure you pack up your tools and head for safety.”
“I understand. But—“
“Listen, doc, if you wanna keep talking, give ‘em back. We have an extremely tight timeline.” Connor held out his hand for the baggie’s return. Instead, the doctor opened the bag and removed another Gobstopper, a blue one this time.
He raised his hand. “Give me a moment, colonel.” He studied the color in the light and popped it into his mouth. He rolled it around in his mouth as he had the first one before nodding. “Very edible, colonel. A slight bit degraded, but that's to be expected. I’m at your service, sir.”
“Good,” said Connor. “I’m glad to hear it. John, take Dr. O’Reilly to Daubney and the others who need dental treatment. You know our timeline, so get it done as soon as possible.”
“Sure, Mac.”
“Del, I want John to fill the doc in on the details of the oncoming onslaught. Is that okay?"
"Sure."
"Excellent. John, take care of it."
"Yes, sir."
"Del, you and I need to wrap up before we make this place a ghost town.”
“I’m listening.”
“Good. I have a few questions. Del, do you know anything about Mark Harmon? He lives at Nemacolin up on the mountain.”
“You mean General Harmon?”
“General? Yeah, I guess I'm talkin' about General Harmon. Is he still alive?”
“Yeah—at least, I think he is. He's partial to our ale and has a standing order for as many cases as we’re willing to give him. I’ve traded with him for the past four years.”
“He’s alive? You’re sure?”
“It’s been almost six months since I’ve seen him, but I think I would’ve heard if something happened to him.”
“And Nemacolin remains intact?”
“I haven’t heard any different. Why, Mac? What’s up?”
“I got some business up there on the mountain. I was hoping Mark—General Harmon—was still around after all these years.”
“Yeah, he’s still around. He likes to think of himself as a bigwig.”
“I see.” Connor laughed.
“Yeah, but I guess there’s some truth to it. He’s set the place up nicely. Every weekend, it’s an open market there. Everyone likes to go there ‘cause he doesn’t charge anyone anything to set up a booth for trade.”
“But the place is defensible?”
“It’s probably the best you’d find for hundreds of miles. He’s got his own army and he’s pretty picky about who he takes in. A lot of the guys here thought they’d be better off there, but he didn’t take ‘em all—only the ones he wanted. The rest of ‘em came back."
“How big’s his army?”
“Are you thinking he could help us here?”
“No. Not now—there’s no time.”
“Even if there was time, I’m not sure he’d help.”
“You don’t think so?” asked Connor.
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t say that. I don’t know for sure, but every time I go there, I have the distinct impression the only reason I’m allowed in is because I’m delivering a load of ale.”
“Hmm.”
“You know, he’s got a sweet setup at the Summit Toll Gate, too. He's got permanent garrisons, one there and one in Addison. Each is on Route 40 and he's protecting the mountaintop. You know where I’m talking about? Addison, Maryland?”
“Yeah, I do,” answered Connor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He leaned toward the commander and lowered his voice. “Do you happen to know if any MacMillens are living up on the mountain?”
Del Re studied Connor's expression and shook his head. “Not that I recall, Mac. I’m guessing that’s where your family is.”
“I dunno, Del.”
“I could ask around, Mac. There’s some people here who visit Nemacolin on a more regular basis.”
“There’s no time for that, Del. Let’s concentrate on getting you guys into your hide-out.” He paused for a second. “Del, do you have any explosives?”
“It’s funny you should mention that.”
“Wow, you have some? That’s great! We’re gonna throw these bastards a little surprise party and try to keep them funneled and moving straight through as best we can. Though, it does mean causing some of our own da
mage in town, but at least we can control it.”
“I see where you’re heading, Mac. Whatever happens to this place can be fixed. It’s the people I can’t afford to lose.”
“I like your attitude, Del.”
CHAPTER 10.13-Wedding Gifts
“Hey, Andy. How are you, my friend?” asked Brad. He stood at the entrance steps to the Caddyshack Restaurant of the Nemacolin Resort anticipating the arrival of the MacMillen men. Several armed guards at the top of the stairs near the doors observed with casual interest.
“I’m good, Brad. What about you?”
“Never better,” Brad answered, shaking Andy’s hand. He turned to Ryan. “Mad Dog! You’re looking good.”
“I’m feeling pretty good too, Brad. I quit drinking too much of my own beer,” said Ryan, patting his rock-hard abs. He shook hands with Nemacolin’s head of security.
Brad Greencastle had lived at Nemacolin for a while but had only recently secured the promotion to Head of Security. He and Ryan MacMillen had become fast friends during Ryan's visits to Nemacolin and had shared more than a few beers since the day of his promotion. Whether justified or not, Brad felt it was Ryan's timely information that had facilitated the removal of Spider, the prior head of security, when Mark Harmon shot him off his horse during his last visit to the MacMillen clan.
Six men from the MacMillen clan stood behind Ryan and Andy and they began divesting themselves of their various weapons, complying with the “no weapons” policy upon entry into the Nemacolin facilities.
“Hold on, guys,” said Brad, stopping the men from giving up their weapons. “The MacMillen clan gets a pass. Keep what you got. Head inside and grab whatever ammo you think you’ll need over the next few days. Don’t be too greedy, boys.”
“Wow, Brad,” said Andy. “Why the change of heart?”
“You guys have apparently earned the right of unlimited access to Nemacolin.”
“Very nice,” said Ryan.
“Yes—I have to admit that I tried talking Mark outta of this, but he told me that I have to start trusting our neighbors.”
“You tried talking him out of it?” asked Andy.
“Yeah, Andy, I admit it, I did. I’m paid to not trust anyone. I admit that your group is probably the trustworthiest group of any I’ve ever run across, but that doesn’t mean that I know all you guys well enough to trust you with live ammo here. Granted, Mark’s known you guys a helluva lot longer than I have—give me a little more time.” He said this all with a grin indicating that he wanted them to understand his perspective and not judge him too harshly for it.
“Okay, Brad,” said Andy. “Thanks for the exemption—I never did like giving up my weapons.”
“Who does, Andy? I was told that you guys are getting full ‘official’ membership status. The actual offer will be made at the wedding ceremony.”
“Well, that’s a cool surprise and we appreciate it,” said Ryan.
“There will be some papers for everyone to sign—a form that stipulates that you’ll agree to be subject to the rules, practices, and penalties when you’re here at Nemacolin. Anyone over the age of sixteen is eligible.”
“What’s it cost?” asked Ryan.
“Nothing, Mad Dog.”
“Good deal.”
“Andy, introduce me to the rest of your guys,” said Brad.
“I think you know Kevin,” said Andy.
Kevin Kowalski offered his hand to Brad and the two men shook. “It’s been about half year since I seen you,” said Kevin.
“You haven’t changed, Kev. It’s nice to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you too, Brad.”
“Have you met Toby?” asked Andy. Toby Geiser approached the two men shyly and Brad stuck out his hand with a smile on his face.
“Hell, yes, I met him,” he said, shaking Toby’s hand. “He almost took my head off with a shot down the third base line last year at our softball game.” Each year the two groups fielded a softball team at Nemacolin’s annual Fourth of July picnic. Last year, Toby had been at bat and Brad had been playing third base, but down the line toward the plate as if he were expecting a bunt. Toby had caught the perfect pitch and drilled it right at Brad’s head. The only thing that had saved Brad was his quick reaction and, despite that, he still ended up with the imprint of a softball on his shoulder and Toby had ended up on second base. Brad hadn’t played in this year’s game—his responsibilities with security were too time-consuming.
“Sorry ‘bout that, Brad,” said Toby.
“Don’t worry about it, Toby. It was my own stupid fault for playing too close.”
“Do you know Allen?” asked Andy.
Allen Waltman shook hands with the man.
“Yes, I know him,” Brad told Andy. “He lived here for a couple months.” Allen had stumbled upon Nemacolin a couple years before and had immediately proved himself useful as a carpenter. He had been loaned to the MacMillens when they had sustained wind damage to their roof and he had found that he liked the pace better with the smaller group.
“Of course,” said Andy. “I don’t know why I always forget that.”
“Brad, it’s good to see you,” said Allen.
“Likewise, Allen. They're not workin’ ya too hard over there, are they?”
“Not nearly as hard as you guys worked me here.”
Brad laughed. “Yeah, that's probably true. You were our only carpenter at the time. Now we got over a dozen.”
Allen moved on and Cameron Martin came up next. He was a blue-eyed youngster of twenty-six with deep dimples when he smiled which he did nearly every waking moment. Nothing bothered the young man—it was as if he were surprised by his ability to wake up each day and the pleasure that he gained from this simple act sustained him through the day and into the night, despite any obstacles.
He shook hands firmly with Brad, smiling all the while. “My name’s Cameron Martin, Mr. Greencastle. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Cameron, it’s nice to meet you too. Please call me Brad.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” he said enthusiastically.
“Cam’s pretty good with livestock, Brad. If you guys ever have any trouble with any of your animals, I’m sure he’d be willing to help out.”
“Yes, sure I would,” agreed Cam.
“That’s nice of you, Cam. Thanks for the offer.”
Cam walked to Kevin’s side and began a conversation with him. A thin Hispanic man moved into Cam’s place, nodding amicably at Brad. He was smaller than the men around him, but he was wiry and graceful. His build and the gleam of intelligence in his eyes suggested that if he couldn’t out-muscle you, he would outsmart you. The strength of his grip surprised Brad.
“Brad, this is Juan Romero. Everyone calls him JR. This is Brad Greencastle, JR.”
“Pleasure, Brad,” JR said simply.
“Welcome, JR,” answered Brad.
“JR is one of our ‘idea guys’, said Andy. “He has a nice way of untangling problems quickly.” JR gave Andy an appreciative smile.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Brad, making a mental note to visit the MacMillen stronghold to see what changes JR had made. Mark Harmon was having some problems with maintenance of Nemacolin’s ten windmills and JR might be able to untangle that mishap.
“This is Reed Hall, Brad,” said Andy.
“It’s nice to meetcha, Brad,” said Reed, shaking his hand with a calloused and scarred paw that was significantly larger than Brad’s. Reed wasn’t tall, nor did he come across as a perfect physical specimen, but his arms were massive and his hands looked capable of crushing a rock into dust.
“My pleasure, Reed,” said Brad, surprised by the man’s light grip.
“Reed’s our blacksmith,” said Andy. “He’s a good one, too. When he’s not doing that, he’s one of our best hunters—damn good with a shotgun.”
Reed blushed at the compliment. Brad motioned the men to follow him up the steps and through the Caddyshack entr
ance doors.
“Mark tells me he’ll be hunting with you and Ryan and the guys over the next couple days,” said Brad to Andy. “It’ll be you guys and Mark’s personal guards, Jake and Pete. Do you remember them—they’re Army Rangers?”
“Yeah, I remember ‘em. It’ll be good to get to know them a little better. Mark requested to hunt with us?”
“Yeah, Andy, he did. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“Not at all. In fact, that’s great. T’s gonna get a kick outta that.”
“Why?” asked Brad, puzzled.
“She thinks Mark’s put this huntin’ party together so that we can shoot the food we’ll be eating for the wedding dinner.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“If we kill our own food, it saves him the cost of providing the meal.”
“Terry said that?”
“Yeah,” said Andy, chuckling.
Brad smiled and turned toward Ryan. He gently propelled Ryan through the door while whispering. The two men laughed and stopped just inside the door. They glanced back at Andy and Kevin, smiling at their secret.
“What gives, Ry?” asked Andy.
“Nothin, bro.”
“Brad, what’s going on?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, Andy,” answered Brad. Ryan snickered at the comment.
“But you can share it with Ryan?”
“He’s not a groom and guest of honor.”
“I don’t understand,” said Andy. Ryan took some pity on his brother, recognizing Andy was becoming irritated with the secrecy.
“Bro, let me say that the pheasant we’re gonna hunt is only a small contribution to the reception dinner.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Andy.
“That’s all that will be said on the matter, Andy,” said Brad. “You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?” Brad impatiently waved the rest of the men into the room and toward a table stacked high with boxes of ammunition. There was another table beyond that that held a broad assortment of over/under shotguns. The skylights provided enough of the evening light to make the blued metal twinkle. The shotguns with wood stocks shined with a perfect luster that captivated the eye. Nearby candles lent a taste of motion and deeper beauty to the inanimate weapons.