by W. J. Lundy
Sean shouted in Brad’s direction, “Come on, move us out.”
“Where the hell are we going?” Brad rebutted.
Henry, now back on his horse, rode close. “I know a place.”
Sean looked at the man, then to Shane, who nodded. “He’s okay.”
“All right, then get us to this place of yours,” Sean barked.
Henry looked at the soldiers, then back to the horse. “We got four mounts and ten men.”
“You’re good with numbers,” Sean spat. He pointed at Brad. “Take two of the others and ride ahead; we’ll follow along and make sure we don’t pick up a tail.”
Brad pointed to Cole and Hassan, then nodded before approaching the dead man’s horse. He placed a boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle; Cole climbed up behind him while Hassan rode with Shane. Henry attached a lead rope to Clyde’s horse, then moved them off the road and into the flat terrain. He turned back to Sean. “It’s less than file miles from here, just follow the railroad tracks. There’s a cutoff that leads to a friend’s place; it’s where the grass turns to woods.”
“I got it,” Sean said.
The old man’s horse whinnied as he turned it around. Henry gave the reins a tug and a snap, driving the horse into the packed snow. The ground was frozen, so the horses had good footing moving over the thick grass. Brad rode stiffly with Cole behind him, up and over the railroad bed, then down into a small gulch that couldn’t be seen from the road.
***
The prairie turned to forest. Henry led on and vanished into a sharp turn that soon became a narrow path. Brad followed close behind Clyde’s horse, watching the man occasionally struggle against his bindings. The trail twisted into a ravine then dropped again down a slope. At the bottom, Henry pulled up and dismounted the horse. He stepped just into the trees, then put a hand up. “Something’s wrong,” he said, pulling his rifle from the scabbard.
The other men quickly followed suit, dismounting and moving to Henry’s position before spreading out and taking security. “What is it?” Brad asked.
The old man extended the lever action rifle with one hand, pointing deep into the darkness of the forest. “Out there is Montague’s cabin.”
Brad shook his head. Looking through the woods, he could faintly pick up a clearing filled with yellow grass and snow, beyond it an old slide of mud and sedimentary rocks. He squinted and scanned again, there was no house. “I don’t see it.”
Henry retrieved a pipe from his pocket and began packing it with tobacco. “Yeah, you ain’t supposed to. But what do you see between us and that meadow out yonder? Look at the trees instead of the forest. What does it tell you?”
Brad stepped into the tree line as he’d seen Henry do. This time, instead of looking to the end, he started close and gradually scanned outward. His eyes locked on several blackened stumps and downed trees. Farther out was a thick oak, pock-marked with bullet holes; focusing, he saw several more with the same scars. “They’ve been here. There was a fight,” he said, just to hear his own voice. He looked behind him and caught the recognition of his men.
Henry lit the pipe and walked his horse to a tree before tying it off. “T’was afraid of this. I caught a few of them raiders up at my place awhile back.” He turned and pressed the stock of his rifle into Clyde’s ribs, causing the bound man to grunt. “There isn’t but a handful of folks like me that live in this line on the valley.” He puffed on the pipe then put the tip into the corner of his mouth. “One was old Dan Cloud. Now, I hear Dan is doing just fine on his side of the holler, so that just leaves Montague.”
“And Montague is here?” Brad asked, his eyes still on the meadow.
“I reckon,” Henry said. He met Brad’s eyes, then finally looked down at his boots before speaking again. “Leave your men here with the horses. I’ll walk you and Shane up to check things out.”
“I’d prefer we stick together,” Brad said.
The old man grinned. “I’d prefer you all stay in one piece. Montague has the approach booby-trapped. I can walk you all through, but I don’t trust the horses on the path. And besides, you really want your friends following us into a minefield?”
Brad nodded and pointed back to Cole and Hassan. “You all keep your eyes open.”
“Once we get into Monty’s place and your friends show up, I’ll come back out and take you and the horses around the long way.”
“Is that it?” Brad asked.
“No, that isn’t it—Monty isn’t keen to visitors. And by the looks of the place, he might be itching for a fight, so stay close,” Henry said.
The old man didn’t allow for a response; instead, he moved into the trees and walked directly toward a tall oak. From there, he made a fist and put it to his eyes. Looking through it like a telescope, he seemed to focus on a far-off object. He then extended his arm straight out. “It’s this way,” he said, moving out.
Shane and Brad followed, staying close as they were told. “This Montague—Monty—you say he has mines in here?”
“Yeah, that’s right. He planted them in and around these trees. That’s why you see the stumps; someone triggered them recently.”
“Could it be animals?” Brad asked. “Like a deer.”
Henry paused and pointed to signs of a fight. Bloody drag trails and spent rifle cartridges. Swinging his arm closer to the meadow, there were frozen bodies in twisted poses. Brad gulped and stepped lightly, following the old man down a straight line that led directly through the trees and into the meadow. At the end of the path, Henry walked into the grass and finally sat on a huge stone boulder. He tapped the pipe against the stone, clearing it and placed it back into his pocket.
Brad moved beside the old man and searched the meadow. He grinned when he saw it. At the end of what looked like a flat face of a stone wall was an opening. He pointed. “Monty’s house is in there?” he asked.
Henry nodded but didn’t speak. Shane moved up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Something wrong?”
“Monty wouldn’t let anyone get this close to the place without greeting them with a scatter gun,” he said, getting back to his feet. He checked the action on his rifle then stepped off again, leading the way.
Brad and Shane spaced out, bringing their rifles up and moving tactically behind the sauntering old man. As they moved closer to the rock face, Brad could make out the shapes of a flagstone path and then a driveway. The rock face turned out to be nothing more than an earthen berm, carefully stacked with tall rocks to make it look natural. Beyond it was a large yard with a driveway cutting through it. At the end of the drive was a smaller fence made of dry-stacked fieldstone. There was a steel gate that opened up to a large, red-stained cabin with a two-car attached garage.
Henry paused again near the gate and pointed to snow-covered bodies in the yard. “There was a fight here. I can see that Monty did his share of the killing,” he said. Henry turned around and pointed back to the tall berm. “He had dugouts up there. Places where he’d sit and do some deer and turkey hunting. He’s also got CCTV wires running underground.” He pointed to the cabins roof. “Entirely made up of solar panels. Only one like it out here.”
“Was he alone?” Brad asked.
The old man frowned and nodded. “He done everything right; built a place out here, got his family home when the infections first hit the news. It just wasn’t enough.” Henry sighed and turned away before continuing. “His boys disappeared out on a hunt one morning. We looked far and wide but never found a trace of ‘em. Sickness took his wife last winter. Yeah… just like me, he was alone.”
Henry continued up to the house, stepping over another dead man where the driveway met a second flagstone path. He wended around trees and shrubs to a steel door fastened into the side of the garage. The door was closed and secured, but a long streak of blood was on the surface and knob. Henry put a gloved hand to the door and found it locked. He side-stepped and pulled back a bit of cedar siding, revealing a small, gray box.
He opened it and removed a key. The key fit and the door clunked open.
Moving inside, Brad detected the pungent smell of death in the air. The garage floor was stacked with boxes and split firewood. Only one vehicle—an old C-10 pickup truck—sat inside, the truck bed loaded with canvas sacks. Henry caught Brad looking at the truck. “Monty collected surplus military gear; lots of it before things fell apart.”
Brad nodded his understanding. Henry pointed at the concrete floor. Dark stains led a path to an open door leading into the house. The old man rolled his shoulders and let out a deep knowing sigh. He followed the blood trail through the garage to the door and into the cabin. The door opened into a modern kitchen lit by sky lights. On a granite counter top was a bloody, olive green army jacket and pair scissors. As they stepped closer, Henry stopped and looked down. Brad moved up beside them, and they found Monty.
Sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen sink with his legs straight out in front of him. The old man’s head was slumped down. His left hand tightly gripped a bloodied fighting knife with a curved blade. His right hand clenched against the bloody bandages on his abdomen. His brown T-shirt was torn and cutaway, revealing wounds and gauze stuck to the old man’s chest. Beside him was a Saiga-12 shotgun and a bandoleer of magazines. An open first aid kit was spilled across the kitchen floor. Henry bit at his lower lip; he turned to retrieve the army jacket and draped it over his friend’s head.
“Just like Monty—he wasn’t one to quit. He stopped them from taking his place, but they still kil’t him,” Henry said. He stood back and nodded his head with his eyes closed. “You stopped ‘em, Monty, and I can’t help but think if you hadn’t, these men would have come for me next. Instead of three, I’d have faced ten,” he whispered.
Brad backed away, giving Henry his space. He turned to survey the house. All of the windows were covered with heavy drapes. They’d stepped into the kitchen, which opened into a great room containing a few chairs and a sofa, a number of work benches, and, in the corner, a CB radio. At the back of the room was a staircase. Brad took slow steps toward the radio and, getting closer, he could see a small, flat-panel display. A green light was lit at the corner of the panel; Brad tapped a mouse and the screen flickered to life.
As Henry said earlier, the entire property was covered with cameras. A square in the center of the display was flashing motion. Brad clicked on the box and an image of his men waiting by the horses enlarged to the center of the big screen.
“Monty made his money in private security,” Henry said, startling Brad.
Brad turned, looking at the richly decorated house. “What kind of security?”
The old man smiled and pushed on a panel in the wall, revealing a small key ring. Henry caught the suspicious glance from Brad. “After Monty lost his wife, he showed me where everything was kept and how it all worked. I did the same for him up at my place.” Henry held the key in his hand and led Brad through the house to what looked like the entry to a bedroom.
The key turned easily and the door opened. Inside were shelves of ammunition, food, and camping gear. Brad walked through the room, marveling at the items. “Why did he have all of this?”
Henry laughed. “He claimed most of this stuff was left over from his business days. He did a lot of contracting work outside the country. He helped train and setup security on construction sites overseas.” Henry looked around the room. “He always denied it, but I know he was one of those survivalists; people with money don’t hide on the back side of a mountain.”
Brad pushed aside an ammo can and pulled at a large box before opening it; inside were olive drab uniforms that matched the army jacket found on the kitchen counter. He took one out and held it up. Henry shook his head. “I always asked why he hung onto those. He said that one day people will rebuild and nothing brings folks together like a uniform.” Henry walked out of the room and turned back. He pointed to the security monitor. “Looks like your friends are here. I’ll go fetch them.”
Chapter 20
Crabtree, West Virginia
Free Virginia Territories
Chelsea was from upstate New York and still she had never been on or visited a farm. She’d certainly never been in a barn used as a prison. What she didn’t know about barns, she made up for with her knowledge of mechanics and leadership. Looking at the building’s structure, she was sure she could find a way out of the makeshift jail. But she couldn’t escape alone; she would need the help of the other women. As soon as she’d arrived, she’d begun organizing them into teams to help her. Lookouts, planners, Intel gathers. She was determined that she would escape and bring back help.
Karen and another young woman had been sent for by the guards and allowed to leave the barn to work with the kitchen staff on several occasions. The two women were able to gather needed information. The nurse in the clinic hadn’t lied to Chelsea; the people of Crabtree did see the women as survivors and a commodity to the settlements in the North. The fighting and survival of the fittest nature of the virus left most of the northern cities in a high male to female ratio.
The group of women at Crabtree were destined to be moved north and eventually resettled in Pennsylvania. This was a process that had already taken place several times over the last year. Raiding parties would move south. The raiders would root out hostiles, eradicate the infected, and rescue any survivors. Once a beach head was established in the new territory, a train would roll into a secured fort, delivering more men and resources. Then survivors, as they were called, would be brought onto the train and returned to the North.
Crabtree was situated around a north-south, east-west intersection. From above, the buildings were laid out in the shape of a cross with the barn positioned in the south-west quadrant. Around the buildings, the community was completely encircled in an earthen and log berm. The barn was under constant guard, but only the entrances were watched, and at night, much of the barn was concealed in darkness. The lack of light and the fact that the back of the barn was close to one of the berms gave them an advantage. The women had already begun the task of loosening boards and planks from the back corner so that she could make her escape.
Lying alone in one of the livestock stalls, Chelsea lay awake, looking at the ceiling above her. She could hear the false conversations and laughter near the main door, which was used to cover the sounds of the women working on the planks. In her hand, she held an eight-inch spike—a long, flat-headed nail removed from the barn’s flooring. Most of the women possessed one now, and it would be their only weapon if the captors tried anything against them.
She debated if she was doing the right thing. Maybe it was best if she sent one of the healthier women. There were others that were just as capable of reaching Dan Cloud or the outpost. But she couldn’t face the idea of one of them being in extreme danger, or facing a Primal armed only with floor spikes; she had to go herself. She knew the terrain and could get there quickly. Even with her injuries, she was certain she could find the outpost. But would the guards shoot her? She had to expect to be shot at. She sat up in the cot, feeling the crippling pain in her ribs. She winced and pushed it to the back of her thoughts.
She could tolerate the pain; it was only for a short sprint, Chelsea told herself. She would get through the barn, up and over the wall, and then make a mad dash to the cover of the forest. Once there, she could rest and disappear into the mountain. She would be able to take her time and nurse her injuries.
Chelsea sat up and rubbed the spike in her hand. She put on her boots and layered her clothing. Ella pulled back the curtain and embraced her. “Don’t go, Chelsea,” she whispered. “Shane will come.”
Chelsea swallowed and looked away. She hadn’t told Ella about the battle and how she’d lost track of Shane, and that she didn’t know if he was alive. She took the girl in her arms, holding her until other women entered the stall. Karen stepped ahead. She could see the discomfort in Chelsea’s face. “I can do this,” she said. “I know the mountain as
well as you do, and Cole will be looking out for me. I know he will.”
Chelsea forced a smile and took the woman’s hand. “No, I can’t ask you to do that,” she said.
Before Karen could answer, they heard the sound of a train’s whistle. The ground rumbled and the men outside began to hoot and cheer. “Oh no, we’re too late,” a woman gasped.
There was a rattle of chains at the door and it slid open, letting in a bright light. The compound was alive with trucks starting and men running along the boardwalk with rifles. Bones stepped into the opening with a wide smile. “Well, it’s your lucky day, ladies! Carson has arrived,” he proclaimed. “Now, get your belongings and form a single file line; he’ll be eager to meet ya,” Bones shouted as men rushed into the barn from behind him.
They were quickly bunched together. Men gathering their meager items into bundles of blankets and sheets and shoving them into their arms. Chelsea stumbled forward, keeping Ella tight to her body. She curled her wrist, tucking the spike into the sleeve of her shirt. Men rushed around them, so many that an attack would be certain to fail. The men instilled chaos that was designed to confuse and disorient the prisoners. They were pushed together like cattle, then led out of the barn and onto the boardwalk.
Forced into the cold night air, Chelsea looked up. Through the frozen mist, she could see that the railroad gate was open. A bright light shone though as the train approached, blowing its whistle. The women were guided forward, then pushed ahead and formed into a long line standing shoulder to shoulder. The diesel-electric locomotive moved into view, pulling freight cars. Its breaks squeaked as its engine roared. The train stopped and the gates were closed behind it.
Her legs shook from the cold and she felt the trembling hand of Ella on her hip. More men stepped to the train, cheering as doors opened on the passenger cars; armed men spilling out into the yard, those outside slapping greetings. The celebrations hushed as a large man with a black watch cap and red beard came into view. He walked the boardwalk from a building across the street. He moved to Bones’ side on a flat, plank deck, exchanging words before looking to the women with a broad, toothy smile. Bones pointed to one of the barn guards, who then turned toward the line.