Frontier Justice - 01

by Arthur Bradley

  Mason grinned. “Indeed, I have.”

  Ava gave him a playful wink, and then turned to Betty.

  “I’ll come with you and help. I know you’re busy.”

  As they left to get the food, Mason saw Father Paul enjoying his dinner at one of the tables.

  “Father,” he said, taking a seat across from him.

  “Marshal Raines, do you see the miracle that Betty has pulled off? She’s a saint, I tell you.”

  “It is quite something.”

  “How did it go with Rommel?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Father Paul finished mopping up his last bit of stew with a hunk of bread and stuffed it in his mouth.

  “Umm, good,” he said. “I hope you’re having some.”

  “Ava’s getting it.” At the thought of some warm food, he felt his stomach start to growl.

  “You and the doctor? You’re a couple now?”

  Mason thought about it for a moment.

  “Yes, I suppose we are.”

  “She’s quite lovely. She must see something special in you.”

  “My good fortune,” Mason said, thinking about the past few hours he had spent with her.

  “Perhaps finding love is a reward for your good deeds.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet, Father.”

  “Look around, my son. This is as much your doing as anyone’s. Before you arrived, the town was struggling, not only to stay alive but to find any sort of hope or faith. Now we have food, water, and maybe even safety before too long.”

  Mason surveyed the room. Nearly every person was smiling and talking, enjoying not only the food but also the company of their neighbors.

  “This is Betty’s doing. I only helped to get things moving.”

  “You were the catalyst. Without the spark, there is no fire.”

  Before Mason could say another word, Ava approached, carrying two bowls of stew with large slices of bread poking out the top. She set a bowl in front of Mason and sat down beside him.

  “Good evening, Father,” she beamed.

  “Ava, you look absolutely radiant.”

  “Thank you, I feel … radiant.” She laughed and leaned lightly against Mason. “Who would have thought it possible, given the circumstances.”

  “We’ve all been given a second chance to see the world anew,” said Father Paul. “Let’s hope that we can remember the lesson even after the suffering has passed.”

  The three of them engaged in a long conversation about everything and nothing. It was the first time in weeks that anyone had been able to relax long enough to let the unimportant matter. When it became clear that others were waiting for seats, they stood and made their way out of the cafeteria. Before Mason left, he retrieved a second bowl of stew and carried it outside.

  “You really were hungry,” Ava teased, knowing full well that the food was not for him.

  He whistled, and Bowie came lumbering up the hill, his thick fur waving along his back like the spikes of the mythical Chupacabra. Mason put the bowl down on the ground, and Bowie didn’t wait for an invitation to start devouring Betty’s homemade stew.

  By the time Mason and Ava arrived at the hospital, it was nearly nine in the evening. She explained that, when the virus hit, most of the hospital’s patients had died, and those that didn’t were evacuated to less crowded surroundings. Since then, the hospital had become a volunteer-run urgent care center, similar to those set up in foreign countries by visiting doctors. Doctors and nurses now came and went as their time and needs allowed. After their day out, Ava planned to work until early the next morning. She promised to see him again the following day, after she’d had a chance to rest.

  Once he was sure that Ava was safe, Mason cruised around Boone in his truck for a couple of hours. He told himself that he needed to patrol the streets, but the truth was he also wanted to clear his head. There was no denying that his day with Ava had been wonderful. Their lovemaking was exciting and intimate, and she was as emotionally interested in him as he was in her.

  The difficulty came from the suddenness of it all. Plans that had once been clear were now like ink on a wet page. When things were eventually tied up in Boone, his intention had been to seek out the Marshal Service and offer his hand in establishing order. He also needed to find out what had happened to his mother and father. Each of these would require his leaving Boone, and he wasn’t sure how well Ava would take the news. She was clearly vulnerable and afraid, and he didn’t want to leave her feeling betrayed.

  By the end of his patrol, Mason had resigned himself to stop over-thinking the situation and simply let things evolve at their own natural pace. When the time was right, he would pursue his duties, as he knew he must. Until then, he would enjoy the time he had been given with Ava. In the end, she would either understand or she wouldn’t, and they would part with kisses or with tears.

  With a newfound clarity, Mason decided to call it a night. He turned up King Street and headed for his makeshift quarters at the Church of the Fallen Saints.

  CHAPTER

  20

  The night was turning cold, and Mason buried himself under four blankets that were as ancient as the nuns who had slept beneath them. He was just dozing off when Bowie let out a loud bark as the dormitory door burst open. Mason shot upright, reaching for the Supergrade lying on the table beside his bed. Bowie snarled viciously as he scrambled to his feet, his claws scratching against the wooden floor.

  Father Paul stumbled into the room, carrying a candle in one hand and a radio in the other.

  “They’re coming!” he said, unable to quite catch his breath.

  Detecting the familiar scent of the priest, Bowie softened his warning but remained standing between Father Paul and Mason.

  “Who’s coming?”

  “The convicts. All of them. They’re coming here! Now!”

  Mason got to his feet and quickly dressed. While he was pulling on his boots, he asked, “Who called it in?”

  “Chief Blue.” Father Paul shoved the radio toward him. “He saw them mobilizing. They’re getting ready to stage an attack. Here at the church!”

  “How soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mason clicked the talk button on the radio.

  “Chief, what’s going on there?”

  After a moment, a hushed voice said, “Marshal, thank God I reached you. Rommel and his men are pulling out of the Walmart parking lot. I count eleven fully-loaded vehicles coming your way.”

  “How soon?” Mason asked, picking up his assault rifle and checking the chamber.

  “The dark will slow them down, but they’ll be to you in half an hour.”

  “Did you call the other deputies?”

  “Yes. We’re all coming to you, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it in time.”

  “Don’t try. Work your way in behind them, but maintain radio contact. You’re our eyes on this.”

  “Roger.”

  Mason pressed the talk button again.

  “Vince, Don, Coon, are you out there?”

  Within seconds, Vince replied, “I’m out in front of the church. Ask the good Father to let me in.”

  Mason gestured to Father Paul, who immediately spun around and headed toward the front door.

  The radio sounded again. The reception was poor and Don’s voice broke up several times.

  “I’m about ten minutes—stopping at—station—ammo.”

  “Got it,” said Mason. “Get everything you can carry, including a few spare rifles.”

  “Roger—will get—see you—few.”

  Mason waited to see if Coon would sign in. He didn’t. Coon’s house was out to the east, and he was most likely still out of range.

  “Chief Blue, if you can reach Coon, get me an ETA.”

  “Let me try.”

  After about a minute, Chief Blue came back on.

  “Coon’s ten minutes behind me. He’s not going to make it in time to get inside either.�
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  Mason needed every gun he could get. He thought for a moment.

  “Tell Coon to find a spot near the church with a decent vantage point. He’s going to be our sniper.” “Will do.”

  Mason looked over at Bowie. The dog knew something was coming. It held its head high, watching his every move.

  “You’re in this too, boy. Your job is to make it unpleasant for anyone trying to breach the windows or doors. Can you do that for me?”

  Bowie’s eyes narrowed and he gave a short bark.

  Vince, Mason, and Father Paul huddled inside the front door of the church. Mason tapped his rifle against the heavy door.

  “This door is bulletproof against anything smaller than a rocket-propelled grenade. If we can brace it, they won’t get through without a battering ram.” He looked around the church. “Vince, give me a hand sliding a pew over here.” Together, they pushed one of the long heavy benches against the door. “Now, let’s stack another one on top to brace it.”

  Father Paul joined in, and the three of them lifted the heavy oak pew in place.

  “That should hold.” Mason turned his attention to the rest of the church. Most of the windows had already been broken out and boarded up, but three along the front of the church remained intact.

  “Those windows will be the first things to go when gunfire starts. We need to take them out to give us a clear line of sight.”

  “You mean destroy them?” Father Paul asked, not hiding his disappointment.

  “I’m afraid so. We’ll leave that to you, Father. Do it as gently as you want, but we need to see what’s coming.”

  Father Paul made the sign of the cross, kissing the tips of his fingers as he finished.

  “The Lord surely understands our plight and the steps we must take. They are but glass, after all.”

  “What other ways can they get in?”

  “Just the service entrance in the back. It’s not particularly well fortified. There are upper story windows, too, but I would think they’d be difficult to access. And, of course, there’s the bell tower in the steeple, but, again, impossible to get up there without ladders.”

  “So, we need to cover three windows and a back door,” Mason said, thinking out loud. “Unfortunately, we only have three shooters. That leaves us one shy.” He looked at Father Paul. “Ever fire a gun, Father?”

  When Father Paul didn’t answer, Vince added, “An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, right, Father?”

  Father Paul shook his head.

  “Christ reminded us to abandon that way of thinking and to love and forgive our enemies. I’m sorry, my friends, but I cannot take another man’s life.”

  “Even at the expense of your own?”

  “Yes, even at the expense of my own life. I’m sorry.”

  Mason saw no need to waste time trying to convince him to change his mind. A man’s convictions were usually only strengthened in times of crisis.

  “Better that we know that now,” he said. “Can you at least help keep our weapons loaded?”

  “That I can do.”

  There came a heavy knock at the door. Before they could even ask, Don’s voice sounded from outside.

  “It’s me. I need a hand with the ammo.”

  Together, they transferred the extra weapons and ammunition in through the windows. Don quickly followed. All told, he had brought three assault rifles, a dozen thirty-round magazines, and several thousand rounds of ammunition. It was enough to stay engaged in a prolonged firefight if they kept the weapons loaded and were careful with their shots. In addition, he had brought a shotgun and fifty double-aught shells. The shotgun would be particularly useful if things got up close and personal.

  “Okay,” Mason said, looking to the group, “let’s load every available magazine and set up firing points at each window.” He gestured to the base of the three windows. “We also need to block off the back door as best we can. The pews are too big to fit down the hall, so we’ll have to use bookcases, chairs—anything else that might keep that door from opening. We’ll put the shotgun at the end of the hallway, ready to point and shoot that direction should it come to that.”

  Vince immediately starting loading bullets into the magazines as Don worked with Mason to move an assortment of furniture in front of the back door. Meanwhile, Father Paul knocked out the remaining windows with a framing hammer, offering up a prayer for forgiveness with nearly every stroke.

  After fifteen minutes, they were as prepared as the situation would allow. Fire points had been set up at each window, with spare magazines and weapons at the ready. The back door was barricaded with several hundred pounds of furniture, but no one was ready to say it would hold.

  Rather than expend their energy performing meaningless tasks, each lawman sat quietly beneath his window, back to the wall and rifle in hand. Mason sat under the one closest to the front door, anticipating that much of the action would take place there. Bowie lay down beside him, resting his head on Mason’s lap. The room was quiet, save for the static of the radio and the dog’s heavy breathing.

  Mason watched a long string of lights approaching from the east.

  “They’re coming,” he said.

  His radio sounded. “Marshal, are you there?”

  “We see them, Chief. How far behind are you?”

  “I got out in front of them. I’m across the street from the church on the second floor of the ski shop. I can make a run for the door if you want.”

  “Don’t bother. We’ve barricaded it. Just stay where you are. We’ll need eyes on what’s going on out there. Where’s Coon?”

  “I’m down about two blocks, Marshal. Just climbing into the trunk of an abandoned car. I’ve got the lid wedged open just a hair, so I figure I’ll take my shots from here.”

  “Good. But keep in mind that the flash of your hunting rifle is going to give you away pretty quick. Once they know you’re close, they’ll come for you.”

  “They’ll find I’m as slippery as a cat burglar covered in mayonnaise. If they do finally corner me, I’ll give a good account, I promise you that.”

  Mason smiled. His worries about Coon’s commitment were proving to be misplaced.

  “Just keep your head down.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that.”

  The lead vehicle in a long procession pulled past the church and rolled to a stop. Another car pulled up next to it, and two others directly behind them. The remaining vehicles stopped halfway down the block and barricaded the street. Dozens of armed men climbed from the cars and trucks like the ragtag army of a Colombian drug cartel. They carried an assortment of weapons, ranging from snub-nose revolvers to double-barrel shotguns.

  Slim’s bright orange hunting vest made it easy for Mason to pick him out in the crowd gathering out in front of the church. Rommel was standing directly beside him. The two of them began shouting orders for the men to take up various positions. Several men ducked around the side of the building, searching for a way into the church.

  “I’d like to have a word with you, Marshal,” shouted Rommel.

  Mason peeked through one of the broken window panes.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Yesterday, you came to us with a demand. Today, I’m here to make one of my own.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m appointing myself mayor of this crappy town, and, as such, I’m giving you one chance to surrender to my lawful authority.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I will have no choice but to punish you and all those inside.”

  Mason looked around the room and found only determined men willing to fight.

  “Well?” Rommel asked in an impatient tone.

  Mason popped up and shot him in the chest.

  For a moment, nothing happened. It was as if time was a vinyl record stuck spinning on the same track. Slim and the other men stood mesmerized, looking at Rommel on the ground, then back at the church, utter bewilderment in their eyes.
Then the world broke loose.

  Men ducked for cover. A few fired wild, uncontrolled shots at the church. Slim and two others grabbed their leader’s twitching body and dragged him behind the closest vehicle. Mason was disappointed to see Rommel stagger to his feet as they helped him to safety. The only possible explanation was that he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

  That’s when the heavy firing started. For about twenty seconds, hundreds of rounds of every caliber pounded the walls and door of the old church. Dozens of bullets passed through the open windows, tearing up the dais and crucifix. But the solid stone walls held, and not a single round came close to anyone inside the room. To keep Bowie from getting hit by a stray bullet, Mason had to hold him down. Bowie struggled to get to his feet, but, when he saw that it was of no use, surrendered and settled to the ground.

  When silence finally came again, Mason keyed the radio.

  “Chief, tell me when they begin to move on us.”

  “Will do. You guys okay in there?”

  “We’re fine. Coon, you ready?”

  “Yes, sir. Just waiting for go time.”

  “They’re charging the door!” yelled Chief Blue.

  Mason made a quick motion with his hand, and all three shooters rose to their windows and began firing. The sound of the gunfire in the church was absolutely deafening as Mason, Vince, and Don laid down a heavy barrage. Coon also started firing, taking his time in order to get meaningful hits. The volley of bullets left six convicts bleeding in the street and two others crawling back behind cover, screaming in pain as they went. As magazines were emptied, each man dropped back down and quickly reloaded. Father Paul shuffled across the room in a low squat, gathering up the empty magazines and taking them to his impromptu reloading area.

  Mason looked over at Vince and Don.

  “Good shooting. Remember, take what you can get. We don’t have to kill them, just put them on the ground. Legs, shoulders, and gut shots will do just fine. There are no medics here.”

  A loud explosion sounded from the back of the church. Before Mason could stop him, Bowie bolted that direction, barking wildly. Mason motioned for the others to stay put as he charged after the dog. Turning the corner from the hallway, he saw that a three-foot-wide hole had been blown in the bottom of the back door. A man was crawling through on all fours, sliding a shotgun ahead of him like it was a sack of gold he had pilfered from a tomb.