They followed the sidewalk as it curved to the right, leading into a street named Walker Avenue. It was there they found two vehicles sitting at a three-way stop. The one in front was a blue 2015 Dodge Challenger. Surprisingly, as nice as it was, the car had remained untouched. Behind the Dodge was a ragged four-door '92 Jeep Cherokee. Its gray paint had chipped, revealing several rust spots.
Terrance went to the Dodge and looked inside through the driver's side window. He tried to open both doors, but they were locked. The fuel lid was locked shut, too. He knelt down at the rear of the car, next to the fuel lid, and pulled out his multi-tool.
“I want you boys to be on the lookout.”
Richie stood at one end of the car as Tobias stood at the other. They peered down the dark street on both sides, looking for any suspicious movement. Terrance exposed the flathead screwdriver bit of the multi-tool and pried the fuel lid open. He unscrewed the fuel cap and let it dangle to the side. He hoped for a full tank, but such luck seemed unlikely.
“All right, hand me the hose,” Terrance said to Tobias. Tobias handed him the six-foot-long black hose. Terrance guided the hose into the tank until it stopped. He held the other end of the hose to his mouth and took a deep breath.
“Here we go,” he said. He sucked on the hose and felt the pressure building, followed by a rush of fuel into his mouth. He immediately removed the hose and shoved it into the fuel can at his knees. He spit the gasoline out onto the street, gagging. Richie and Tobias couldn't help but chuckle a little.
“Very funny,” Terrance said. “Keep it up, and you'll be doing the next one.”
The Dodge had enough fuel to fill the entire five-gallon fuel can and half of the next one. They were making progress.
“Next vehicle, let's move,” Terrance said. Richie grabbed two cans while Tobias grabbed the other. Terrance pulled the hose from the tank and moved quickly to the Jeep. The doors were locked, but the fuel lid opened easily. They ran through the motions, managing to completely fill up the second can.
“We got ten gallons so far. Let’s try for the full twenty,” Terrance said, pulling the hose from the Jeep.
They followed him down another street where more vehicles waited, parked along both the sides of the road.
Tobias looked ahead and saw candlelight flickering inside the windows of nearby houses. “There’s people on this street,” he said.
Terrance dropped to his knees and opened the fuel lid of an old Ford Taurus. “Just keep a lookout. We'll make this quick.”
A shiver ran down Tobias’s neck. He was certain they were being watched. Terrance sucked on the hose as the gasoline rushed up through the hose. He pulled the hose from his mouth and stuck it into the first fuel can just in time.
Suddenly a shot rang out from one of the homes next to them, shattering the taillight of the Taurus. Another shot followed that hit the pavement right next to Terrance's hand. It took them a moment to register anything; then something clicked. Terrance shouted at his boys to run. Another shot rang out, narrowly missing Richie.
“Move out!” Terrance said, jumping to the other side of the Taurus, using its front bumper for concealment.
The shots were coming from a few houses up the street. Richie and Tobias ran off in opposite directions in a panic, leaving the fuel cans behind.
“Find some cover!” Terrance yelled. Another gunshot rang out, shattering the driver's side mirror into pieces. It seemed as if they were aiming at Terrance. He lay flat on his stomach and looked under the car to see the silhouettes of several armed men running toward them.
“You walked into the wrong neighborhood,” one of them shouted.
“Now we caught ya' red-handed,” his counterpart added.
Sweat poured down Terrance's forehead. He looked around and saw Richie kneeling behind a truck on the other side of the road. Tobias was hunkered down behind a cement mailbox a few houses away.
As their pursuers closed in, Terrance knew his time was running out but took comfort in the fact that the men seemed to be poor shots. “Richie! Tobias!” he called out in a forceful whisper. “When I say go, you start moving. Run as fast as you can!”
They nodded from their hiding spots. Terrance looked over to the four fuel cans sitting out in the road. He was taking a risk, but the moment had come.
“Go!” he shouted. Richie and Tobias leapt up and ran down the street in the opposite direction of the approaching men. Gunfire immediately rang out, taking out windshields and mailboxes in the process. Terrance seized the moment, leapt to his feet, and jumped out into the street. He was exposed and open, but his adrenaline pushed him to grab two cans before running to safety. His heart skipped a beat with every shot that whizzed by. He took a quick turn back to the way they had come and ran, carefully staying in the shadows the entire time.
The men got as far as the Ford Taurus when they stopped and examined the two abandoned fuel cans at their feet.
“Dumbass left his shit here,” the heavyset man said.
“Next time I say someone is out there, y'all better listen to me,” his short male friend replied.
As he sprinted home, Terrance struggled to control his heart’s rapid beating. He stumbled into a nearby yard, dropped the fuel cans, and nearly fell to the ground.
“Dad!” Richie said, running to him, catching him in the nick of time.
Terrance looked up, startled. “Richie, thank God. Where's Tobias?”
“He's here somewhere,” Richie said, looking around.
“Right here,” Tobias said, calling out from some nearby bushes in the yard next door.
Terrance was relieved beyond belief. He never wanted to put them in that kind of danger again. His breathing slowed and he eventually found his footing as Richie released him.
“Sorry we left the fuel cans,” Richie said.
“Yeah, sorry,” Tobias added.
Terrance waved them off. “Nonsense. It ain't worth getting shot over. I took a big risk, but that's on me. You boys did fine.”
Richie put his arm around Terrance and examined him with concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Terrance answered. “Let's take the fuel we have and hit the road. Your mom's waiting for us.
The Killing
Camp Liberty: Saturday, October 3, 2020
The scavenger group had arrived back at Camp Liberty well into the night, when almost everyone was asleep. Russell, as always, was up and at his desk drawing battle plans for a well-coordinated assault on Capitol Hill. The moment, he felt, was opportune, since Washington currently had its hands full with the aftermath of the nationwide EMP strike. But he also realized the need for restraint and patience. They couldn't orchestrate a coup on sheer will alone. Numbers meant everything. In order for real revolution to materialize, he would need hundreds more. Their current numbers were woefully short.
He heard the engine of the cargo truck from outside the camp and thought it strange that they had returned so early. It either meant that things had gone better than expected or worse. He took a sip of brandy and rose from his desk, ready to greet them.
As soon as Russell grabbed his army-green jacket, a knock came from his door.
“Who is it?” he asked, throwing the jacket on.
“You up?” Kyle asked.
“Yeah, hold on,” Russell said. Always protective of his plans, he went to his desk and closed every notebook lying there. “Come in.”
Kyle entered the cabin with Eli close behind. They both look exhausted. Russell leaned over toward a nearby nightstand and turned up the flame in his lantern. Kyle cleared his throat as Eli stared at the ground. Their night mission into town to steal supplies had ended badly.
“So how'd it go?” Russell asked, studying his lamp. It looked like the kerosene was running a tad low.
“It could have gone better,” Kyle said.
Russell eyed him cautiously. “Is that so?”
“Don't get me wrong, things went better than last time. It's just..
.”
“Blood was spilled,” Eli said.
Russell pulled a wooden chair closer to where Kyle and Eli remained awkwardly standing near the door. He sat down and placed his face in his hands. After a lengthy sigh of frustration, Russell brushed his hair back and then looked up, awaiting answers. “How many?”
“We lost one,” Kyle said. “Frank. We were attacked while sweeping a house for supplies.”
“By who?” Russell asked.
“Some maniac with a pistol. He ran into the room, bullets blazing. We had to take him out, but not before he took out Frank.”
“Anyone else?” Russell asked.
“No. No one else.”
Eli cut in. “Frank knew the risks as we all did. Nobody wanted it to happen.”
Suddenly, Russell lunged at Eli, pushing him against the wall. He then pulled a gleaming Ka-Bar knife from his side and held it at Eli’s throat. Stunned, Kyle stood motionless. Eli held his hands up in surrender as Russell clutched his neck with one hand and pointed the knife with the other.
Russell squeezed Eli’s windpipe and spoke calmly. “So what you’re telling me is that shit happens? You know, like how failing to secure a room properly resulted in the death of one of our men. Now, what if I just happened to push this blade into your throat? Would you choke to death on your own blood? Would your windpipe clog up like a faulty drain?”
Panicked, Kyle tried to mediate. “Easy, Russ. Don’t do anything rash.”
Russell seemed undeterred. “Examples must be made. I can't have the men questioning my leadership any more than the newcomers.”
Eli's face turned red as his hands gripped Russell's arms in a last ditch effort to defend himself. The sharp end of the blade hovered within a hair of his Adam's apple. Russell stared at Eli with an unrecognizable look of fury.
“We got three others!” Kyle shouted.
“What?” Russell asked, turning his head.
“Three recruits.”
Russell lowered his knife and slowly released his grip. Eli stumbled away and hunched over, gasping for air.
“Well, why didn't you say so?” Russell asked. He placed the knife in a leather holster on his belt and suddenly looked pleased.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kyle asked.
Eli rose while catching his breath. Color came back to his face, though his eyes still watered. “You crazy son of a bitch,” he said to Russell. “What was that stunt all about?”
“How many? Who are they?” Russell asked, disregarding him.
“Three of them, all brothers. Said they’re from the Wilson family,” Kyle answered.
“Where are you keeping them?”
“They're being held in Cabin C.”
Russell pushed past Kyle and Eli and went right for the front door. Opening it, he turned around to address them. “Show me.” The three men left the cabin as the lone lantern's diminishing flame cast shadows onto the wall.
James's startling early morning intrusion baffled everyone within earshot. Christina, in the next bunk over, awoke to find James standing over Mark, shaking him as the college students slept soundly in their bunks at the other end.
“What?” Mark asked, annoyed.
When he finally came to, he sat up and became immediately aware of his surroundings and the seriousness of James's tone. He nudged Janice awake as well. She resisted at first, then jolted awake. Christina, generally a light sleeper, rose from her bed, tugged at her plaid pajamas, and walked over to the next bunk to join them.
“What's going on?” she asked. The pale, stricken look on James's face was unsettling. He smelled of gunpowder and had blood all over his jacket. “Are you OK?”
“Listen to me carefully, and don’t panic,” James said.
Mark, Janice, and Christina listened as Paula slept soundly on the bed above Christina's. James kept his voice low to avoid waking the college students.
“This place. It's no good. We have to leave.”
“Why? What happened?” Mark said, cutting in.
“Whatever we decide, we must be careful. We can’t trust anyone. Our supply run was anything but a random search for supplies. They invaded homes, terrorized families, and even killed a man.”
“Does Russell know anything about this?” Mark asked.
“From what I hear, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this kind of thing,” James said.
“So what do we do now?” Janice asked.
James walked closer and spoke quietly. “I've been giving this a lot of thought. We need to get out of here, there's no question about that. However, we have to be smart about it.”
“The longer we stay here, the worse things are going to get,” Janice said, looking over to Christina. “Wouldn't you agree?”
Christina, overwhelmed, stared back blankly. Leaving abruptly would screw up her rendezvous plans with Terrance. “I don't know. How much real danger are we in by staying here?”
“I'd say it wasn’t our scene the minute they started taking prisoners,” Mark added.
“I agree,” Janice said. “What if others come looking for them? What if they send the police?”
James continued. “The town looked lawless, which means that we’re on our own. There’s also another group who apparently have a beef with this place.”
“So we camp in the woods, pitch a tent. Hell, I don't know,” Mark said.
“I can’t leave until Terrance and my boys show up,” Christina said. “And that's final.”
James cut in. “Everyone just calm down. This isn't an easy decision, I know. I brought everyone here, and I'm going to get us out. But I think the far more sensible thing is to wait until morning.”
“Morning?” Mark said, objecting.
“We leave first thing in the morning, simple as that. I talk to Russell, man to man, and tell him what we're going to do. We're moving on, that's all. That's what I tell him.”
“You really think that will work?” Janice added.
“You guys are going to have to trust me.”
The group thought to themselves, and after a few moments of silence, they looked to James and nodded.
“OK,” Mark said. “We leave in the morning.”
Russell walked toward Cabin C as Kyle and Eli followed, crunching dead leaves with their every step. The camp was quiet and Russell was eager to meet their captives, anxious to convince them that they were in no real harm. Taking prisoners was a tricky business, and he knew the situation had to be approached delicately. Before they entered the cabin, Russell stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to address Kyle.
“None of you hurt them, did you?”
Kyle was flustered and taken by surprise. “No, of course not. We cuffed 'em and brought 'em here. They’re a little shaken up, yeah, but they weren't physically harmed.”
“Who's guarding them?”
“Billy and Quinn,” Kyle answered.
Russell scratched his scraggly chin in thought. He coughed and then patted Kyle on the shoulder. “I apologize for my outburst earlier.”
“Don't apologize to me,” Kyle said, “apologize to Eli. He's the one you put a knife to.”
Russell looked to Eli, somewhat ashamed. “I'm sorry, Eli. Sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me, but that's no excuse. A good leader is not prone to outbursts.”
“I get it,” Eli said. “No hard feelings.”
Russell seemed satisfied, turned back toward the cabin, and immediately walked in. The musty, darkened room was nearly empty aside from a few chairs and boxes. Quinn and Billy stood over the seated Wilson boys like armed prison guards. A kerosene lantern rested on the ground next to them. Their chairs were lined in a row with their hands bound behind their backs.
“Greetings,” Russell said as he entered.
Quinn and Billy looked over to Russell nervously. Kyle and Eli entered the room behind him; their mere presence struck fear in the eyes of their captives. Eli closed the cabin door as Russell moved swiftly to examine t
he boys.
“Why are they still tied up?” he asked.
Billy stammered with a non-answer as Russell looked on impatiently.
“Cut them loose already. What the hell is wrong with you?” Russell said, implicating all of his men.
Quinn walked behind the boys and cut the flex cuffs loose, causing each boy to wince. They slowly moved their arms from behind and rubbed their sore wrists.
Russell looked at them sympathetically. “My sincerest apologies; this whole thing has been one big unfortunate misunderstanding.”
Billy and Quinn looked at Russell with confused expressions.
“What are your names?” Russell continued.
The tan, lanky boys were identical triplets, virtually indistinguishable, with only varying haircuts to tell them apart. The long-haired boy at the end spoke first. “I'm Dustin.”
The boy sitting next to him, with a trim bowl-cut, spoke next. “Daren.”
His brother at the end raised his head up. He had a surfer cut; head shaved on one side, with thick black hair hanging over his face on the other. “Dillon.”
Russell clasped his hands together. “You’re who they’re calling the Wilson boys?”
“Yes,” Dustin replied with a solemn tone. “We’re brothers.”
“Splendid,” Russell said. “My name is Russell, and welcome to Camp Liberty.”
“Why are we here?” Dustin asked. “What do you want from us?”
Billy cut in. “They been asking that for the past ten minutes. Like a couple of broken records.”
“Take a walk, Billy,” Russell said.
“What?” Billy asked, surprised.
“A walk...take it.”
Billy looked around. Russell wasn't joking. Billy sighed in frustration and stumbled out of the room like a kicked puppy.
Russell turned back to their captives with a look of empathy on his face. “You boys were part of a botched rescue attempt. It's ridiculous, really. My friends here, they went a little overboard, but we want to fix this.”
“Just let us go, please,” Dustin pleaded.
“We won't tell anyone anything. Promise,” Daren added.
End Days Super Boxset Page 203