“Mr. Steele, what did I tell you about having parties without me?”
Steele’s eyes glanced her way. “Never to do it.”
The other volunteers followed them. Bald Larry and curly-headed Rick had AR-15s. Long-haired Tom, whose hair hung past his fur-collared blue denim jacket, held a Heckler and Koch SP5K, the civilian version of the MP5 except it was shorter, lighter, and semi-automatic, meaning it only could shoot one round every time the trigger was pulled.
Reinforcements. Steele gave her a smirk.
“Clever boy.” She drew herself up near him, her Sable Point volunteers clustering around them.
“We were discussing how we’re going to cross that bridge.”
Macleod’s black goatee shook a bit with his head. “And payment.”
“And payment,” Steele repeated. He let his eyes narrow a fraction at the man.
“But that’s settled,” Thunder added. “It’s already been agreed upon.”
“We can wait a little longer before we make any hasty decisions,” Frank added with a glare at Macleod.
Macleod pointed at Steele. “Payment, Steele. Remember, I won’t wait forever.” He waved his followers away and they left. “Come on.”
Tess put a playful shoulder into Steele. “You guys playing nice?”
Steele raised his eyebrows. “Macleod has an itchy finger for payment.”
“He won’t move on you while I’m here,” Thunder barked in an attempt to whisper.
Frank watched the retreating bikers over his shoulder. “I never liked the Wolf Riders much.” He turned to Steele. “But let’s not forget what we’re doing here and that’s finding a way over that bridge.”
Tess unslung a backpack from her shoulder, digging around inside. “Thought this might help,” she grunted. She pulled out a black portable CB radio, setting it alongside the pack. “Don’t ask what I had to do to get all these batteries.”
Steele smiled. “Lips are sealed.”
“I told you I was your girl,” she said with a smile. She pressed on the power button and twisted a volume knob. Static flared up. The channel knob clicked as she twisted it left and right. “Hello?” she said with every click. “Hello, anybody there?” She was met with static again and again. She glanced up at him, her dark eyes worried.
“Keep trying.”
“Come on you rednecks, pick up,” Tess said. She rotated the knob in a circle. “Hello?” Click. “Hello?”
“Yellow,” barked through the speaker.
Tess’s lips curved as she spoke. “Hi there, sugar. This is Tess of the Sable Point volunteers. We’re over on the other side of the river.”
The man’s voice was wholesome and rich. “Not sugar, darling. Sheriff Donnellson here. We seen ya. We knew you’s was coming.”
Tess and Steele exchanged a glance.
“They knew,” Tess said excitedly.
Steele couldn’t help but grin. “Gwen.”
Tess gave a sly smirk, looking down at the microphone. “Did anyone ever tell you you sound like a young Marlon Brando?” Her voice oozed into the microphone with enough sultry tones to make a man blush.
A deep laugh vibrated through the speaker. “You sure know how to make an old feller smile.”
“So can we talk about moving those tractors? I’d like to see if you’re handsome like Brando too.” Tess gave Steele a big grin and he returned it. Ever the flirt, Tess had a way with men that Steele could never explain. He flexed his damaged hand. It was nice to be on the receiving end of some good news. It seemed that everything of late was only bad. He stole a look behind him at his drawn-out haphazard convoy. We may squeak by yet.
“Well, darling, there’s two things. One, been a married man for almost forty years, so all’s you can do is look. Two, those be combines not tractors and they ain’t movin’.”
Tess’s smile turned upside down and she wiped a hand over her short, slicked back hair. “Sheriff Brando, what do you mean? You said you knew we were coming.”
“Yes, I did. A big part of why we closed down that bridge. We don’t want anything to do with the likes of you people. Don’t take it personally. You seem nice enough but we took drastic measures to ensure outsiders can’t access our town, and we aren’t about to open it up because some girl on a radio asks us all pretty like.”
Thunder let out a whistle.
“Damn!” Steele mouthed to Tess. He shook his head and motioned for the radio. She handed it over to him.
“My turn.”
“Be my guest. Old fart doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Steele gave her a sympathetic grin. “No, he doesn’t.” He brought the microphone to his lips. “Sheriff, this is Counterterrorism Division Agent Steele.”
The radio went silent for a few seconds. “Agent Steele. Hmm. Never heard of no Division. Probably some sort of government pork spending, no doubt.”
“I assure you we’re real, Sheriff. I got the badge and scars to prove it.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had to deal with your agency before. Had some ATF agents through here about eighteen years ago. Buncha tenderfoots.” The microphone clicked off.
Steele snorted a laugh. “None too friendly toward my buddies.”
Thunder’s face was unchanged. “I don’t like ’em much either.”
Steele offered him the microphone. “Do you want to talk to him?”
Thunder grunted. “No.”
Steele clicked the side of his microphone. “The Division mostly works overseas.” He held the microphone near his hip while he waited for a response.
“I wouldn’t know much about that, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you are a fellow man of the law.”
Steele nodded to his fellow companions. He built a fragile rapport with the man on the brotherhood of law enforcement. “Yes, sir.” He paused. “Some of my people should already be there.”
The sheriff’s voice sounded unbelieving that this outsider could know somebody in his small town. “And who might that be, Agent Steele?”
“Over a week ago, I sent almost a hundred people with my girlfriend, Gwen Reynolds. Are they there?”
He was met with radio silence. Steele waited a moment and then rushed. “Sheriff, how copy?”
The sheriff’s voice was dour. “I’m here, son.”
Steele’s brow narrowed.
“They came through.”
Steele exhaled and Tess smiled. Thunder grinned too beneath his beard. He clapped Steele’s back with a slap.
“We’re with them. How about you let us across too?”
He was met with more silence as if the man was thinking on the other end.
“I’m sorry, son. We can’t take ya.”
Steele’s mouth tightened. “Sheriff, you took my people. Why not the rest of us?”
The radio crackled. “You understand that I have a responsibility to the great people of Hacklebarney. They elected me to serve and protect them. Now, I’ve done a pretty good job so far. We’ve only lost a few folks to the sickness. But to let in your band of vagabonds, gangs, and other unsavory types would just not be in our best interest.”
Steele pounded the microphone off the front of his forehead. This hometown hero. His heart raced. I’m definitely going to have a heart attack by the time I’m thirty-five.
Steele composed himself, seething on the inside, and spoke into the mic. “Why did you take our other people in then?”
The sheriff sounded offended on the other side of the line. “For God’s sake, man, they were women and children. Why would you ever send them so lightly guarded baffles me and makes me question how much you actually care for your people.”
“We have more women and children over here,” Steele growled.
The sheriff’s voice grew stern. “Now, this is no reason to get angry. The decision has already been made. Your group cannot come across and that’s final.” His voice softened. “You’ll have to find somewhere else to go, but I assure you Miss Gwen is s
afe and sound where she belongs and everyone is accounted for.”
Steele twisted his head to the side, swallowing his anger. “Sheriff, you are going to have to let us across.”
“By God I do. We will defend this town to the last man. And don’t think for a second we won’t.”
Steele met Tess’s eyes and he barked. “The nerve of these people. They’re as stubborn as mules.”
“And to think I called him Brando.” Tess shook her head in disappointment.
Steele brought the microphone up to his lips and muttered, “I have no doubt you would, but we’re coming across.”
“Son, I wish I could help you. I really do. But it’s just not gonna happen. My advice is that you roll on back down the road and take refuge somewhere else. Sooner or later, the government is going to take care of this. We just have to wait for those Washington bureaucrats to get their act together.”
“There is no government,” Steele said louder into the microphone.
“Now son, don’t you get frisky with me. I’ll thump ya real good. There sure as hell is a government and it’s American. I won’t entertain any other such bull hockey. I bid you a good day.”
Steele ground his teeth. “And I bid you good day, sir.”
TESS
Steele’s Camp, IL
Tess walked along a country dirt road. Recent tire tracks from the convoy had churned up the loose dirt leaving clumps of earth in its place. The sky hovered close to the ground above her, a gray and white lining of her earthly ceiling.
Steele’s convoy had set up camp in a unplowed field along the river only a few hundred yards from the entrance ramp to the bridge that led across to Hacklebarney.
Tents of every color speckled the field like it was hosting a weekend music festival. Trucks and motorcycles were parked haphazardly. Bonfires roared in the biker camps, and smaller fires were interspersed in the other camps. The group was split by their respective factions, avoiding the chance of intermingling with one another. Mistrust of the others had created divisions in the entire group’s cohesion. She guessed that was a product of fighting one another in their recent history. The widest divide was between the Chosen and everyone else.
On the other side of the dirt road sat spaced out pickups. People stood sentry in truck beds against the living and dead alike.
The wind picked up and a chill swirled around her. She hugged her drab green coat tightly and she wished she was near one of the fires. She shoved her hands in her pockets and kept onward.
A group of bikers with Wolf Rider patches on their vests stood around a ten-foot-wide campfire. They took swigs off a brown bottle and laughed uproariously at one of their number dancing. Heavy metal played through a rigged up speaker. The biker bobbed his head back and forth every now and again throwing a fist in the air. Clowns.
Their unwanted stares zeroed in on her as she grew near as if they could smell a woman by herself. A Wolf Rider with a black beard and a bandana around his head nudged a short, fat, and apparently chinless man with his elbow.
She pulled her coat tighter around her. Her M1911 hung heavy in its holster right beneath her armpit. The weight was distributed over her shoulders by her leather harness. In the very beginning, she had lifted it off a thick-mustached detective near Grand Rapids.
The black-bearded Wolf Rider took a step closer to the road and cupped his mouth.
“Hey. Where you headed, sweet stuff?” His voice had an unpleasant rasp to it like he belonged on a street corner selling drugs. “Will you look at that, Pork. I’d split that in two.” He grinned and several of his teeth were missing.
“Bet you that’s real nice,” Pork added. He huffed as he laughed.
She didn’t even contemplate not responding to the vulgar bikers. She turned around as she continued to walk backward and gave them a broad view of her middle finger.
“Well, fuck you too, bitch,” he hollered at her, grabbing his riding leather-covered crotch.
“Keep searching, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll find something down there.” She spun around, continuing to walk away.
The biker spit in her direction. Pork raised the spot where his chin should be, more like a layer of fat. They started following her down the road at a jog.
Tess stopped, hearing them coming. Her hand leapt inside her coat. She felt the heat from inside her armpit as her fingers wrapped around the warm grip of her M1911, a nice .45 caliber handgun that packed a punch. She drew the weapon and turned around, keeping it held behind her back. Ass clowns.
The black-bearded man got close enough. His name patch read Roody on his black vest. He gave her the creepiest of smiles. “We only want to talk for a minute, for a second. Why are you out by yourself?”
This dimwit thinks I’m only a girl.
He reached for her and she dodged him, throwing her shoulder back.
Her cheeks rose as she spoke with a mischievous smile. “I’m not the kind of girl you’re looking for.”
Pork licked his lips. The tiny ears on his round face, his beady eyes, and a pushed-up nose made him resemble even more of a pig close-up. He breathed heavy, and Tess wasn’t sure if it was the jogging or the prospect of being close to a woman. “We like all sorts of girls,” he breathed out.
Roody glanced back over his shoulder at the fire. “Yeah, why don’t you come back to our fire?” He gestured with his hand back at the fire. “We can talk for a bit. We got some weed and pills maybe even some X. We got something that will help you loosen up, babe.”
She took a step back and rolled her eyes at them. “You two little peckers can run along.” She shooed them with a flick of her wrist. Her other hand still tucked behind her. “If you want it so bad, how about you play with each other? The fat one’s got some cushion.”
Roody’s mouth snarled. “Now, you listen to me.” He pointed at her from above. “I was being nice before, but if you want to play rough, then rough is what you’ll get.” One of his heavy paws swooped down, trying to grab her. She dodged, backtracking, and whipped her handgun out from behind her back. She took a step closer to him.
Roody’s eyes went wide.
She cocked the hammer of the gun for emphasis. “I told you. I’m not the girl you’re looking for.” She used the gun to gesture at Pork. She spoke slow and condescending to ensure they understood. “Now, you and Mr. Piggy can leave. You feel me?”
Roody took a step back and Pork looked like he was trying not to shit himself. The smell coming from his area made Tess wonder if he had already released his bowels.
“Don’t be hasty. We meant no harm,” Roody spit out.
She rolled her eyes again. “Right. Get out of here.” The men turned their backs and retreated to their campfire with frequent turnarounds to make sure they weren’t going to take a shot in the back.
“And tell Porky Pie to check his pants.” She shook her head in disgust and holstered her M1911. She snapped the button on the leather retention strap, securing her firearm in the harness.
“Fucking juvenile delinquents,” she said to herself. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and continued along her own way. She passed more biker gangs and a few Sable Pointers, but she wasn’t interested in them.
Her little stroll was to check up on an old friend. About four hundred yards from the Sable Point volunteers’ camp began the Chosen camp. Steele had purposely stuck the Sable Pointers between the bikers and the Chosen. It was risky for many reasons. First, the two factions had recently been at war. Second, if any of the gangs decided they wanted revenge on the Chosen or vice versa, Sable Point volunteers were stuck in the middle of hostile groups.
There was a stark difference among those in the Chosen camp. Their campsites were spaced closer together and the people seemed, oddly enough, happy as if they enjoyed one another’s company.
Children ran about the camps playing their hearts out. Men and women stood guard over the others in pairs. A man shook another man’s hand and gave him a plastic bag of canned food. Everything w
as just swell and dandy in the pastor’s camp. It made her mood sour like milk left curdling in the sun for two weeks.
She followed the road, strolling, trying to appear nonchalant as she searched. Stepping into a ditch and then into the fallow field, she nodded to a man and woman. The man held a machete and the woman a shotgun.
“Peace be on you, Brother and Sister.” I know it’s some bullshit like that.
The man scrutinized her for a moment. “Don’t I know you?”
Her eyes kicked upward. “Can’t say we’ve met. I’m looking for somebody to pray with. Thought I’d see if your people could help.”
The man nodded enthusiastically. “You are most welcome, Sister?”
“Sister Theresa.” Ah, Jesus. May as well have called myself Mother Theresa.
The woman piped up. “Brother Peter is leading a group in prayer over there.” She pointed behind her into the thick of their camp.
“Better head on over. Don’t want to miss it,” Tess said. She lightened her eyes and gave her best heartwarming “I just baked you these cookies” smile. Definitely not going to see that drone, Peter.
“Peace be unto you,” the man said.
The woman smiled and Tess smiled back, trying to seem happy and content like one of their own brainwashed people.
“Peace be onto the highest.” She clamped her mouth shut. Too much? I never fucking know with these people and their secret passwords.
Both sentries nodded and she walked past them. She spit on the ground to get the kiss-ass taste from her mouth. “Who are you?” She chided herself quietly.
She cut through a weed-ridden trail that had been beaten down with hundreds of feet. People at the campsites smiled at her. Others sat around fires and shared all manners of food and drink.
She peered from face to face, seeking the tall man among the throngs of people. Most of their faces were unknown to her. Every now and again she would see a familiar face but not the one she searched for.
She stopped and stood on her tiptoes, trying to find a better view from around the camp. An older woman stirred a black kettle over a fire with a long wooden spoon. The aroma wafted into the air, tickling her stomach with hunger pains. Beef stew? She contemplated joining up just for a piping hot bowl of the stuff. How do they have so much food?
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 21