by Wayne Mee
Hence, this little side-trip through the Green Mountains of Vermont.
The fourth member of this merry band was named Cobb. Dressed in a black SWAT team outfit, complete with padded Kevlar vest and laser sighted automatic rifle, Cobb had joined them only the day before. Tall, lean and silent, they had picked him up just outside of Brandon. All Tex could get out of him was that he had been on his way east when his bike blew a gasket.
When they’d first picked him up, Tex had thought Cobb would make a nice addition to the ‘Rangers’. But that soon changed. The sullen bastard rode in the back of the Winnebago with the laser-scoped automatic across his knees. He ate alone and slept outside. Cobb had made it clear to Tex that as soon as he found his own set of wheels, he was history. That suited Tex just fine. He didn’t much like the silent shit anyway. He wouldn’t mind having his rifle though, and secretly planned to off Cobb at the first opportunity. So far, however, Cobb hadn’t given him one. Even now the sneaky bastard was off somewhere.
‘Christ!’, Tex thought to himself. ‘He could be sighting down on us even now!’ Glancing around at the lengthening shadows, Tex knew that either of the two vans would suit Cobb just fine. Hell, even the tow-truck would do! Though far from being a mental giant, Tex was smart enough to know that, things being the way they were, a few more good ol’ boys on his side might come in handy. Lately, Tex had been in a recruiting frame of mind. He now turned again to the three strangers sitting across from him, his cold eyes sizing them up.
The one playing the guitar was just a long haired kid. Probably a fag. Still, Tex considered himself an ‘equal opportunity employer’, and seeing as how he’d known a few fags back in the slammer who were also stone cold killers, he was willing to give the kid a try.
‘Sport’ he wasn’t too sure of. He had nervous eyes that kept glancing at the forest. That alone made Tex believe his story about waiting for others to arrive. Whether it was ‘three big, brave mountain men’ or something a little more feminine, Tex wasn’t so sure. Sport looked a might too wholesome as well, what with the young boy and all. Still, like his Ma used to say when the migrant workers came looking for a good time; ‘All cocks are grey in the dark.’
As for the old man, bringing him along was out of the question. Tex needed men who could carry their own weight, not an old fool who just sat there smiling like an idiot and whittling on a piece of wood.
Tex leaned towards Brad again, his large yellow teeth seemed to dance above the flames. “You sure you aint interested in coming up north? I got it first hand there’s some grade-A pussy-pie waiting on us. Frenchies up Montreal way!”
Brad continued turning the fish in the pan. “Afraid not. We’re heading...south.”
“And what if I say you aint?”, Tex asked, his voice low and dangerous. “What if I say you boys are coming north with me?”
Brad looked back into those cold eyes. “Then someone’s going to die.”
This caught Tex by surprise. Sport had a hell of a lot more sand in him than he had thought! The firelight reflected off Tex’s crooked teeth as he stood up. “Maybe. But it aint going to be me!” As he spoke he drew one of his Colt .45’s. To Brad, the barrel looked like the mouth of a cannon. He thought of reaching for his own gun, but knew he’d be dead before his hand touched the grip.
“Fats! Skull!”, Tex barked. “Take them!”
No sooner were these words out of Tex’s mouth than the front of his head exploded. Blood, brains and shards of bone spattered over Brad. The body stood there for a moment, then sagged and fell across the fire. Fats, his brain slow to take in this sudden change of events, sat blinking as Tex began to smolder. Skull, however, was a lot faster. Leaping to his feet, he began yanking out a .38 he had thrust in his belt. The revolver was halfway out when Bobby brought his guitar around in a vicious arc. The heavy twelve-string shattered, as did the back of Skull’s head. Reflex took over and the .38 went off. The slug buried itself in the layers of flesh encasing Fats’ right thigh. As the pain slowly registered, Fats looked up just as Gus leaped towards him. The old man stepped on Tex’s back, bent and drove the sharpened state he’d been whittling into Fats’ right eye. The body sat quivering like a mountain of Jello, then toppled sideways, the piggish face and the wooden stake caught in the rays of the setting sun. Stepping up, Gus used his heel of his worn workboot to drive the stake home. Fats shuddered twice more, then lay still forever.
In less than a dozen heartbeats three men had died. Brad, his face and chest dripping gore, vomited on the tangled bodies. Looking up, he saw a fourth man silently approaching. Clad all in black, he carried a rifle fitted with a laser scope.
“Hello the camp!”, Josh called, stepping out of the trees. The shadows long now, the sun almost gone. Eddy walked several feet to Josh’s left. He had his pack slung over one shoulder; all the better to cover the stubby Colt Cobra gripped tightly in his right hand.
In the near dark, the light from the fire and the Coleman lamp showed them a grizzly sight. Three bodies lay stretched out just beyond the fire. One of them seemed to be smoldering. Brad, Bobby and Gus stood looking at a man dressed in black. The man had a rifle slung over his back.
Og bounded up to the fire, eager to be reunited with his family. Princess, older and wiser, stayed by Josh.
“Brad?”, Josh called out.
“It’s okay, Josh,” Gus yelled back. “Come on in.”
“Watch the stranger,” Josh whispered to Eddy, then moved forward. His eyes met his cousin’s and held. Brad nodded. Josh turned to the man in black. “Who are you?
“Cobb,” the stranger said, offering his hand. Josh found the grip firm and steady.
“He saved our lives, Mr. Williams,” Bobby put in. “Tex, the leader of these three drew on Brad and looked like he was gunna kill him! Cobb shot Tex first. Head shot from way back there!” Bobby nodded towards the shadowy pines well over fifty yards away, then tuned back and shrugged. “I wacked the kid with my guitar and Gus took out the fat guy.”
Eddy, who’d been checking the bodies, turned to Gus. “Christ, old timer, did you ever!”
They all saw the stake still sticking out of Fat’s right eye. Og was now nosing around the bodies. Josh called him back, then looked over at Cobb.
“You were riding with them?”
“I hitched a ride with them late yesterday.”
“And before that?”
Cobb shrugged. “Just moving around. I had some family up in Burlington, but...” His voice trailed off, his gaze going to something over Josh’s shoulder. Turning, Josh saw Kenneth and Flame moving towards them. Kenneth went to stand beside his father. Flame stopped beside Josh, her green eyes taking in the dark stranger. She looked at the three bodies, then back to Cobb. “And who do we have here?”
Bobby jumped again with all the gory details. Half way through, Trina and Jessie joined them and Bobby gladly started from the beginning. Gus tossed the burnt fish away, pan and all, and began heating several cans of stew. Trina put on water for coffee. While the food was getting ready, the men hauled the bodies into the forest. Cobb helped. Fats took some hauling. When they got back, Flame had poured them all a stiff drink.
“Staying for dinner, stranger?”, Flame purred, handing Cobb a cup of straight vodka. Her green eyes reflected back the fire’s dancing flames.
Cobb turned to Josh. “That depends, miss.”
“On what?”, she asked.
Cobb continued to look at Josh. “On what the boss here says.”
Josh held the man’s steady gaze. “You’re welcome to stay the night. Just don’t wander around in the dark. The dogs get nervous.”
Og chose that moment to lick the man’s hand. Cobb smiled for the first time. “Thanks for the warning.”
Chapter 28: ‘HOME’
Lake Champlain
New York State
August 13
Cobb joined them on the trip back to Mount Hawthorn. There was no formal invitation, no meeting, no vote. Cobb just seemed
to ‘fit in’, much the way a long lost pair of old slippers feel when found.
One reason was that Cobb was so self-sufficient. When the Change came, he’d been working on the Denver SWAT team. Before that he’d been in the Special Forces. Knowledgeable in all forms of survival, he could vanish into the woods and return an hour later with fresh caught trout, partridge or rabbits. He could cook all the food he brought in, understood motors and, something that thrilled the two women to no end, even fixed the shower in Tex’s Winnebago.
Another reason was that he was an expert with weapons --- all kinds of weapons. Handguns, rifles, knives, even a bow. He knew each gun they had and the various loads and types of cartridges they could use. He could field-strip and clean them all in a matter of moments. He was also the best shot among them.
One other quality he had as well. He was a good listener. Each of the various members found themselves sharing with him their deepest fears. Through it all he would nod and listen quietly, ending with a reassuring word or two that seemed to make their fears vanish in the air.
By the time they reached New York State, Cobb was an accepted member of the Family.
They crossed the Chimney Point Bridge just before noon on the thirteenth of August. An hour later they drove through Crown Point, then on another two miles to the little town of Mount Hawthorn. Passing the sign they’d painted on the food store, they pulled into Doc Gruber’s a little before two.
The place was empty.
“Where can they be?”, Jessie asked, his voice high with worry.
Josh scratched his freshly grown beard. “Doc mentioned they might move up to Willard Spinner’s farm. Let’s try there.”
Ten minutes later they pulled into Willard’s long drive. Green stocks of corn waved in the afternoon breeze. Cows grazed in the field and four horses trotted around inside a newly constructed corral. Willard’s old pick-up was parked outside the rambling farmhouse, but no-one seemed home.
“The Shire?”, Jessie asked.
His father nodded and climbed back inside the Westfalia. The other three trucks followed Josh up into the park.
Mount Hawthorn’s Wildlife Park was a sprawling mixture of rolling forest and lakes, crisscrossed with streams and a small river. Back in the sixties, the State of New York had bought it from the Catholic Church. There still was a monastery on the north side, and the good Brothers, (now long gone), had been heavily into farming and orchards. The land between two of the three large lakes was owned by rich families. Old money. The Shire, Josh called it. He thought that Tolkien would have agreed. Stone fences lined the road. A rushing stream, complete with waterfall and mill, joined two of the four lakes. The mill, still functioning, hearkened back to the Colonial Days. A century earlier the Brothers had ground their wheat there. Now it was a working curiosity for hikers and cross-country skiers.
The rest of the park was virtually virgin forest, a rugged offshoot of the majestic Adirondacks. Rabbits, raccoons, muskrat, and deer made their homes there. Countless birds as well. In the fall the lakes were black with Canadian Geese stopping over for a little R & R on their way south. Josh had loved it from the first time he had seen it. To Jessie, it was his own personal playground while growing up.
Driving up the Park Road, they came to the gate house. Built of stone with a steeply pitched roof, fireplace and dormer windows, the little cottage looked like something out of ‘Snow White & the Seven Dwarves’. Jessie had simply dubbed it Merlin’s House, after the famed wizard of old.
Three strangers were stringing wire from the fence to the wrought-iron gate when they arrived. Everyone reached for their weapons. As usual, Cobb was the fastest. He was out the side door of Josh’s van before it had stopped.
“Hold it right there!”, he barked, a Glock automatic having materialized in his hand. Both men froze. The young woman with them did not. She continued to reach for the rifle leaning against the stone wall. As her fingers touched the stock, a 9mm slug slammed into the wood, spinning the weapon away. The woman pulled her hand back with a shriek.
“I warned you.” Cobb’s voice had a slightly mocking tone to it.
The other two gathered around her. Josh looked the three up and down.
“What are you doing here?”
The grey haired man jerked a thumb back at the gate. “Stringing up an alarm to the Big House. Who wants to know?”
“My name is Williams.”
All three strangers gasped. The woman spoke first.
“Are you Josh Williams? The one Doc goes on about?”
Josh frowned. “You know Doc?”
“’Know’ him?”, the graying, potbellied man said. “Hell, we live with him!
The other man, somewhere in his thirties, sandy-haired and dressed only in shorts, stepped forward and offered his hand. Cobb’s gun followed him, but Josh waved him off.
“I’m Tom Leeson. This is Fred Perkins and the young lady is Betty Sinclair. We all live with Doc and the others up at the Big House.”
“How many others?”, Josh asked.
“Near a dozen,” Tom smiled. “Then there’s Willard and Sadat. They stay at Willard’s farm.”
Eddy grinned. “Doc’s been a busy bee since we’ve been away.”
The woman stepped forward, “Doc’s told us all about you. You really been all the way to New Hampshire?” Short and feisty, Betty Sinclair’s tone was still hostile.
“All the way to the Main coast, little lady,” Gus put in. “Picking up strays as they go.”
Betty eyed Cobb. “Some of them seem a bit too ready to bite.”
Cobb bowed theatrically. When he straightened up, his hands were empty.
After the noisy reunion and the feast that followed, Doc Gruber led Josh out to the flagstone patio overlooking the lake. The night was clear and bright, and while the moon had yet to rise, the sky was studded with stars. A loon called from far out over the still waters.
“Good to have you back, Josh. Glad you found your family too. Have much trouble?”
Josh lit his pipe as the old man drew on a cigar. “Enough. Things have gotten pretty bad out there.”
Doc nodded, his knowing eyes speaking volumes.
Both men smoked in silence for some time, then Doc spoke. “You heard about our trouble with that bunch that came up to the house?”
“Tom and that tall fella told me.”
“Jim Shell,” Doc said. “Jim and Marcy joined us soon after you left.”
Josh nodded.
“What about the Willard and Sadat’s run-in with the boat?”
Josh frowned. “I heard that one several times already. Sounds like they were damned lucky! Why? You think the boat will be back?”
Doc attempted to blow a smoke-ring. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if not them, then others like them.” The old man flicked ash from his cigar.
“That the reason for the alarm system at the gate?”
Doc nodded, then suddenly leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Maybe it’s just an old man’s fancies running away with him, but I got a bad feeling crawling up my spine. At first I thought that we’d all be able to start afresh. Build something better than before. Learn from the past. But now...”
Josh sighed. “There are good people out there, Doc. You’ve heard about them at dinner. There’s bound to be plenty more.”
“And there’s bound to be a hell of a lot worse too!” Doc’s voice had lost its accustomed softness.
From inside the sounds of laughter could be heard. Bobby was working his way through a John Denver tune and several voices were letting a ‘country road take them home’.
Josh and Doc sat in silence, each one lost in his own dark thoughts. From far off in the darkness came again the plaintive cry of a loon. Suddenly it became the loneliest sound either man had ever heard.
Chapter 29: ‘ONCE MORE UNTO THE BREACH’
The Adirondacks
New York State
Mid August
Things at the Big House were running smoothly. S
everal more people had turned up and Doc had set them up in one of the other large houses located around the central lake. Teams were bringing up cases of canned goods and other food from Hawthorn and Crown Point. Willard had a crew harvesting the wheat he’d planted. After that they intended to move on to the corn. The Shire’s park land made excellent grazing for the cows and sheep Willard and the little Turk, Sadat, had rounded up. One of the newcomers, Giuseppe Coleroni, was a butcher from upstate. Bobby and Cobb were busy hooking up heavy-duty gasoline generators to large freezers for the freshly killed meat Giuseppe was more than willing to produce. Another newcomer, Gustoph Muller, had worked as a child in his grandfather’s grist-mill. The gruff German was pleased to revive his ancient trade. Soon Willard had a ready market for his wheat and corn. The barns were being repaired, cleaned and stocked. Another team was busy cutting firewood for the winter.
After a month on the road, Josh soon found all the hustle and bustle a little confining and when Flame asked him about the High Peaks Region, he had offered to take her on a guided tour. Flame, still burning with a newly awakened desire to tread the high country, had eagerly taken him up on his invitation.
When Eddy heard of the intended expedition, he had shyly asked if Josh minded if he and Trina could tag along. The two of them had been spending quite a bit of time together, and the whole Family now considered them a ‘couple’.
When informed about the trip, Jessie had mysteriously decided to stay behind. Doc took Josh aside and hinted that the reason might be Mai-Ling, Mrs. Wong’s mute granddaughter. Surprised and feeling suddenly old, Josh had frowned, then reluctantly agreed to leave the boy behind. After all, he reasoned, the boy was nearly seventeen. Hormones would win out, regardless of what over-protective fathers thought about it. Brad was busy organizing the daily operations of the Big House and Bobby had suddenly become fascinated with seventeen year old Gloria Ambrose. Since neither Jessie nor his father was going, Kenneth stayed behind as well.