by Lopez, Rob
Sally looked at Dee, reading the body language of utter exclusion. “I’ll plead the fifth on that one,” she said.
“People change,” asserted April adamantly.
“Sure, but not always for the better,” said Lauren. “Meanwhile, the rest of us carry on busting our asses. And for how long?”
“I don’t know,” said April, rubbing her belly. “I just like to think we can be there for each other when we’re not feeling so strong.”
8
They left the South Mountains area next morning, turning around at every obstacle and re-routing until they reached the outskirts of Morganton. There they found overturned cars blocking the road, with Leave or die and Looters will be shot spray-painted on them, though there wasn’t a soul to be seen who might enforce such warnings. Turning onto I-40, they headed west, the horizon craggy with hills and distant mountains. Outside Marion, they spied armed men keeping watch over the interstate from a bridge, and the convoy mounted the steep embankment in a grinding detour that had them bumping over scrubby fields until they were far enough past to venture onto the freeway again.
Old Fort was the first town they found that didn’t have a barricade. Looking down from the interstate, the main street appeared deserted. Descending the ramp, the convoy crawled cautiously past wooden houses, bare concrete lots and old diners, all smashed and looted repeatedly. The streets were arrow-straight, and the mountains loomed behind the little town, the slopes covered in brown winter-bracken and stark, leafless trees. In half a mile they reached a railroad crossing and the end of town, marked with a monument that resembled a giant spear head, an old caboose by the small station building and tangled weeds smothering the lumber piles at the side of the tracks. Beyond the crossing lay a T-intersection. To the right the road passed through town toward Marion. To the left it began its winding journey into the mountains. Scott rolled the Humvee to a halt and Rick got out.
Unlike Gastonia, Old Fort felt truly empty. Rick couldn’t see any movement at all. There wasn’t even a dog. It was like a ghost town of the old west, with trash instead of sagebrush.
“Doesn’t look like the place is worth a shit,” observed Scott.
“First place we’ve seen that doesn’t hate our guts,” said Rick.
“That ain’t saying much.”
“Right now, that says a lot.”
“It doesn’t say enough.”
A sign by the monument indicated this had once been a frontier outpost held against the Cherokee, and it certainly looked like it was perched on the edge of wilderness. The place reeked of obsolescence, the faded signs painted on the sides of buildings pointing to businesses long gone. The station had been converted to a museum. The store fronts at this end of town were solid-brick Victorian, and looked sturdy enough, but they stared down main street at the raised interstate that was too close for comfort. Bullet holes in most of the buildings told their own tale of why the town had been abandoned. Whatever its name, there was no fort here now. Rick had to admit Scott was right. The town was an obvious target and difficult to defend without more people.
Difficult didn’t mean impossible, however, and Rick felt the place had potential. At least it was empty.
A creek ran through the town, with another small museum close by, and Rick moved the vehicles there in the shadow of the main street bridge, out of sight of the interstate.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said. “Get the fishing net out. Let’s see if we can get some fish from the creek.”
“I think we should go deeper into the mountains,” said Scott. “We’re still too exposed here.”
Rick climbed the slope to the bridge, looking around. There were two small wooded hills at the edge of town, one to the east and the other to the west. Both overlooked the interstate. The eastern hill was steep and had a rusting water tower at the top. The other looked flatter, with a glimpse of buildings through the trees.
“We’ll check the place out first. Once we’ve done that, we can use it as a base to explore the mountains. I don’t want to take a convoy up there without knowing what we might come up against.”
Scott shook his head. “There’s got to be a reason this place is empty.”
“People died out.”
“Or they were driven out. I don’t see a lot of bodies.”
Rick glanced up at the mountain behind the town. Movement caught his eye. Through his binoculars he spied a single figure coming down through the trees.
“Heads up,” he said. “We’ve got company.”
“See? Didn’t take long, did it?”
By the time the figure came into town, Rick had everyone hidden and ready. The figure, however, seemed to know they were there, and he walked openly down main street, waving his arms. He had wild hair and a beard, and his clothes were worn and filthy. Rick wondered if he was the town lunatic who’d somehow got left behind. He also wondered if he was just a distraction for others who might be sneaking around from another direction.
“Hey,” called the man. “Over here.”
Rick moved into view, holding the man in his sights. “Stop right there,” he ordered.
The man stopped, an insane grin on his face. “It’s good to see you,” he called.
“Keep your arms out.”
“I ain’t going to hurt you.”
“Keep your arms clear, then.”
Scott moved out behind the man and frisked him.
“Got nothing on me neither,” said the man, bemused. He glanced at Scott’s combat gear. “Nice rig.”
Finding no hidden weapons, Scott pushed him forward.
“What are you doing here?” asked Rick.
“I live here. I’m a Cherokee of the Bear clan, and these mountains are my home.”
Rick studied him. He looked about as Cherokee as Scott did.
The man caught the skeptical look. “One-eighth Cherokee on my mother’s side. You won’t be able to pronounce my clan name, but everyone calls me Doug because I like to dig for old artifacts to put in our museum. Dug. Get it?”
“Not really. You alone?”
“Hell, no. A bunch of us live up on the mountain. Bad elements come into town, so we keep ourselves out of sight. No point looking for trouble, right?”
“How do you know we’re not trouble?”
“Because you have children. I’ve been watching you from the mountain. You don’t look like the sick fiends we’ve had to deal with.”
“Told you this place was too exposed,” said Scott.
“Oh, for sure,” agreed Doug. “You don’t want to stay down here too long, in case you attract the wrong kind of people. Come on up the mountain. I’ll introduce you to some better folks.”
“Why would you want to do that?” asked Rick. “Everyone else has been turning us away.”
“We’re hospitable. This is Old Fort. As we like to say, once you arrive, you’ll never want to leave.”
“Give it a week,” said Scott.
*
Rick was in two minds about accepting Doug’s invitation. The old guy seemed friendly enough, and genuinely happy to see them, but with the way things were, it struck Rick as odd. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t want to take his whole group up the mountain in case it was a trap, but he didn’t feel easy about leaving them either. If Doug’s invitation was a ruse, there might be others waiting nearby to take advantage of Rick’s absence.
In the end he settled for housing the group in a secure building and leaving Lauren in charge. He’d been tempted to leave Scott behind and take Packy instead to see if he could make good on his fatuous claim to be able to sell anything to anyone, but he trusted Scott’s tactical judgment more, and if things got sticky up the mountain, he might need him. So he left Packy behind to bolster the defense.
Doug led Rick and Scott up the mountain, chatting amiably. Rick largely ignored him, scoping the mountain for signs of danger. Even at the lower elevations, it was colder than down in the town, and after about an hour they rea
ched a collection of rough shacks built among the trees. A fire burned in a pit and four men, each looking as ragged and dirty as Doug, sat around it, warming their hands. Two skinned squirrels hung from a tree branch, and there was a large pile of firewood, but there were few other signs of occupation, and the shacks were all empty. There were no women and children, and while none of the men were armed, it didn’t look right to Rick. He gave Scott a silent nod to stand guard at the edge of the settlement.
“Where’s everybody else?” Rick asked Doug.
Doug sat on a log by the fire, tired from the climb. “Oh, they’re about somewhere,” he said, waving carelessly. “Gathering and stuff.”
Rick scanned the empty slopes. Visibility was good, and it would have been hard for anyone to approach the settlement unseen. Nevertheless, he kept his hand on his rifle and the safety off. He glanced at the men around the fire, and they glanced warily back.
“Many of you here?” said Rick to Doug, who seemed quite relaxed.
“No,” said Doug. “It’s been tough. A lot of people in the town got sick and died even before the winter. We had some kind of epidemic and there was nothing we could do for them once the drugs ran out. Doc Johnson and his nursing staff went down pretty early. We were burying people everyday. The snow came and things got real hard. It was a bad winter. Refugees came in off the interstate and pretty much ate everything they could find before moving on to Asheville. I don’t imagine many of them made it, but there wasn’t much else we could do for them. The worse thing was the scavenger gangs, though. They came in and robbed a lot of people, and we lost a few who tried to fight back. A big group of them camped up at Round Knob and claimed hunting rights over the surrounding mountains. Said they’d kill any trespassers. They even claimed the coal train that’s stranded on the line just outside of town. Shot our police chief in a battle over at Mill Creek for it. We lost a lot of people in that fight. After that, the gang came and took every running vehicle we still had, and those of us that survived abandoned the town and came up onto the mountain. That gang still gives us trouble. They control this area now. We tried to get help from the town of Black Mountain to the west, or Marion in the east, but they said they had their own problems. They wouldn’t take us in, either, so we’re stuck here in the middle, with no way of defending ourselves. But now you’re here, all tooled up and ready to rock. If you could stick around, maybe the gang will leave us alone. We’ll offer you whatever you want.”
Rick didn’t see that they had anything to offer. “We didn’t come to fight someone else’s battle,” he said. “We’re not for hire.”
“But we’re hiring. You’re military, right? That gang might not mess with you the same they did us.”
“We’re not all fighters. We’ve got children and a woman who’s pregnant. We’re looking for some place that’s safe for them.”
“But that’s the thing,” said Doug. “There is no safe place. Where can you go? Marion won’t take you, and they won’t let you into Black Mountain. There’s militias everywhere, and if you go into the mountains, you’ll just meet that gang anyway. Or some other. The coves are full of them. All we ask is that you stay. Maybe we can start our own militia,” added Doug brightly.
“Why haven’t you?”
Doug turned to one of the guys by the fire. The guy held his hand up – there was a finger missing.
“They disarmed us,” said the guy bitterly. “They took my trigger finger for not surrendering my weapon to them. At least they let me live. Others who tried to fight, or who didn’t give them what they wanted, were shot dead where they stood. Or worse.”
“They’ve been getting more savage,” said Doug. “Dragged poor old McClinsky behind one of their trucks after he bad-mouthed one of them.”
“How big is this gang?” asked Rick.
“Don’t rightly know. They tend to come in groups of eight, but it’s not always the same faces. I’ve heard estimates of everything from fifteen to fifty. But they’re cowards. They chose us because we’re easy targets. Now, with a fella like yourself, they might not be so confident. We can go back into the town and fortify it like the folks at Marion did.”
“Where does the gang live?”
“Round Knob. It’s kind of a holiday retreat in the mountains with a big lodge on a hill. You should see it. It’s like a castle.”
“If you’re hiring,” called out Scott from his position, “what are you offering?”
Doug looked to the others to see if he had their unanimous agreement to state their terms. It didn’t appear that he had, but he continued anyway.
“It might look like we ain’t got much,” he told Rick, “but we keep it that way so we don’t attract more attention. But we got resources we might be willing to share. We can make it worth your while.”
“I don’t work that way,” said Rick. “We’re not mercenaries.”
“But …”
“Forget it. We’ll stay the night in the town, then decide what we’ll do. I have to think of what’s best for my family and the people in my group.”
“If you know what’s good for you,” said the man with the missing finger, “you’ll turn right on around and go back the way you came. There ain’t nothing in these mountains but misery.”
*
Walking back to the town, Rick turned to Scott. “What were you trying to pull back there?”
Scott shrugged. “I just wanted to see what they’d got. Packy’s right. People have got more than they’re willing to admit. There’s no way they survived through the winter in those shacks without something that could keep them alive.”
“Maybe, but I liked it better when you played bad cop. I don’t want to give these people ideas, and tactically, they’re not in a good situation. I’ve got my doubts about joining them.”
“What do you make of their talk of the raiders?”
“If half of what Doug said is true, the raiders are more capable than he gives them credit for. It sounds like they picked a better strategic location than here, and they secured their resources and eliminated any threats. They won’t take kindly to us pitching up on their doorstep, and I didn’t come this far just to hide in some crappy shack in the woods.”
“Got any ideas for where we go next?”
“Not yet.”
*
On the small west hill that overlooked the town, they found two mobile homes hidden behind trees and accessed by a steep winding road. The homes had no running water and no old stove, but they were better than pitching the tents. They set up two camouflaged OPs to watch the roads below, dug a fire pit and latrine holes, and sent out one heavily armed scavenging party led by Scott. Rick stayed in camp, giving himself time to think and staring at the map.
He didn’t like any of his choices. Feeling hemmed in, he went through the options, discounting each one in turn until he was back to where he started. He had no illusions about how difficult it would be to head deeper into the mountains. The best retreats were likely already taken, and the higher altitude micro-climate up there made long-term survival difficult. They also ran the risk of being easily ambushed on the narrow roads.
Scott’s group returned empty-handed, and as the sun went down, Rick patrolled the perimeter, still thinking. In the distance he caught the sound of a vehicle, its engine laboring as it negotiated some steep track. In the clear air of dusk, the sound carried easily, even though it was probably miles away.
It seemed folly to try and stay hidden when it was obvious the land around them wasn’t as empty as it looked.
9
Connors’ convoy crawled its way across western North Carolina. At Gastonia he deployed flank guards and made it through with few problems, shooting three looters and dismantling a roadblock to get the vehicles through. From there, it was a slow and depressing march along Highway 74, with the biggest issue being the old vehicles that kept breaking down. Two jalopies were abandoned at the roadside, and the remaining vehicles were burdened further. A few shots wer
e directed at them from towns and heavily wooded areas that they passed, but Connors had plenty of firepower at his disposal, and the snipers they located were either suppressed or put to flight. The convoy continued on its laborious way until it reached the town of Fairview.
Connors saw the roadblock in the distance at the top of a rise, spanning all four lanes of the highway, and halted the convoy. Through his binoculars, he counted four or five figures manning the obstacle. Dead traffic lights hung on a slack cable over the roadblock, and signs from the nearby gas station had been taken to serve as facings for the barricade, enhancing its visibility.
“They really don’t want anyone coming through their town,” mused Connors, lowering the binoculars. He turned in his saddle, eyeing some abandoned houses at the top of an embankment by the highway. “Get a sniper up there,” he ordered to his men, “and set the mortar up.”
“Should we get everyone out of the vehicles?” asked a soldier.
“No, this shouldn’t take long. Just wait for my signal.”
Clicking his tongue, he ordered his horse on, its worn shoes clomping on the pavement. Upright in his saddle, he rode slowly until he was halted by a shout from the roadblock.
“That’s as far as you come,” called a guard with a rifle.
Connors shouted back: “My name is Major Connors, U.S. Army special command. I am escorting the state government to Asheville, and you are obstructing a state highway. You are ordered to dismantle your roadblock and let us through.”
“I don’t care who you say you are,” replied the guard. “That ain’t no army convoy, and this road’s closed. Find another.”
“Sir, I’m giving you an order. Remove the obstruction and let us through.”
“We don’t take refugees. You gotta find someplace else.”
Connors turned his horse around and rode slowly back until he was about halfway between the roadblock and the convoy. Then he raised his hand.
Back by the tractor, a round was dropped down the mortar tube and launched with a hollow thump. Perfectly ranged, the mortar bomb whistled over Connors’ head and impacted a few yards in front of the roadblock. The explosion sent a shockwave that swung the traffic lights, and the guards ducked as grit and chunks of concrete pattered down around them.