Avalon: The Retreat (3 page)

The caches were insurance for all of them, and they made certain each of them had the opportunity to be well armed with supplies that would prolong and ensure their safety, regardless of what the current situation dictated. Part of that safety was to not draw attention to themselves as they made their way out of the city. Resources would be sought after quickly and the leaner they appeared while around decaying civilization, the better.

The initial concealment of the caches had been carefully and painstakingly planned. In order to reduce the chance of someone discovering them, they had buried the tubes vertically with a set of post-hole diggers. The tops of the tubes were placed about two to three feet beneath the surface and then covered with another foot of dirt from there to the surface. They had scattered rusty nails, bottle caps, and other junk metal over a wider area in the unlikely event that someone with a metal detector stumbled across it.

The trick had been to place the caches in locations that were remote enough to evade the normal traffic pattern, but easy enough to remember. They didn’t bury them in dry creek beds because those might not always be dry, and they chose areas quite a distance from roads to avoid construction or expansion. It was more difficult to find and use lasting landmarks for triangulation than they initially thought it would be.

They ended up using large boulders that weren’t likely to be moved and a few old stumps from the early days of old growth logging. Those had been there for over a century and would likely be there for another one to come. As a backup, they marked geodesic Forest Service maps, but even those markers placed the caches 100 feet due west of their actual locations in the unlikely event the maps fell in the wrong hands. The misleading information would keep those who were aware of the decoy secret a safe distance from unfriendlies who might come searching.

They pulled out various straps with magazine pouches sewed onto them. A few practical tools were in there, as well, to include an ax, a hatchet, a South American homemade Bolo, a folding saw, several machetes, some fishing odds and ends, a large camouflage net, and a few rolled up nylon bags to carry it all. The last items they dug up were two three-gallon gasoline cans that were only a month old, having been changed out during their most recent refreshing of supplies. They included a piece of chamois to strain the gas through in case water had intruded into them through condensation.

They reburied the empty PVC pipes quickly, not being quite as meticulous as before, but instead covering up the area with tree limbs and debris from the surrounding area. They were now equipped with rifles and had only 150 miles left to travel. Most importantly, Mike’s group had grown from one to four. They left a predetermined signal the others would recognize if they showed after this group was gone. It essentially meant “do not dig… all was uncovered and removed.”

They waited an extra hour and, when no one else came along, they left for the next cache and rendezvous spot that lay another seventy-five miles ahead. With only a couple of hours of daylight left, they had to move quickly to avoid getting get caught out after dark.

The trip moved along without complication. The group passed several burning houses as they traveled, but soon their small band had to deviate a little. Up ahead, they would need to enter and travel the state highway for a short distance. It was the best and fastest route, but it was dangerous and would leave them completely exposed. It was for that reason they tried to limit these trips to the shortest durations possible and only when absolutely necessary.

Just ahead on this road was a railroad trestle that passed over a large river, which they needed to cross to get away from the road. They would cross the river there first because it skirted the highway for another several miles. After crossing on the trestle, they would be able to move back down off the beaten path. Mike scanned the surrounding area to ensure there was no ambush, and the small group moved as quickly as possible to the other side.

Not long after they crossed, they came to a car with the doors wide open and stopped for a moment to investigate. They saw a man and woman slumped in the front seat, obviously looters. The car was jammed full of multiple personal and household items and the backseat and trunk were packed full, as well, with silverware, canned food, and various other goods. Someone had turned their pockets inside out… probably their killer.

Nobody spoke, but they were all thinking the same thing. Someone had caught up to them and ended their looting binge. Caroline checked their pulses and knew from their fairly cool body temperatures that they were dead. Rigor mortis had not set in yet, which meant they had not been dead for more than a few hours. The bad guys had been at it in short order, especially since it had not been that long since the sirens had begun to blare.

Someone had delivered them to Heaven or Hell with a single shot to the head and one to the chest. Double tapping was the sign of someone who knew what they were doing. Mike knew about that; he was an ex-Navy SEAL and that was one of several ways it was done. Professionals always made certain their enemies couldn’t follow them later at an inopportune moment.

Greg kept watch while the others searched for weapons and ammo, but there were none. The gas tank was siphoned dry and whoever did this had taken almost everything of practical value. Mike and his group took the rest of the food and loaded it on their bikes but left the items that were monetary in value and, thus, worthless to the group. There wouldn’t be much use for anything that couldn’t be eaten or used for defense if things continued to deteriorate more than they had already.

They checked their own tanks and topped them off with the spare gas each of them carried. Greg checked his wristwatch and mentioned that without any further delays, they still had about another thirty minutes to go before reaching the next cache. After taking a moment to scrutinize their loads for balance, they were satisfied with the cursory check and were off again, moving down into a semi-wooded valley off to the left.

Several minutes later, they saw smoke over toward the highway and Mike told the group he wanted to investigate the cause. He parked his bike and made his way up to the crest of the hill a couple of hundred yards away. He could see from this vantage point that the action was on the opposite side of the river, which kept them out of danger.

He noted there were about fifty of them and they were armed with rifles and shotguns. Old tires were stacked up along either side of the road, burning fiercely and sending black smoke billowing into the cloudy sky. Highway flares glared on both sides of the road, out and away for about three hundred feet. It was a barricade, with several pickups obstructing the highway. Two of the cars were police cruisers with their emergency lights flashing and Mike guessed they were collecting a toll from anyone wanting to pass.

Three cars were stopped, and there was an argument going on between the driver from the first car and a large burly man who was probably in charge of the roadblock gang. When the big man suddenly butt-stroked the argumentative driver with his rifle, the screamer went down in a heap and his body stopped moving.

The other drivers saw what happened and quickly decided to cooperate. They walked meekly to the rear of their cars, removed various items from the trunks, and handed the goods over to the mob. There were so many brigands blocking the road, they wisely decided not to resist.

As Mike watched with interest, several of the mob members carried the stolen items over to a large truck and loaded them inside the cargo bay. The urge to go down and kill those taking advantage of the situation gripped him with fury, but he forced himself to calm down and control his feelings.

Those people were just trying to escape with their lives and a few meager possessions and those wolves were preying on the escaping flocks. The river likely saved the bullies from certain death because Mike hated people like these “Toll Collectors” who took advantage of others in desperate situations. He had seen it happen numerous times in Bosnia, Africa, and elsewhere, and he knew he couldn’t save everyone.

It startled him when Caroline crawled up next to him. He had been preoccupied watching the action below with avid intensity and her unexpected touch made him jump.

She laughed and said, “We need to be moving on, Michael, it’s getting late.”

She was right of course, so he nodded and wiggled backward to clear the brim of the ridge before the two of them stood up and walked to their bikes. Greg stood guard with his 9mm Uzi at the ready and tucked in the crook of his arm. Mike noticed there was an oversized magazine in it with probably a hundred rounds of ammo. It was one of the weapons cached at the last stop.

Mike was armed with an automatic of his own, an H&K MP3 9mm that had been stashed in one of the PVC goody pipes at the last cache. Caroline was armed with an H&K 91 loaded with a thirty-round mag strapped to her bike and a 9mm Ingram Mac-11 slung over her shoulder. Mike thought it was the sexiest thing he had seen in quite a while.

They mounted their bikes and were on their way once again. These nonessential stops ate up quite a bit of time, but the overwhelming curiosity to pause and see what was happening was too compelling not to take an occasional look, especially since they knew it might be quite some time before any of them ventured this way again, if ever. They were surprised to see how quickly society was eroding.

Twenty minutes later, the sky clouded over and they could smell the rain coming. They pinpointed the second cache and began to dig. There were several more tubes here and one had an end cap that was painted red. They all knew the red cap meant the tube contained vitamin and mineral supplements and medical supplies, including sedatives, morphine, other pain killers, and disposable syringes. There was a battlefield suture kit, a few I.V.‘s, some powdered veterinarian grade antibiotics, small bags of sulfur, and many more necessities that would be added to the retreat’s clinic when they arrived. Everything was packed inside the tube and the triple plastic garbage bags were individually sealed at the top.

One of the tubes contained Kevlar bulletproof vests and fresh clothing. Greg stood watch while Mike mounted the medical tube on his bike and the other tubes onto Caroline and Greg’s bikes, making a very tight fit. Suddenly, two other members of their group appeared and without discussion, loads quickly shifted to the new rides while they armed themselves with long guns from the last cache and donned bulletproof vests.

They topped off the tanks again from their portables and took a GPS reading while scrutinizing the map. An additional half hour passed as they waited to see if one or more of the others would show up.

No one came.

There were six of them now instead of four, and there was enough ammo among them to hold off a small army. It was a comforting thought.

About three miles into the ride of this leg, they were forced to stop because a large fire raged just ahead and the smoke was extensive. Mike wanted them to scout it out first since the fire was directly in their path and there was no convenient way around it. Mike, Greg, and Sam, who was a former Mike Force Team leader in ‘Nam, decided to go on foot to within visual distance, which was about one mile from the billowing black smoke. The remainder of the group stayed behind to safeguard the bikes and supplies.

It took a few minutes to jog the distance and once they were within visual range of the large fire, they saw the charred farmhouse, which had previously been part of a large dairy farm complex. The burning structure was surrounded by other small outbuildings, all of which were completely engulfed in the furiously burning fire.

The glow from the flames was spooky as they approached the tragic scene. Shadows danced and changed shape as the fire flickered and popped; dead bodies were all over the ground. What appeared to be the main house was still burning ferociously and was hot enough to make the three of them flinch from the heat, even though they weren’t all that close to it.