Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5) (25 page)

He secured one end to a refrigerator lodged in the wreckage and lowered the other end down into the hole.

“Here it comes,” he said. “Use the loops to climb out.”

The cord grew taut as she put her weight on it. After a few seconds, a head full of curly brown hair poked up through the hole.

Mason stepped closer and helped to pull her out. The girl was in her mid-teens and dressed in a pair of white jeans and a black sweater. Both were covered in dirt and sheetrock dust. She also had a large baby carrier strapped across her back. When she got to her feet, Mason saw a Ruger SP101 .22 revolver stuffed into the front of her waistband. With an eight-round capacity and little recoil, it was the perfect gun for a girl her size.

She leaned in and hugged him.

“Thank you. I didn’t think we were getting out of there.”

“Bowie’s the one to thank,” he said, patting the big dog’s side.

She leaned over and kissed Bowie on the nose.

“Thank you, Bowie,” she said, her voice breaking a little. “We owe you our lives.”

“You’re safe now,” offered Mason.

“No,” she said with a sad smile, “but at least we’re not buried.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’m Annie, and that’s my brother Flynn.”

Flynn looked up from the badge and waved.

“I’m Mason,” he said, “and this is Leila.”

Annie turned to her and nodded.

“Is this your house?” asked Leila.

“No. It was abandoned. We were staying here for the night on our way down to Florida.”

“What’s in Florida?”

“Disney World!” cried Flynn.

They all laughed.

“Other than that?” she said, smiling.

“Our grandmother, we hope,” said Annie.

“It’s just the two of you?” asked Mason. “No mom or dad?”

Annie shook her head. “Not anymore.” She looked over at Flynn who was using his dirty t-shirt to shine Mason’s badge. “We’ve only got each other now.”

He nodded. “Are you hungry?”

“I am!” said Flynn, handing him the freshly polished badge.

Mason picked up his pack and led everyone to a small clearing between houses. He dragged over several dining room chairs from the remnants of a nearby house, and they all settled in like they were having a Fourth of July picnic.

Digging through his backpack, Mason said, “I’ve got some spaghetti. How would that be?”

“I love pasghetti,” Flynn said, clapping his hands.

“Spaghetti would be great,” added Annie. “We haven’t eaten in almost a full day.”

Mason cut open two MRE pouches and unpacked the contents. Once he had everything laid out, he poured a little bottled water into the flameless ration heaters. The water quickly combined with the powdered magnesium, iron, and table salt to create an exothermic chemical reaction. He propped the heaters up with a thin block of wood and gently placed the bags of spaghetti on top.

“Let’s give it a few minutes,” he said. “MREs are better warm.” He opened a second packet and tossed Annie a chunk of bread that resembled a Pop Tart.

Annie broke it in two and passed half to Flynn. The little boy sniffed the bread, shrugged, and took a big bite.

Leila dug into her own pack and pulled out a bag of dried fruit.

“How about some fruit to go with it?” she asked.

Flynn stuffed the last of the bread into his mouth and said, “Yes, please.”

She poured a small handful of fruit for each of them, including Mason.

Chewing on a dried apricot, Mason turned to Annie and said, “How were you planning to get to Florida?”

“We’re sort of hopscotching our way down. We left Boston more than two weeks ago.”

“The roads are no place for kids,” said Leila.

“I know, but once our food ran out, we really didn’t have a choice.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “The truth is, I don’t even know if our grandmother is still alive. We just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Mason nodded. In many ways, surviving the pandemic had been the easy part. The survivors now had to learn to function in a world without safety nets.

“I don’t suppose…” Annie started.

“What?” said Mason.

She shrugged. “I was going to ask if you might be headed in the general direction of Florida.”

Mason looked over at Leila.

“Right now, we’re going deeper into Lexington to look for someone. After that, I’m not really sure where either of us is headed.”

Bowie whined, and everyone turned to look at him. He was eying the spaghetti, his nostrils flaring as he tried to inhale every bit of the food’s odor.

“Here boy,” Flynn said, holding out a dried cherry.

Bowie reluctantly left the spaghetti and moseyed over to see what he was holding.

As the giant dog sniffed the offering, Annie said, “He’s a really big dog.”

“Are you kidding? He’s gi-normous!” exclaimed Flynn. He looked over at Mason. “Does he bite?”

“Only bad people.”

Flynn reached out and carefully stroked the dog’s head.

“I used to have a dog, but we had to let her go when we ran out of food.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” he said with a sad smile. “Izzy was a great dog. She would dance on two legs if you held up a hot dog.”

Mason smiled. “That
is
a great dog.”

“Does your dog do any tricks?” Flynn held up the cherry, but he couldn’t get it higher than Bowie’s head.

“I’m not sure you could call them tricks. Bowie’s more like a person than a dog.”

Flynn put his face up to Bowie’s.

“I bet I could teach him a few tricks.”

Mason lifted one of the pouches of spaghetti off the heater and handed it along with a plastic spoon to Annie.

“I’m sorry I don’t have more to share,” he said.

“This will be plenty. Thank you.” She scooped out a spoonful of the spaghetti and fed it to Flynn. Then she took a bite herself.

Mason poured some of the spaghetti from the second pouch onto a piece of wood and motioned to Bowie. The dog hurried over and began eating. He offered the rest of the pouch to Leila, but she shook her head.

“It looks like you get one of your own,” he said, handing it to Flynn.

The little boy smiled and clapped his hands.

As they were finishing up, Leila glanced at her wristwatch and gave Mason a subtle nod. Her message was clear. They were losing daylight.

Mason looked over at Annie and Flynn. They had no chance of making it to Florida on their own, of that he was certain. They might not even get out of Lexington in one piece. Despite his mission, he would have to keep an eye on them. It certainly wasn’t ideal to have a couple of kids in tow, but he couldn’t very well leave them behind either. As odd as it was, the debt between rescuers and those rescued went both ways. Until Annie and Flynn were safe, he had an obligation to them.

“If you two want to follow along, I can get you to a town once my business here is done.”

“Really?” Annie said, her eyes lighting up.

He nodded.

Annie tipped up the pouch and quickly finished off the last drops of spaghetti.

“We won’t be any trouble, Marshal. I promise.” She turned to her brother and squatted down. “Climb on, Flynn.”

Flynn wiped his mouth with the front of his shirt and climbed onto his sister’s back. He slipped both legs through the straps of the baby carrier and grabbed ahold of her shoulders. All in all, the rig was pretty clever, allowing her to carry him efficiently without tying up her hands.

Annie stood up. “Ready.”

“Okay,” said Mason. “Let’s get to it.”

Chapter 18  

Tanner and Samantha were forced to march for about a half-mile, skirting the cornfield, but never going into it. When they finally stopped, it was at the edge of a large clearing, beyond which lay sprawling fields of corn in every direction. The only break in the corn was a single dirt road that presumably wove its way out to the highway.

Positioned in the center of the clearing was a fortified rectangular compound constructed from boxcars stacked on top of one another. The boxcars served as both exterior fortress walls as well as interior living space. The sheet metal was rusted and stained, and while sturdy against the elements, Tanner wasn’t sure that it offered much protection against gunfire. Cutouts were covered with clear plastic sheeting to let light in, and a ten-foot gap had been left at one corner to allow for both foot and vehicle traffic.

To the left of the compound was a sprawling greenhouse framed with PVC piping and covered with more of the plastic sheeting. Beside it sat a wire pen, bustling with goats and chickens. On the opposite side of the fort, an assortment of clothes and linens hung from extension cords stretched out to act as makeshift clotheslines.

As they got closer, both Clancy and Peterson stopped to salute a dingy American flag painted above the compound entrance.

“Where are we?” asked Samantha.

“You’re at the Citadel,” said Peterson, “our home.”

“You live in those rusted boxcars?”

Before he could answer, Clancy nudged her with the muzzle of his rifle.

“Just move.”

They continued on until they arrived at the gap in the boxcars. A guard stood in the shadow of a small awning, wearing a white baseball cap and sucking on a homemade cigarette. He held an AR15 in both hands but was careful to keep the muzzle pointed at the ground.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“We caught them poking around the cornfield.”

“We were only going to the bath—” started Samantha.

Clancy bumped her again, harder this time.

“Ouch,” she said, rubbing her shoulder.

Tanner glanced back at Clancy.

“Careful. You’re about to cross a line you can’t easily come back from.”

Clancy glared at him but said nothing.

Peterson said, “I’ll go let Duke know what the situation is. Can you take them over to the brig by yourself?”

“Sure, I can. If either of them get out of line, I’ll shoot them both. Simple as that.”

“You ever shot anyone?” asked Tanner.

Clancy didn’t answer.

“I’m thinking not. Because it’s never ‘simple as that.’”

“Just move,” he said, pushing him through the small gap in the boxcars.

As they passed through the entrance, the guard reached out and grabbed Clancy’s arm.

In a low voice, he said, “Have you seen Big Mike? It’s not like him to be late from patrol.”

 Clancy shook his head. Tanner and Samantha looked at one another but said nothing.

As they entered the compound, they found the courtyard lined with small stations set up to administer food, water, first aid, and other services and supplies. About two dozen people milled about, dirty and disheveled, like prisoners of war waiting on rations. Basic needs might be being met, but from the vacant looks on their faces, life at the Citadel was anything but joyous.

Tanner and Samantha were directed to the opposite side of the courtyard and shoved into a boxcar. Furnishings consisted of two twin-sized bunks and a five-gallon bucket with a couple of wooden slats to act as a toilet seat. Several small slots had been cut through the sheet metal walls to allow for airflow. Even so, it was hot and muggy inside, and the air stank like human waste.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Samantha rose up on her tiptoes and peeked out through one of the holes.

“Do you think Big Mike was the man in the cornfield?”

“It’s a good bet.”

“They’re not going to be happy when they find him.”

“Nope.” Tanner leaned against the door and gave it a little shove. It didn’t budge. He turned back to Samantha. “You got anything in your pack that might get us out of here?”

She set her backpack on the floor and began rifling through it.

“A little food, a couple of water bottles—”

“Let’s drink those. No telling what kind of care we’re going to get in here.”

She tossed him a bottle and set the other one on the floor beside her feet. Then she continued rummaging through her pack, pulling out handfuls of clothes and a few picture frames that she had taken from the Oval Office.

“The only other thing I have is this.” She held up the small canister of pepper spray.

“Where’d you get that?”

“From the pawnshop. Think it’ll get us out of here?”

“It might.”

She turned it toward her face and sniffed the nozzle.

“Ooh,” he said, cringing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

She pulled it away from her nose.

“Is it dangerous?”

“It’ll make your face feel like it’s been dipped in a deep fat fryer.”

“That sounds awful.” She studied the writing on the back of the canister. “What’s in it? Pepper juice?”

“Not exactly. They start by grinding up really hot peppers, but then a solvent is used to extract something called capsaicin, which in Latin surely means ‘fire from Hell.’ Once the solvent’s evaporated away, it leaves behind a waxy resin known as oleoresin capsicum, or OC. That’s the stuff that actually gets made into pepper spray.”

“What are you, some kind of pepper spray guru?”

He laughed. “Anyone who has ever had a few brushes with the law knows something about pepper spray.”

“Have you been sprayed?”