Finest Hour (18 page)

The boy chewed his lower lip, staring down at Mason’s badge.

“Yes, sir,” he said with a reluctant nod. “Follow me, and I’ll escort you in.”

Mason followed PFC Potter’s truck along Constitution Road. They passed through a vehicle checkpoint station, now unmanned, and slowed as they approached a huge cinder block building. The lot out front had perhaps thirty or forty vehicles, all of them carefully parked next to the main entrance. A few dozen cadets, men and women, mingled around a cafeteria truck idling at the curb. Most held bags of chips and bottles of water. When they saw the trucks approaching, nearly everyone turned to look.

Potter parked at the curb, hopped out of his truck, and hurried past two sentries standing guard. One of the men carried a bolt-action Remington 700 hunting rifle, and the other a Heckler & Koch MP5K submachine gun. As soon as Mason shut off the F150, they started toward him. Never one wanting to be caught in a vehicle with armed men approaching, Mason slid out, followed almost immediately by Leila and Bowie.

He parted his jacket, this time resting his hand on the grip of the Supergrade.

“I’ll trust you men to keep those weapons pointed in a safe direction.”

The guards seemed surprised by his directness, but both cadets tipped their muzzles toward the ground. One man’s nametag read “Cobb” and the other “Rodriguez.”

“Sir, we’ll have to ask you to surrender your weapons,” Cobb said, eyeing his pistol.

“Not gonna happen.”

“It’s not a request,” said Rodriguez, his hand closing tighter over the HK. “It’s an order.”

“I don’t take orders from cadets. And I don’t give up my weapons to anyone.”

The MP5k slowly started to swing up.

“Please,” said Leila, stepping between them. “This isn’t necessary. We aren’t your enemy.”

Rodriguez studied her. “Maybe not, but your friend here needs to learn some manners.”

She smiled. “Perhaps, but it’s not worth anyone getting shot over.”

Before anything more could be said, another cadet, this one with three silver disks adorning his shoulder bars, hurried out of the building. PFC Potter followed on his heels. As the officer approached, both guards saluted, and he quickly returned the gesture.

“Sir, the visitors refuse to surrender their weapons,” Rodriguez explained, cutting his eyes toward Mason.

“Thank you, Corporal Rodriguez. I’ll handle it from here. You and Cobb can return to your post.”

Rodriguez hesitated.

“Was I unclear about something?” the officer said, raising his voice.

“No, sir.” Rodriguez and Cobb turned and walked back to the front of the building, grumbling quietly to one another.

The officer turned to PFC Potter.

“You can go too, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned and hurried back to his truck.

After he had driven away, the young officer stepped closer and extended his hand, first to Mason and then to Leila.

“I’m Trenton Artz, Captain in the Virginia Tech Corps of Cadets. Potter told me you’re a deputy marshal.”

“That’s right,” said Mason. “We’re on our way to The Greenbrier.”

“The resort?”

He nodded.

“On official business?”

“Yes.”

Artz paused to see if Mason might offer more.

He didn’t.

“All right. How can the Corps of Cadets be of service?”

“We’re in need of ammunition. Preferably strings of fifty-caliber BMG for use in an M2 heavy-barrel machine gun.”

Captain Artz slowly shook his head.

“I can see why you might expect to find something like that here, but I’m afraid we don’t have access to any spare ammunition. The little that we have is barely enough to keep a few rifles in play.”

Mason looked around at the couple of dozen cadets who had gathered to watch their interaction. While there were a few firearms spread among them, most of the cadets were either unarmed, carrying knives, or displaying the same type of decorative saber that PFC Potter wore.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing at an ammunition depot?”

“When the virus hit, we were attending Virginia Tech, over in Blacksburg. At first, we stepped in to help the university, shuttling around medical supplies and even providing a little campus security.” He shook his head. “In the end, it didn’t really make much difference. People began to die. Friends. Teachers. Administrators. It was horrible.” He took a moment to collect himself. “Commandant Franks was the last of the staff, and he realized that if we stayed at the university, we’d all die. He brought what remained of the Corps together, and we fled here.”

“But why here?” asked Leila. “It’s terribly isolated.”

“That was the point. We figured that this place was safe from criminals as well as infected survivors. It’s still close enough to make occasional runs into nearby towns for food and water.” He pointed toward the cafeteria truck. “A few of my men brought that back yesterday. We’ve already been here for several weeks and we’ll probably stay until we run out of supplies.”

“How many of you are there?” she asked.

“Only forty three of us remain.”

“And Franks?” asked Mason. “What happened to him?”

Captain Artz’s face turned pale.

“How do you know—”

“Potter told me.”

Artz nodded. “The commandant and four others were lost.”

“Lost? As in killed?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know that.” The words sounded like the kind of denial that people latch onto when they don’t want to admit something.

“What happened?”

“Two days ago, he led a small team into the igloos, looking for weapons and ammunition.”

“Igloos?” said Leila. “Like in the snow?”

He smiled. “No, ma’am. Igloos are what we call the white concrete structures scattered all over this depot. The commandant said that records show that rifles, ammunition, and explosives are all stored there. He was hoping to find enough to arm the Corps.”

“How many of these igloos are there?” asked Mason.

“More than two hundred.”

“So, Franks and a few others went out searching for munitions?”

“That’s right.”

“But they didn’t come back.”

He shook his head. “When they hadn’t returned by nightfall, we knew something had gone wrong. Now that a second day has passed, we’re more certain than ever that they’re in serious trouble.”

“Did you hear gunfire?”

“No. Whatever happened must have taken them by surprise.”

Mason rubbed his chin, playing out possible scenarios.

“Any ideas about what they might have run into?”

“We assume it was the infected.”

He cocked an eye. “There are infected living here in the depot?”

“Oh, yes, hundreds of them. They come out every night to search the buildings for supplies.”

“And they don’t attack you?”

“Not so far they haven’t.” He glanced back at the building. “Keep in mind that it’s a huge compound with more than a thousand buildings spread across four thousand acres. We chose this particular structure as our headquarters because it’s large enough to house everyone while still being relatively defensible.”

Mason took a moment to study the building. While it was made from cinder block and concrete, there were at least a dozen easily accessible windows and two sets of double doors.

“Not with a handful of rifles it isn’t.”

Artz seemed ready to argue the point.

“Are you speaking as a soldier?”

“Army Ranger.”

“Then I defer to your judgment.” He stepped a little closer. “I would, however, ask that you not voice your doubt around the other cadets. We’re doing the best we can, given the circumstances.”

“Understood. But as the officer in charge, you should realize that it’s a disservice to everyone to pretend that you’re safe. It’s always better to face the reality of your situation.”

Captain Artz pressed his lips together and nodded.

Leila reached out and touched Mason’s shoulder.

“What should we do? It seems that ammunition is not readily available.”

The smart move would have been to load back into the truck and drive away. They had pressing business with General Hood, and any delay equated to additional risk.

Mason turned to Captain Artz.

“What kind of intel do you have on where munitions might be stored?”

“Commandant Franks had a few maps and inventory pages. It’s what led him to go into the igloos in the first place.”

“I’d like to see those.”

“Why?”

“Because, as I said before, I need ammunition.”

Artz considered the request for a long moment.

“I’ll make everything available to you on one condition.”

Mason smiled, surprised by the young man’s chutzpah.

“Which is?”

“I want your word that you’ll try to find Commandant Franks and the missing cadets.”

Mason shook his head. “Son, that’s your responsibility, not mine.”

“We’re cadets, not Special Forces. No one here knows how to mount a rescue. And even if we did, we have only a handful of rifles. Marshal, I’m asking for your help, one soldier to another.”

Mason looked over at Leila.

She squinted and shook her head lightly. Her message was simple.
We don’t have time for this.

He turned back to Captain Artz. The young man’s eyes burned with courage and determination, but he too had a message.
You’re our last hope.

Mason offered an almost imperceptible nod.

“Arm three of your best cadets.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re coming with me.”

Chapter 12  

For the next two hours, Tanner and Samantha drove northeast on Highway 11, passing through Fairfield, Staunton, and Harrisonburg. They eventually turned east on Highway 211, a small county road that wound its way through a narrow mountain range before finally coming out near the town of Luray, Virginia.

A roadside billboard for Luray Caverns promised that the underground tourist attraction was nothing short of a “Subterranean World of Wonder.”

Tanner nodded toward the sign.

“What do you say? Another pit stop?”

Samantha was about to lay into him when she saw the grin coming up on his face.

“No more tourist stops,” she insisted. “Ever.”

He laughed. “It’s not like there’s a psycho soldier lying in wait at every national landmark.”

“Still, no reason to chance it.”

“For once, darlin’, I agree with you.”

“Hey, look!” she said, pointing to a small hand-painted sign at the end of a dirt driveway.
Jenkins’ Homemade Honey and Honey Butter
.

“Sorry to tell you, but the Jenkins are probably pushing up daisies.”

“Even so, I bet there’s honey in the cupboards. And you could use some on those claw marks.”

Tanner touched the bloody scratches on his arm. They stung like someone had sprinkled them with pretzel salt.

“How’s honey going to help these?”

“Don’t you remember? That’s what the crazy old doctor lady used when she sewed your head together.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, remembering their brief visit with the self-proclaimed anarchists outside of Atlanta. “Good ole Granny McSunshine.”

Samantha laughed. “That would be a great name for a sandwich from McDonald’s!”

“Oh, how I miss those french fries.”

“I’m sure they miss you too,” she said, eyeing his stomach.

He growled. “You do remember that Granny was a large animal vet?”

“True, but think about it. Are you really so different than a cow? You’re both big and hairy.” She covered her mouth to hide a snicker.

“Don’t forget that we both like to eat all day.”

“That’s true, too. Plus, you can both be pretty stinky. People used to say that cows caused global warming. Now, I know better.”

“Oh, that one hurt.” They were coming up on the drive. “So, do we stop or not?”

“We stop. Besides, you did say that you love honey.”

“When did I say that?”

“When we caught that woman stealing our packs, remember?”

“That’s right.” What he didn’t point out was that when he had made the statement, he was actually referring to the sexual favors the woman had provided in exchange for a speedy release.

Tanner slowed and turned the car into the dirt drive. Like many country houses, the residents had built their home a short distance from the main road to have a little privacy, as well as shield them from the noise of passing traffic. After a few hundred feet, the house finally came into view. It was a quaint two-story farmhouse painted a light yellow with white trim along the eaves. A porch wrapped around three sides of the house, and a young woman sat rocking in a chair beside the front door. As soon as they came into view, she stood up and rushed into the house, the screen door banging shut behind her.

“So much for it being empty,” said Samantha.

“Let’s just hope she’s not inside loading her shotgun.”

He shut the car off, and they climbed out, careful not to make any sudden moves.

“Guns?” she said, looking down at her rifle.

Tanner picked up his sawed-off shotgun.

“Until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Samantha grabbed her rifle and followed him toward the house.