Frontier Justice - 01 (8 page)

“Hey, boy. You okay?”

The dog winced and scratched the floor. His eyes were only half-open, and his huge tongue hung from his mouth like a wet mop.

Mason approached the dog slowly and squatted down. It made no effort to get up. He wondered if it had contracted the virus. The woman in the chair had blisters covering her arms and face, but he saw no signs of blisters on the dog’s skin. Mason knew that most viruses didn’t cross-infect between species, but he couldn’t be sure if that was true of Superpox-99.

He knelt beside the dog for nearly a minute, considering his options. The smart thing to do would be to walk away, perhaps putting a bullet in the dog to end its suffering. Before he could firmly make up his mind, the dog slid its head forward to rest on the toe of Mason’s boot.

“I hear you,” he said, reaching down and petting the animal’s head. “You’re not ready to give up just yet.”

The dog whined.

“I don’t suppose you can stand?”

It looked up at him with two different-colored eyes, one blue and the other brown.

“That’s what I figured,” he said, scooping up the huge animal into his arms. The dog offered no resistance, not even a growl. Instead, it draped over the sides of his arms like a sleeping child being carried to bed.

Mason couldn’t believe how heavy the dog was. Even suffering from dehydration and malnutrition, it easily weighed over a hundred pounds. He carried it from the convenience store out to his truck and placed it on the tail gate. Then he opened the passenger-side door.

“If I let you ride up front, you’re going to have to promise not to puke up anything. Deal?”

The dog blinked in response.

He scooped the dog up again and placed it on the seat.

“Stay here while I get you something to eat and drink.” There was no point in breaking into the supplies in the back of his truck when there was a store full of them only a few steps away.

He re-entered the store and searched through the debris. On the floor, he found several unopened bottles of water and a tray full of miniature cans of cat food. He dumped out a couple of three-liter bottles of soda and used his newfound hunting knife to cut the bottoms off to act as makeshift bowls.

As he exited the store, supplies in hand, Mason heard the distant sounds of traffic approaching from the east. He sprinted back to the truck, tossed the supplies on the floorboard, and slid into the driver’s seat. Being caught with very little cover and only a lame dog to back him up was not his idea of a solid defensive position. Seeing no other option, he quickly pulled the truck around to the back of the convenience store. There was nothing large enough to hide it behind, so he parked it as close to the building as possible.

As he stepped from the truck, the dog gave a soft
woof.

Mason looked over at him. The dog struggled to raise its head.

“You’ve got more courage than strength. Let me handle this. You rest.”

The dog slowly lowered its head and closed its eyes.

Mason readied his M4 and went to the corner of the building to see who was approaching.

A caravan of four RVs and two campers traveled single file down the highway. One camper rode at the front and one at the rear, running sentry for the convoy. When they neared the service station, the vehicles slowed to a stop.

The door to the lead RV opened, and two men and a woman stepped out. The men were armed with rifles, and the woman carried a pump shotgun. She stayed by the RV while the two men went up and checked out the store. After a couple of minutes, they returned. One of the men had his arms full of snacks, and the other carried their rifles.

Mason decided to take a chance. He swung the M4 to his back and shouted from the corner of the building.

“Hello there!” he called, waving his hands.

They all turned in his direction. The man carrying the snacks quickly dropped them to the ground, and everyone raised their rifles. However, no one took careful aim. Mason took a step away from the building, ready to dive for cover if needed. The three talked among themselves and then turned back to him and waved.

“Hello!” one of the men yelled.

Mason took that to be a good sign. Careful to keep his hands where they could see them, he walked toward the group. When he got to within a few yards, he stopped. The three kept their weapons in hand but didn’t point them directly at him. Another good sign. They didn’t know it, but they were in just as much danger as he was. Mason could draw and shoot all three in just over one second, faster than most people could even comprehend a situation, let alone react.

The two men were in their late forties or early fifties. The woman was perhaps a few years younger. All looked exhausted. The older of the men stepped forward and offered his hand. Mason shook it.

“Good to see a friendly face,” the man said. “I’m Carl Tipton, and this is my brother, John, and his wife, Jules.” The others nodded and smiled at Mason.

“I’m Mason Raines.”

Carl looked down and saw the badge on Mason’s belt.

“Well, I’ll be darned. I haven’t seen one of you Marshals since my days as a bail bondsman.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve encountered other law enforcement officers?”

“Not a single one. Of course, there are plenty of cop cars littering the streets. But I can’t say as I’ve seen anyone alive in uniform.” He looked to John and Jules. They both shook their heads.

“Most of them abandoned their posts when things got bad,” said Jules. “Who can blame them? Family comes first for all of us.” To emphasize the point, she reached out and placed a hand on her husband’s arm.

“Have you been through Boone?”

All three stiffened at his question.

“Yes sir, we have,” answered Carl. “I wouldn’t advise you go that way, especially with that badge.”

“Why’s that?”

“The place has been overrun by a gang of thugs. Not what you’d call law-abiding citizens. The worst part is that I suspect there are quite a few survivors hiding out, just too afraid to come out of their homes for fear of being victimized.”

Mason nodded, giving his words the attention they deserved.

“Sounds as if somebody’s going to have to go into Boone and help those folks.”

Carl sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But that would be a tall order. You’d probably have to put down more than a few people in the process.”

“Did you folks run into any trouble?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he answered, glancing over at John. “There are sixteen armed adults in our convoy. The old adage about there being strength in numbers apparently holds true when society falls apart.”

The RV door opened, and the face of a young girl peeked out.

Jules looked up at her and said, “It’s all right, Lucy. This man’s a U.S. Marshal. He’s a good guy.”

Wearing a pair of wrinkled capri pants and a bright yellow shirt, the girl descended the stairs. She smiled and gave a short little wave.

“Hi.”

“Marshal Raines, this is our daughter, Lucy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lucy,” Mason said, returning her smile.

“She’s the bravest ten-year-old in the entire world.”

“I bet she is.”

“Mom,” said Lucy, obviously embarrassed.

“It’s true,” said John. “When this all started happening, Lucy was a real trouper. Never cried, not even once.”

“You couldn’t say the same about me,” Jules said with a nervous laugh.

John put his hand on her back. “We’re all dealing with the impossible.”

“Marshal Raines, will you be coming with us?”

“Great idea, Lucy.” Carl turned to Mason. “We could really use a man like you.”

“It would sure make me feel safer,” added Jules.

Mason rubbed the stubble on his chin, thinking about their offer.

“Where exactly are you folks headed?”

“West toward Johnson City and Kingsport, wherever there might be folks setting back up. Truth is we may be on the road for a while.”

Mason smiled and shook his head.

“I appreciate the invitation. I really do. But I’m not quite ready to move on just yet. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet up sometime later.”

Only Lucy seemed surprised by his answer.

“Understood,” Carl said, looking around and surveying the service station. “Mind if we help ourselves to a little gas before we move on?”

Mason thought about the two dead bodies inside the building.

“No one here would care,” he said. “Take what you need. I’ll probably fill a couple cans myself.”

“Many thanks,” said Carl, motioning for Jules and her husband to get the refueling supplies.

Mason followed them to the circular refueling ports located on the ground a few paces away from the pumps. There were four ports, each topped with a different-colored lid.

When Carl saw Mason looking over his shoulder, he said, “The red, white, and blue covers are all different grades of gasoline. The big plus symbol on top indicates that the fuel is unleaded. The yellow one here is diesel. That’s what we need most right now.”

Carl and John used a pry bar to remove the yellow cover. Beneath it was a large cap with a protruding handle. John knelt down and removed the cap. Underneath was a six-inch diameter pipe leading down into an underground fuel tank. Jules lowered a rubber hose into the pipe. The other end was connected to a small pump with a battery-powered hand drill attached. A matching hose, attached to the pump’s output port, was routed into a large gas can. When everything was in place, Carl activated the drill, and fuel began pumping from the tank into the can.

“That’s handy,” Mason said, thinking how his method of fuel retrieval paled in comparison.

“John rigged that up for us,” Jules said with a proud smile. “It’s simple, but simple is good when everything’s falling down around you.”

After watching for a couple of minutes, Mason said, “I’m going to check on a friend. I’ll be back in a few.”

Carl nodded, not taking his eyes off the drill pump system.

Mason walked around to the back of the building. The dog was still in the same condition as when he had left. He poured some bottled water into one of the makeshift bowls and dumped some cat food into the other. He set them on the seat and lifted the animal’s head so that it could eat and drink. It didn’t take long for the dog to start lapping up the water. When it had drained a full bowl, it turned its attention to the cat food. It quickly finished two of the small cans before laying its head back down on the seat.

“All right, let’s see if you can keep that down,” Mason said, petting him on the back of his neck. The dog stared up at him, obviously enjoying the attention.

“You’re going to need a name.”

The dog looked at Mason intently, its ears folded back.

“You’re big, that’s for sure. And determined to stay alive. Plus you’ve got those two mismatched eyes, as if your body couldn’t decide which one to choose. Hmm … What shall it be? Twinkles?”

The dog stared at him without any reaction.

“No? Grizzly then?”

Again, nothing.

Mason thought for a moment.

“I’ve got it. I’m going to call you Bowie.”

The dog tipped its head sideways.

“It’s perfect. There’s Jim Bowie, the famous frontiersman and hero of the Alamo, and there’s David Bowie, the musician with two different eyes. Not sure if they’re different colors, but that’s close enough. Sound good?”

The dog set its head back down and licked the seat to see if any cat food might have spilled out.

Mason patted the big mutt on its side.

“I can’t promise things are going to get any easier for you, Bowie. But fate brought us together, so let’s see what else she has in store for us.”

After saying goodbye to Carl, Jules, and John, Mason spent the next few hours carefully searching the convenience store and burned-out automotive repair shop. He loaded up several plastic crates from the back of the store with an assortment of snacks, cigarettes, batteries, toiletries, and over-the-counter medications, all of which could be useful, or, at the very least, traded as barter goods.

In the garage, he found a large rack of car and truck parts, several cases of motor oil, four brand new Diehard batteries, a couple more empty fuel cans, and a red metal chest filled with hand tools. His greatest find, however, was a two-kilowatt inverter. The unit, which was about the size of a thick briefcase, would enable him to convert DC battery power into AC power. It even had an adapter that allowed it to be plugged directly into a car’s cigarette lighter. While two kilowatts wasn’t a great deal of power, it was enough to power a microwave oven, a computer, or nearly any other small electronic item with a standard three-prong plug.