Holding Their Own: The Salt War (4 page)

But Nick knew there was a difference between these people and the residents of the kingdoms of old. He was surrounded by freeborn Americans, individuals who had tasted liberty, had experienced democracy. They accepted the status quo because it was a safe harbor from the anarchy and barbarianism just beyond the walls. But now, if the Alliance leaders and he were right, all of that would gradually begin to change. Now they knew something better was beyond the fortress, an existence that would, hopefully, stir memories of a better life.

General Owens and the military forces under the council’s control could take down the local king in an afternoon. Irregular militia, equipped with small arms, didn’t stand a chance against tanks and gunships. But the Alliance had learned a hard lesson from previous engagements – the loss of life could be significant, and that wasn’t what the new government was all about. Bishop’s recent encounter in Brighton, Texas had exposed the unintended consequences of a brash, heavily armed approach. That community was still suffering from the mass causalities, hundreds of families continuing to mourn the loss of husbands, brothers, and sons. Even under Alliance rule, life was severe there, food hard enough to put on the table, despite the presence of able-bodied men in the household. Widows and orphans stressed the resources of the entire community, their struggles significantly more difficult and painful. Resentment still lingered just under the surface of the societal f
açade.

Nick stopped, the smell of boiling corn drawing his attention. He retrieved a small amount of local currency out of his pocket, smirking at the image of Mr. Gospel’s stoic portrait residing on the poorly manufactured paper money. “How much for two ears?” he asked the middle-aged woman working the small booth.

“Aren’t you that stranger talking about a recovery?” she inquired, eyes squinting with pessimism.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

“Is it true… what they’re saying? Are there really towns nearby with electricity and real jobs?”

“Yes. It’s true,” Nick answered, amazed at how quickly word had spread.

The vendor scanned both directions, checking to see who was within earshot. “Can I move there? Do they allow strangers to settle there?” she whispered.

“Yes, you can. We welcome newcomers. Every town has a relocation committee.”

Again glancing both ways and finding the coast was clear, she pulled a significant wad of King Gospel’s currency from under her apron. “I’ve got money,” she declared. “People say my vegetables are the best in the Exchange. But I want to get out of here. Mr. Gospel keeps raising the taxes and taking a bigger cut. You have to be cautious what you say here… careful about who might hear. My boy got in trouble for speaking out last week, and now the deputies are watching him real, real close.”

Nick nodded his understanding, a dozen questions forming in his throat. Before he could ask, two armed men came into view, one of the many patrols working the outside market. His new friend’s eyes dropped down to the pot, not daring to make eye contact with the passing enforcers.

“The maize is two Gospels per ear,” she said louder than necessary, no doubt for the lawmen’s sake. “I don’t give a discount unless you buy at least four.”

Nick played along, having no desire to get anyone in trouble with the authorities. “I’ll take two,” he responded, counting out the required bills.

The steaming corn was delivered, complete with husks still intact. Nick moved on, thinking his extra-large frame could use a little more sustenance and sick to death of the dried food in his pack.

Eyeing a table stacked with tomatoes, he sensed a presence behind him. A slight turn of his head revealed the two deputies, each assuming a tactical position on either side of the display.

Nick ignored the local enforcers, checking the firmness and color of several vine-ripened examples on the table. The vendor, an older gent who had smiled warmly at his approach, backed away. That reaction was immediately followed by the sound of tap, tap, tap… one of the deputies slapping his palm with a nightstick.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Nick said politely, turning to face the two men. “Can I help you?”

“We’re wondering why you haven’t left yet,” replied the older of the two. “Our understanding was your business here in Cartersville was complete.”

Nick sized them up, the confrontational body language making their intent clear. Both would be considered large men by any standard, their thick shoulders and wide frames so prevalent with law enforcement types. While the ex-operator’s 6’4” barefoot height and considerable mass dwarfed either of the locals, he didn’t want any trouble. Besides, they were armed – he was not.

“I’m heading out soon enough,” he replied with a smile. “My people won’t be at the gate for a bit, and I wanted to get a bite to eat and then break camp.”

“Mr. Gospel thinks it would be better if you broke camp right now and ate along the road,” came the reply.

A frown of concern and fear crossed the big man’s face, but it was an act. Inside, he was secretly celebrating, Standowski’s loosing of his dogs a sure sign the man was worried. Nick shrugged, “Fine by me, I can wait for my friends outside just as well as on the inside. I’ll go pack up my gear.”

The verbal deputy seemed disappointed Nick had deescalated the encounter. “We’ll tag along – just to make sure you don’t get lost.”

Nick found his poncho-tent and pack undisturbed. Before breaking camp, he strolled to a neighboring bivouac and pulled out the remainder of his Gospel dollars. “Thanks for watching my stuff, Ray,” he said, handing over the small wad of money.

The two enforcers idled nearby, chatting among themselves as Nick stuffed items inside his pack. “Ready,” he informed the officers, swinging the ruck onto his back.

The gate was really nothing more than a barricaded street at the edge of town. Having managed the teamsters allowed Mr. Gospel access to a virtually unlimited numbers of semi-trailers, which became the breastworks and parapets of choice.

While erecting a castle wall around Cartersville provided security, it also created the same issues suffered by its European brother from long ago. Agriculture and livestock couldn’t exist within the city limits, yet the people inside the protective perimeter had to eat. It was impossible for the town to completely isolate itself - thus the blockaded entrance.

When Nick’s team had first been assigned to approach the humble berg, a quick scouting mission had uncovered the rules and procedures for passing through. Countryside residents were allowed access, but they had to be unarmed and possess goods for trade or sale. Anyone displaying the obvious symptoms of a contagious disease was turned away.

Handing off his weapons to Kevin and Grim, Nick had pocketted small amounts of ammunition as his barter. After spending three days checking out the local situation, he’d approached the men in charge and made his pitch about the Alliance. One thing had led to another, eventually resulting in this morning’s meeting with Mr. Gospel in the flesh.  

In reality, Nick hadn’t expected much more from the local leadership. His presentation of the Alliance’s goals, history, and future had to be shocking to hear for the first time. Even if Mr. Gospel and his union boys didn’t relinquish their iron grip on Cartersville, eventually the people of the town would start to drift away. Freedom, commerce, security, and prosperity were powerful magnets to a distressed population.

Approaching the southern gate, Nick spotted two more deputies idling along the route. When they noticed the big man and his escorts, both enforcers stiffened, their body language indicating a higher level of alert.

Moving to block Nick’s path, the older ordered the big man to stop. “I need to see inside that pack,” he growled.

Having nothing to hide, Nick pulled the ruck off his shoulders and set it down on the ground. The two new lawmen began pulling his belongings out, a quiet crowd gathering to watch.

As they neared the bottom, Nick noticed one of the deputies try a slight of hand, something bright and red hidden in the man’s palm. A moment later, the enforcer raised that same hand, holding a tomato high in the air for everyone to see.

“That’s not mine,” Nick said calmly. “You already had that in your palm.”

“Bullshit!” barked the deputy. “You stole this from the market. We had a complaint.”

“Really? Seriously? You’re going to plant a vegetable on me and then claim I’m some sort of shoplifter? That’s all you got?” Nick responded, his tone making it clear he wasn’t taking the charge seriously.

“So this is what your so-called Alliance is all about,” boomed Mr. Gospel’s voice as the crowd parted to let the local leader approach the scene of the crime. “You come in here all high and mighty, telling everyone that you stand for the rule of law, democracy, and a better way of life. Now we know that’s bullshit… you’ve just proven you’re nothing more than a petty thief.”

Nick understood the man was preaching to the gathered public. Two could play at that game. “That’s rich, my friend, especially coming from a power-hungry dictator who’s frightened of losing his subjects,” Nick replied. “You’re trying to frame me in order to keep your people from moving to a better place.”

“Arrest this criminal,” Standowski ordered, unwilling to be drawn into a debate.

Nick sensed the two deputies approach him from behind, the closest throwing his arm toward the big man’s neck, an attempt to grasp his throat and then pull Nick over onto his back. It was a standard law enforcement tactic and very effective against the average suspect. But Nick wasn’t average.

Catching the flying arm with both hands, Nick ducked under and twisted in the same motion. Before anyone else could react, he had the deputy’s arm behind the man’s back and was reaching for the holstered Glock on the lawman’s belt.

The other rearward enforcer tried to step in and assist his comrade, and that was a mistake. Nick torqued on his prisoner, spinning the now howling deputy into his mate, knocking him to the pavement. By then, the Glock was free of its holster.

Still maintaining his grip on the first guy’s arm, Nick crouched low, using the enforcer’s body as a shield. Both of the forward deputies were pulling their weapons when Nick shot the first man in the leg; the second took a 9mm slug to his Kevlar-protected chest.

Absolute bedlam erupted through the surrounding crowd. Women were screaming, men yelling warnings and the entire populace was trying to run somewhere… anywhere to get away from the roar of gunfire.

Nick pistol whipped his shield, slamming the barrel hard into the back of the man’s neck. The fourth deputy had finally managed to palm his weapon, but it was too late. Like a football punter, Nick took one big step and landed his size 14 boot squarely on the enforcer’s temple.

In less than five seconds, all four of Gospel’s henchmen were disabled. The former union boss stood speechless, fear filling his eyes, watching Nick point the captured weapon at his head.

“I’m going to give you one warning, Standowski… and only one. Don’t start a fucking war you can’t win. This was a minor league play against a professional, and there are thousands and thousands more just like me in the Alliance. If you ever pull such bullshit again, I’ll personally kill you … and do it slowly.”

For the first time since Nick had been around Mr. Gospel, the local leader didn’t have any good news to share. In fact, he was speechless.

Nick glanced once more at his attackers moaning on the ground and shook his head. “Shame you ordered these men to do your dirty work, and all because you are a coward. Hard telling how many of your people are going to die if things get really rough,” he stated, and then began jogging for the nearby gate.

There were four guards at the barricade, all of them having heard gunshots just a few moments before, none of them knowing what or who was involved. Before Gospel could gather his courage or wits, Nick passed by the armed sentries and was outside the wall.

Kevin, Grim, and Cory were scheduled to meet Nick just over a mile outside of town. With only an occasional glance over his shoulder, Nick casually strolled along the road, seemingly confident no one from Cartersville would be stupid enough to chase after him.

He had completely overestimated Mr. Gospel’s intelligence.

Ten minutes and half a mile later, the distinct hum of engines sounded from the receding town. Nick stopped his trek, turning to see what possible dumb ass stunt his former hosts might have in mind. He didn’t have to wait long for the ill-conceived plot to be exposed.

Soon the emissary could identify at least a half dozen pickups, the beds piled full of men brandishing rifles in the air. The vision pissed Nick off.

Seconds later, he was running through the pine woods bordering the road, moving at a rapid pace while growling profanities at the ignorance that dominated Cartersville, Texas.