The Seeds of Man (22 page)

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at what was, according to a dilapidated sign, “MASSACRE ROCKS STATE PARK.” The land was dry and arid in spite of the fact that the Snake River bordered the park. What growth there was consisted of grass, scrub, and clumps of trees. If one looked closely, it was still possible to make out the foundation of what had been the visitor center, parking lots that were drifted with windblown soil, and the well-trod path that led to the distinctive pile of rocks. “Well, there they are,” Crow said matter-of-factly as the group led their horses up to the formation. “So where do we dig?”

That, Tre realized, was a very good question. More than fifty years of weather had erased any signs that Marley and her MPs might have left. But it seemed reasonable to make certain assumptions. The soldiers had been in a hurry, so that suggested a reasonably accessible spot. And since level ground would make it easier to dig, Tre figured they could ignore any sort of slope. Finally given the time constraint the troops had been working under, it seemed safe to assume that the cache wouldn’t be more than four or five feet deep. He looked at Crow. “I’ll take a look around, mark what I think are the most likely spots, and bring you back to take a look.”

Crow nodded. “Let’s pick a site before sunset. We’ll start digging first thing in the morning.”

So while the rest of them made camp, Tre walked the ground. Even with the parameters he had set for himself, it was a daunting task. Finally, after a good deal of wandering about, Tre drove three stakes into the ground. Site one was directly below the rock formation and the point from which the photo in the history book had been taken.

Site two was a little farther away but would have been easy to reach with a vehicle. Marley had been in a hurry, so why carry heavy boxes if they didn’t have to?

Site three was flat and easy to get to, but it had another virtue as well, and that was the fact that the ground was bare of vegetation, even though grass grew all around. Was something buried just under the surface? Tre thought so. But, having probed the ground with a steel rod, he was pretty sure that the object was a large rock formation rather than a cache of weapons.

Crow took the tour just before sunset and approved Tre’s choices. Then it was time for dinner and, due to the Deacon’s presence, there was another mouth to feed. He was free to leave but didn’t want to—and no wonder. Without weapons or gear, he wouldn’t last long. So Crow had allowed the Deac to stay, with the understanding that he would have to prove himself if he wanted to join the gang.

The night passed peacefully, and by the time the sun rose, Hog had breakfast ready. Smoke, Fade, and Freak were slated to act as lookouts. The rest of them took their tools and trooped to site one. Crow insisted on taking the first swing with a pick and did so with the fury of someone attacking an enemy. He was bushed ten minutes later and happy to surrender the tool to Bones.

The medic was more methodical, and as he broke ground, Tre and Knife were there to shove the loose dirt out of the way. They were making progress, but there were lots of rocks to contend with, and Tre was frustrated by how long the process took.

Finally, with Hog on the pick and Deacon wielding a shovel, they had a four-foot-deep hole and nothing to show for it. “We’ll dig side trenches,” Crow said bleakly. “There and there.”

Three hours of backbreaking work followed and the results were no better. All of them felt disappointed as they made their way back to camp, but Tre most of all. The whole exercise seemed stupid now, and he wanted to break it off. But they had come a long way and he was determined to see the process through.

It seemed as if every muscle in Tre’s body was sore when he got up to stand guard duty in the middle of the night and when he rose the following morning. And judging from the way other people moved, they felt the same way.

In marked contrast to the day before, most of the bandits were silent as they trudged to site number two and began to dig. And dig and dig. But just as Tre was beginning to think that site two was going to be just like site one, the Deacon made an interesting observation. “No rocks today,” he said as he wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead. “Thank the Lord.”

Tre heard the words, realized what they might mean, and went over to inspect the pile of excavated dirt. That was when he realized that the Deacon was right. There were lots of small stones, but there were none of the larger rocks they had been dealing with the day before. Was that a matter of chance? Or had someone dug there before and heaved the big stuff off to one side? There were some sizable rocks lying around on the surface. “Let’s keep digging,” Tre said. “I have a good feeling about this one.”

About twenty minutes later the pick struck half-rotten wood and broke through. “We found it!” Bones enthused. “Come on . . . Let’s dig it out.”

There was a flurry of activity as everyone tried to help, got in one another’s way, and eventually sorted themselves out. As Tre watched, he felt a pleasant tightness in his chest. He’d been right! The trip was a success. But what sort of weapons did they have? And how about ammo? He could hardly wait to find out.

Wood splintered and nails screeched as they were removed. As the lid came off people crowded in to see. Bones was the first person to react. “What the hell?”

Tre was rendered speechless as he looked down at the skeleton. There were some scraps of leathery skin, but the rest of the person’s flesh had rotted away, leaving nothing but white bone. A few remnants of a uniform were visible, but most of that was gone too. “Somebody shot him in the head,” Crow observed dispassionately. “Dead center.”

“May God have mercy on his soul,” the Deacon said as he touched the cross on his forehead.

“It was an execution,” Knife said. “That’s my theory.”

“Could be,” Crow agreed. “What if they captured one of Marley’s men and he led them here?”

“Not that it matters,” Hog put in. “He’s dead and the weapons are gone.”

Tre surprised all of them by jumping down into the grave. Then, having straddled the skeleton, he drew his knife. A bit of poking around turned up part of a collar with a silver bar on it, a belt buckle, and a few coins.

But then, as Tre sought to reposition himself, he felt something give. Further investigation revealed a camo-covered military knapsack, which he tossed up to Knife. After climbing out of the hole, he went over to watch as Crow removed the contents. There was a laptop computer, a binder full of plastic-covered sheets of paper, and a handful of personal items. “This stuff is worthless,” Crow said disgustedly as he opened the computer and tapped on the keyboard. “We’ll leave in the morning.” Then, having left everything on a slab of rock, he walked away.

The rest of them followed. And even though they didn’t say anything, Tre knew they blamed him. Was that fair? No, of course not. But that was how things were.

“Lieutenant Greg Nulty.” That was, according to the name on the binder, the dead man’s name. And since no one else was going to do it, Tre assigned himself the job of refilling the grave. It was the least he could do.

Once that task was complete, Tre sat down to look at the contents of the three-ring binder. He could see why the people who shot Nulty had thrown it away. The operations manual was thick, filled with jargon, and the definition of boring.

So he turned his attention to the computer. Predictably enough, it was dead. But the Samsung NC215S was equipped with a solar panel, so there was a chance that Tre could bring it back to life later on. And, even if he couldn’t, the machine was packed with valuable parts.

The pack wasn’t worth keeping, so Tre left that and took the rest back to a very subdued encampment. Crow was off by himself somewhere, and the rest of them were taking care of chores, napping, or playing cards. So with nothing else to do, Tre sat down and began to page through the binder. The contents were boring, and Tre was about to put the notebook down, when he came across a section titled “SUPPLY CHAIN CONTINGENCY PLANNING: PRE-POSITIONED SUPPLY MODULES.”

Tre had never been in the military and found it difficult to wade through some of the mumbo jumbo, but he stuck to it and was eventually glad that he had. It seemed that back in 2014 there had been plans to drop special operations teams into wilderness areas. Once in place, they were to launch hit-and-run attacks against Republican targets. But first, before the teams went in, each “operating area” was to be presupplied with a so-called Wolverine Package, meaning everything the group would need for ninety days.

All of which was interesting. But the real so-what was on a much-folded road map that had been inserted into the binder. Once Tre spread it out, he saw that the letters “WPs” had been added to top of the page. “WP” as in “Wolverine Package”? He thought so. And there were five dots on the map with coordinates scrawled next to them. As Tre eyed the map, he saw that the closest supply module was located in a blank spot near Pauline, Idaho, a community located southeast of Massacre Rocks.

Tre felt his heart beat just a little bit faster. Had the supply modules been delivered and used? Or were they still there waiting for special ops troops who never arrived? If so, even one Wolverine Package could yield enough supplies to keep the gang going for months. But how likely was that? The odds against finding such a package were exceedingly long. So what to do? Take the information to Crow or save himself further embarrassment?

Tre thought about it for a long time before closing the binder and getting to his feet. He found Crow sitting on the ground leaning against a boulder. He was cleaning a pistol. He looked up. “What do
you
want?”

“I’ve been going through the binder,” Tre replied, “and I found something.”

Crow frowned. “What is it this time? A rainbow and a pot of gold?”

“No. A container filled with military supplies.”

Crow sighed. “Look, Sticks, I know you mean well, but we’re up against some hard realities. Hog says we’re running out of food. And not just here. Back at the mine too. That’s our first priority . . . finding food. We can’t afford to chase possibilities.”

“These aren’t possibilities,” Tre insisted stubbornly. “They’re real.”

“Okay,” Crow said wearily, “make your pitch.”

So Tre did, being careful to go over all the documentation, including the map. “The odds suck,” Crow said once the presentation was over. “You know that.”

“Yes. But have you got a better plan?”

The direct challenge came as a surprise to both of them. Anger flared in Crow’s eyes. “Watch your mouth, boy . . . and don’t give me that ‘I’m twenty years old’ crap. This conversation is over.”

Tre turned and was about leave when Crow spoke. “Leave the notebook.”

So Tre placed the binder on the ground and left.

After a meager dinner, Tre hit the sack. He wasn’t slated for guard duty that night but slept poorly and awoke tired. Breakfast consisted of herbal tea and a small serving of oatmeal. Crow took a moment to address the bandits once they were on their horses. “We’re headed for a town called Pauline. Then it’s on to Soda Springs, Wayan, and back home. Keep your eyes peeled. We could use some grub.”

So in spite of his comments the day before, Crow had chosen to swing through Pauline. But there was no mention of the military supply container that might or might not be there. Was that a strategy calculated to prevent morale from slipping further? Tre thought so but kept his thoughts to himself as they rode north, turned onto a secondary road, and followed it south.

They saw one inn and some fortified farmhouses, but most people lived well back from the road with only the occasional wisp of smoke to indicate that they were there. All the bandits had permission to forage, but the need to keep going made that difficult. Still, the scouts came up with a couple of free-range chickens, and Bones scored a hatful of apples by riding through an ancient orchard.

As evening approached, Crow began to busy himself with a compass. Tre figured he was working with the coordinates Nulty had written on the map. And that was how they wound up on an overgrown farm a short distance from Bannock Creek.

It consisted of a half-burned house, a dilapidated barn, and a pond out front. As they set up camp and Hog went to work plucking the chickens, Crow roamed the farm, seemingly at random. Except Tre knew what the other man was looking for and knew it wasn’t there. How could it be? According to the information contained in the binder, the plan was to drop Wolverine Packages into wilderness areas. And the farm didn’t qualify.

Tre felt his already low spirits descend even further as he took a couple of horses down to the pond. He was riding Willie and leading a horse named Betty. As Willie put his head down, Tre found himself looking down into the murky water. That was when he saw the shadow. A rock? No, rocks didn’t have corners.

Tre felt a sudden surge of excitement, urged Willie forward, and felt the cold water rise. Then they were there, circling what was clearly a large container of some kind. “Crow!” Tre shouted. “Over here!”

Crow came, as did the rest of them, and Tre took the measurements. That meant going neck deep in the water, but he didn’t care. Not if the container was what he hoped it was. And the results were promising. The box was ten feet long, eight feet wide, and something like eight feet high. It was hard to tell because the object was sitting on a bed of soft mud. The dimensions were consistent with what the military called a bicon. But what was it doing there? Tre had a theory. The farm was only miles from the Bannock mountain range. Perhaps that was where the package was supposed to go, only something had gone wrong and the helicopter had been forced to drop the bicon into the pond. Maybe they planned to come back for it . . . or maybe anything. There was no way to be certain.

“This could be what we’ve been looking for,” Crow said cautiously. “But don’t get excited. There may or may not be supplies inside. And who knows . . . maybe it’s full of water.” Tre hadn’t thought of that and felt his hopes plummet.

“That raises another problem,” Bones put in. “We can’t open it. Not underwater.”