The Survivalist - 02 (17 page)

Coveralls nodded. “That’s right. It’s hidden not far from here.”

Blacksmith took a moment to pull his plan together. Then he gestured to Coveralls.

“You get in the back. Cletus, you get up there and watch him. The marshal and I are going to ride up front.” Blacksmith turned back to Mason. “Where’s your gun?”

“Lost it,” Mason said, showing him his empty holster. He flicked his eyes over at the glove box.

Blacksmith caught the motion and smiled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, waving Mason away with the rifle. He stepped up to the truck and popped open the glove box. The Glock G17 nearly fell out. “Thought you could get over on me?”

Mason shrugged. He hated giving up the Glock, but it added credibility to his story.

Blacksmith picked up the pistol and slung it down the highway.

“Now you don’t got shit, Marshal.”

Coveralls stared at Mason, clearly concerned that a gun had been so close at hand during their brief journey together.

They all loaded into the truck, with Blacksmith now taking Coveralls’ place as Mason’s captor. The man’s leg obviously hurt from the gunshot wound, and he leaned awkwardly against the door as he tried to keep it straight.

Mason drove along Park Road, taking his time to let everything sink in. Despite now being surrounded by three people who all wanted him dead, things had actually improved. Coveralls was far more dangerous than Blacksmith and Cletus, and having him disarmed was a step in the right direction. Also, his newest captors were wounded and borderline stupid, a good combination for any prisoner. And, while the Glock had been found, the Supergrade was now hidden and within reach, making that situation a zero sum gain. Perhaps, what worked most in Mason’s favor was that Blacksmith and Cletus had two people to worry about. And Coveralls didn’t strike Mason as a man who would be able to contain his violence for long.

He drove them all the way to Lake Crawford and parked in the same location as the day before. Mason could hardly believe that it had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d hidden the gold. The brief time had been filled with more than one setback and certainly no lack of excitement. He had a feeling that things were only going to pick up further, as momentum continued to push the ball down the field.

With an idea slowly starting to form, Mason led them down the embankment toward the lake. The jon boat sat upside down on a muddy patch a few feet from the water.

“We’ll need the boat,” he said.

Everyone stopped and looked at him.

“Why’s that?” asked Blacksmith.

“The gold’s out in the lake.”

“The hell it is.”

“I figured the safest place for it was on the bottom of the lake.”

“You gotta be freakin’ kidding me.”

Mason shook his head.

“If you want it, we’ll have to go out in the boat. It’s probably best if just you and I go out.”

Blacksmith considered the offer.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? One on one, and me injured, no less. No, we’ll all go.”

“Okay,” Mason said, knowing it would actually be easier to execute his plan with four men in the boat. He needed two things. Weight and chaos.

Coveralls caught his eye and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Somehow he had picked up on Mason’s plan and was indicating his willingness to participate.

They flipped the jon boat over and dragged it out into the water. Blacksmith had Cletus get in first, then Coveralls, Mason, and finally, he climbed in. Mason noticed that his leg was bleeding again.

“Okay, lawman, take us to the gold.” Blacksmith pointed the Mini-14 at him, but they were in very tight quarters. It wouldn’t take much for it to turn into a wrestling match for the rifle.

Mason rowed the boat to roughly the center of the small lake before coming to a stop about one hundred feet out from shore. Then he peered over the edge as if searching for their prize.

“It’s around here somewhere,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I’m sure of it.”

“You just dumped it?” said Blacksmith. “That’s the dumbest—”

“Wait, is that it?”

Blacksmith and Cletus both leaned over to get a look. As their weight shifted, the boat canted to the side. Before anyone could react, Coveralls grabbed both sides and rolled the boat over.

As soon as Mason hit the cold water, he dove deeper. Only when he could no longer see the others behind him, did he snake sideways and swim in the direction that he sensed led back to shore. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a dark cloud swirling in the water above him. Blood. At first, he thought it might be from Blacksmith’s leg, but then he saw Cletus slowly sinking down into the deep. His throat was cut so badly that his spine was the only thing keeping his head attached.

Mason held his breath for as long as he could, swimming in what he hoped was the right direction. When he finally came up for air, he was only about thirty feet from the shore and almost in line with where the boat had been docked. He sucked in a quick breath and dropped back below the surface. When the water became too shallow to swim, he stood and scrambled up the muddy bank. No gunfire erupted, so he continued running up the hill toward the truck at breakneck speed. He heard splashing behind him. Someone was hot on his heels.

He ran straight for the passenger side, tore open the door, and jammed his hand down between the seats. Footsteps thundered up the hill behind him. Mason gripped the Supergrade and pulled the weapon free. He spun around just as Coveralls lumbered to within a few steps of the truck, soaking wet and out of breath. He was holding Mason’s hunting knife, which he must have grabbed when sitting in the back with Cletus.

Before either of them could react, Blacksmith hobbled up the bank carrying the Mini-14. As soon as he saw them, he stopped and brought the rifle up. Mason raised his Supergrade and put two in his chest, sending Blacksmith tumbling back down the muddy slope. Then he turned back to Coveralls.

“Did you kill Cletus?”

Coveralls nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He was only about eight feet away. Close enough to use the knife on Mason in less than a second. When it came to guns versus knives, anything inside ten feet could go either way.

Mason lowered the Supergrade so that it hung at his side, never removing his finger from the trigger. He watched Coveralls closely.

“You’re a mean son of a bitch. Of that, I have no doubt. But you did your part to get us free, so I guess that means I owe you something.”

Coveralls’ eyes darted from side to side, deciding his next move. He remained slightly bent forward as if still trying to recover.

“If you start walking, I’ll forget about the discomfort you’ve caused me. If you don’t, I’ll put you down on this gravel lot. The choice is yours.”

Coveralls stood up straight. He was a big man, easily six inches taller and eighty pounds heavier than Mason.

“You let me go, and then what?”

“Then I’m going back to York to get my dog.”

“And the gold?”

“I was never going to give you the gold.”

Coveralls nodded. “I figured as much.”

“So, what’s it going to be?”

“If you go back, they’ll kill you for sure.”

Mason shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Are you planning to kill Alex?”

He thought about her beautiful face and gorgeous body. He also thought about her dangling from Stogie’s legs until his neck snapped.

“I don’t know yet. She—”

Without warning, Coveralls lunged forward with the knife.

Mason tilted his wrist up and fired. He let the momentum of the recoil bring his arm up as he continued the zipper shot, opening five bloody holes that spanned from groin to nose.

CHAPTER

17

Tanner had fully expected that driving out of Atlanta in the dark was going to be a slow and stressful experience. Most roads were blocked, and the trick was figuring out which ones still allowed passage. The infected were all over the city, and they seemed particularly busy now that night had fallen. He felt like a cat trying to sneak out of a junkyard that had “Beware of Dog” signs on every corner.

He ended up parking on a deserted street and waiting for morning, with the shotgun lying across his lap. Samantha sat beside him with the butt of her rifle resting on the floorboard. Libby was in the back with her eyes closed. Tanner wasn’t sure if she was asleep, but he hoped so. She’d had a hell of a day, and some rest would do her good.

“You like her,” Samantha said, catching him looking in the rear view mirror at Libby.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry. She can’t hear us.” Samantha swung around to watch her. “She’s pretty. Do you want to kiss her?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he said, shaking his head.

“What? What did I say?”

“I’m going to sleep. You’re on guard duty for a while.”

“Okay,” she said, shrugging.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat.

In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “If you weren’t back by dawn, I was going to leave you.”

“I know,” he said without ever opening his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“I believe you.”

“You’re not mad?”

He opened his eyes and looked over at her.

“If there comes a time when you need to leave me, leave me.”

Tears formed in the corner of her eyes.

“Just like that?”

He nodded. “Just like that.”

“I suppose you’ll leave me too, if it comes to that.”

He shook his head.

“No, Sam, I won’t.”

“You say that, but what if you had to choose between leaving me and, say, fighting a giant monster that likes to pee?”

He smiled and shook his head in utter bewilderment.

“Heavens, girl, what can I possibly say to that?”

“Someone’s hiding up there,” she said, nudging Tanner’s shoulder.

He opened his eyes. The morning sun was just beginning to peek between buildings.

“Where?”

Samantha pointed. “There, by the big orange car.”

Tanner searched the street. She was right. At least two people were hiding behind an older model orange Ford parked about a block ahead of them. Two other cars had crashed in the center of the street, making it a great pinch point for an ambush.

“Now, that’s something,” he said.

“What?”

“The car. It’s a ‘76 Gran Torino. You know, like from
Starsky and Hutch
.”

“Who?”

He sighed. “Before your time.”

“Did I mention that people are hiding behind the car? People who probably want to eat us?”

He smiled. “Still . . . a ’76 Torino.”

“Are you done?”

“Almost.” He took one last look at the vintage automobile. “All right, done.”

“Are we going to get out of here? Like now?”

Tanner looked over his shoulder. Backing up wouldn’t be easy with all the cars and junk filling the street. Trying to do so would likely result in him hitting something, or, worse, puncturing a tire. He could try to turn the Jeep around, but that would be a slow process and put them in a precarious position.

Libby opened her eyes and sat forward. She immediately pointed toward the men hiding behind the car.

Tanner nodded. “We see them.”

Samantha tightened her grip on her rifle.

“What are we going to do?”

“You two stay here,” he said. “I’m going to introduce myself.”

“Don’t leave again,” Samantha said, putting her hand on his arm.

“I’m not leaving. I’ll be right up there. Besides,” he said, patting his shotgun, “this will keep me safe unless there’s a whole gang—”

“Horde,” she corrected. “Zombies travel in hordes.”

“Fine. Unless there’s a whole horde of them, I should be able to hold my own.” He turned to face Libby. “Can you drive?” Even as he asked the question, he realized that it was probably very insulting. “What I mean is, are you comfortable driving this Jeep?”

She nodded and smiled with more understanding than he deserved.

He stepped out, and Libby quickly climbed forward to sit in the driver’s seat. She studied the controls, pushing the brakes and moving the blinkers and wiper levers up and down. As Tanner started down the street, Samantha cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered out of Libby’s window.