THE TRASHMAN (27 page)

I did a quick count. Before their movement became too confusing, my count of people was up to sixty. I knew there were many more, but I lacked information to extrapolate a number from my observation.

The men that I could see, and many of the women, too, were armed with rifles, most of them had a sidearm holstered as well.

I remained where I was. I grew hungry and ate three nutrition bars washed down with water. My side began throbbing and I reached under my shirt to feel it. The area around my wound was warm to the touch; I could feel a slight swelling under the scab covering the entry hole. That really pissed me off, because Carl and I decided it was finally healing, and I’d stopped taking the Keflex. The medicine was back at the trail and campground where I left the van, or should’ve been, if Pastor Watts and his group unloaded my supplies as I asked them to do.

Close to 4:00 in the afternoon, the two Toyotas returned and drove past me. I watched them drive into town. I lost them a few times as structures blocked my view. They drove almost to the far end of the village before pulling into a parking lot in front of a large, long building.

Believing that building was probably the Clan’s headquarters, I would have changed my OP, but I’d already decided to remain where I was. As soon as it turned dark, I wanted a look at the village map on the welcome sign. Tired, and with nothing of immediate interest to keep me awake, I found a flat spot, laid out my tarp and sleeping bag, and went to sleep.

*****

I was awakened by the roar of a powerful engine on the road, and saw a big, stake-bed Dodge followed by a pickup with several men in the back, descending into the village. The Dodge was stacked high with cut sections of trees. The two trucks stopped beside a huge pile of similar wood. The men left the pickup and began unloading the stake-bed, tossing the sections onto the existing pile.

I’d slept a good bit. The sun was low over the treetops and nightfall was close at hand. I set an MRE warming and packed my tarp and sleeping bag. I was going to have a look at the sign and then I’d be changing my location to one where I could watch the headquarters. Smoke was coming from several chimneys. I drew on my pad a rough map, indicating the location of those homes as best I could, because I knew for sure they were occupied.

As night fell, the town lit up. This town had electrical power. I thought about the trail I’d followed and the heavy lines on the support towers, and surmised there had to be a dam on one of the lakes supplying hydroelectric power to the village.

I waited and watched. Lights began shining from the windows of nearly all the homes and buildings. I could have saved myself some trouble. It would have been easier to make a map showing the few unoccupied places. The building I thought of as the headquarters was well lighted, both inside and out, but the amount of light visible at a complex of buildings behind it was astounding.

I waited until midnight to leave my OP. Most of the homes were dark. The lights still on were illuminating streets and parking lots.

At the sign, I located the headquarters building on the map. It was actually a recreation center. The well-lit complex behind it was the Fontana Village resort. In my mind, the recreation building might well be the headquarters, but the resort was where the leaders of the clan were living.

From the map and my observations, the village was a mile long and a half-mile wide. It was surrounded by high ground on both the sides and at the ends.

The situation was a sniper’s paradise. My Enfield was back where I’d parked the van. Soon, I meant to have it again. For now, I would observe and plan my attack on the Clan.

I went back to my spot, removed my boots, setting them and my smelly socks downwind, and crawled into my bag. Tomorrow I’d have to find a place to wash my clothing and my body.

The following morning, I followed the ridgeline I was on. It led me north. The ridge ran parallel with the western limits of the village. I paused at the point that gave a direct, face-on view of the recreation center. It was easily two hundred feet long and was topped by a shorter, second story cupola. The center was on a slight rise. A wide set of stone steps led up the incline to a front porch running the length of the front.

Several men sitting in wooden chairs were gathered in a circle on the porch. Even with my binoculars I couldn’t make out facial features, but could see, with one exception, they were dressed in BDUs. The exception was a man in tan clothing who occasionally stood to gesture as though to emphasize a point. I assumed he was Bradford.

From what I could see of the largest building behind the Recreation Center, it was truly a resort. Two stories tall, it had a magnificent entranceway constructed of stone and glass. From my angle of view, I could just make out the pool and cabana.

Closer to the base of the ridge were tennis courts with several men and women actively playing. I could see another swimming pool with a fountain spraying a circle of water, that from my aerial viewpoint, took the shape of a shiny mushroom. It was too cold for swimmers, but come summer, I could imagine children frolicking beneath the fountain while their parents lay on recliners sunning themselves.

I got to thinking that possibly some of the citizens might not be bad people in a normal world, but they had to know how the Bradford Clan was making their indolent safety possible. They had to know innocent blood was being taken to safeguard and supply their privileged lifestyle. These were my thoughts. I could’ve been wrong and perhaps many of the people in the village didn’t know. I had to find out before I began the killing and culling.

I moved farther along the ridgeline. At the northern limit of the village, the ridge dropped off gradually to where a road from the village dead-ended at a junction with another road. To the left, this new road continued in a northerly direction with a swiftly rising grade between two steep-sided ridges. To the right, the road went east, rising gently to fade over the top of a hill. The entry to the village at this point was barricaded, but only from the easterly direction. I found that puzzling, and decided to investigate to see where the road led north.

Because of the season and the scarcity of underbrush, I had to travel deeper in the forest in order not to be seen by possible travelers. Walking transverse on the sloping terrain was a tough go. Luckily, I didn’t have to suffer the discomfort very long.

The road led to a bridge crossing a wide body of water. From my vantage point, I could see a guard post on this side of the bridge, a duplicate of the barricade I’d seen at the other entrance to the village.

The lake reminded me of my stinky socks. Staying in the shelter of the forest, I moved a mile south of the bridge and went to the shore. It took a bit of time to find a place to access the shore, but I found a section with a narrow gravel and sand beach.

I stripped, grabbed a small bottle of shampoo from my pack, and waded into the freezing cold water. Dipping my head was something I had to steel myself for. No sooner had I worked my hair into a good lather I heard a buzzing sound that grew in volume. A boat was on the lake, coming in my direction.

Leaving the water naked, suds from my head running into my eyes, blinding me, I grabbed my clothing from the beach and ran barefoot into the woods. Just in time, too. The speedboat, with several armed men in it, raced past. I stood where I was until my heart slowed down, chiding myself for not considering the Clan would patrol the lake too.

I went back to the shore and finished washing, keeping my eyes and ears focused for any sign of the boat’s return. An hour later, I was in the forest hanging my washed clothing on a length of paracord strung between two trees. I decided from that point on, I would be avoiding the lake.

I spent the rest of that day, and most of the next, reconnoitering the village from all directions. During this time, I noted that a patrol was leaving from the recreation center on a regular schedule to run the route of the crew I’d blown up. I also noted that the guard shifts at the barricades were changed thrice daily, midnight, 8:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. The only vehicles that left or returned irregularly were carrying hunting parties.

Besides having three distinct areas for parking eighteen-wheeled fuel and propane carriers, there was an area devoted to over-the-road freight haulers. I saw trucks belonging to several well-known grocery chains.

I had all the information I needed. Although it was a rough count, there were at least a hundred men, fifty or sixty women, and maybe twenty children under ten. From the distance of my observation points, it was difficult to distinguish teenagers from adults, but I guardedly put eleven into that category.

I’d spent a good deal of time watching the Resort. It was obvious that the village was no utopian society. As a pig might say, “Some are more equal than others.” The men and women lived like royalty and even had slaves to serve them. I counted twenty, very pretty young women whose only duty was to wait on the residents of the resort. They wore uniforms that were previously worn by the paid staff. I saw none of them mistreated, but I’m sure any resistance was trained out of them. The men groped and fondled the women at will.

The strangest info I’d noted on my pad was the only guards posted, other than those at the barricades, were at the resort building. The Bradford Clan was nothing but a gang of thugs.

*****

I rested the remainder of the day. The following morning I was back at the trailhead under the electrical utility wires. The jeep was still where I’d hidden it in the forest. I waited until the morning patrol returned and then drove from the trees.

I decided to take a look at the outpost. Rather than bury the remains of their comrades, whoever was in charge of the party that first went to view the scene, took a simpler path. They burned the way station to the ground. The supply shed was still standing, so I went to see if anything was left inside it.

At my urging, the pastor’s congregation had hurried to grab supplies and flee. The floor of the shed was littered with cans of food. As I searched for any supplies I could use, the contents of burst bags and packages of rice, pasta, and beans crunched underfoot. Luck was with me. I left the shed carrying a case of twenty-four cans of pear halves and a carton of forty-eight energy bars.

Went back and sorted through the mess on the floor for canned vegetables that I liked, corn, the predominate variety, was not one of them. Green beans and greens were fine, though, and I did find a few cans.

I drove out of the Clan’s territory and went to the hiking trail. The Caravan and the caretaker’s SUV were gone which meant Pastor Watts had managed to get his flock this far. I didn’t want to think about how hard such a hike on foot must have been, especially for the children and the injured.

My belongings were neatly arranged under a blue tarp they’d found in the van. The metal case holding the Enfield was at the top. I dug out my small propane stove and a pot. I was ready for the first full meal in days.

After I ate, I remembered my wound and felt for it under my shirt. The skin around it was still warm to the touch and there was definite swelling under the wound itself. I found the bottle of Keflex and swallowed a double dose. I still had daylight, so I gathered supplies, C-4, detonators and timers and a roll of duct tape. Thanks to the additional C-4 from the way station, I was able to make ten bombs weighing over five pounds each.

I slept well that night knowing I’d soon be taking the offensive against the murdering Bradford scum.

Two days later, I was back on the western ridge bordering Fontana Village. My plans were made. I was waiting for nightfall to carry them out.

Well, it didn’t happen that night. I’d decided on midnight, but just after 11:00, I saw a small group of people sneaking past the guard shack and barricade on the road I was near. They gave the guard post a wide berth, taking nearly an hour to circle around it and regain the road near the top of the ridge. Curious as to their reason for sneaking away from the ill-gained safety of the village, I abandoned my plan and followed them, taking only my assault rifle and pistol.

The group set a fast pace. I was far behind them, but I set a quicker pace and slowly closed the gap. After we’d gone along the road for two miles, I closed the gap even more. Finally, I figured we’d gone far enough.

“Halt where you are or die,” I shouted.

The group froze in place. I was close enough now to see there were three men, three women, and two small children.

One of the women shouted, “Please let us go. Tell Larry Bradford you didn’t see us. Please.”

I walked closer to the group. So far, I hadn’t seen any sign of weapons. “I’ve never met the bastard. I’m not from the village. Are you people carrying any weapons? Don’t lie.”

“Me and Phil have pistols,” one of the men said. “They’re in our front pockets.”

Rather than dealing with weapons in their hands, I said, “Leave them in your pockets. I saw you people sneaking out. Why?”

It was a woman who answered. “They aren’t our kind of people.”

“What’s wrong with them? What’s so bad about them that you’d leave such a safe, well supplied sanctuary?”

“They’re vampires feeding on what’s left. Mister, you don’t know about this place.”

I almost laughed. “Lady, I know some about this place. Look, I need to know more. What if I were to tell you I mean you no harm. Would you agree to the same for me?”

One of the men said. “Mister, we just want to go on our way, but if you promise to let us go we promise not to be any trouble.”

“Sit down where you are and I’ll come closer where we can speak quieter.”

I sat fifteen feet from the nearest of them. “Let’s do this fast because I know you need to be on your way. Tell me about the village, how it came to be. Whichever of you can condense it best, okay?”

A man said, “Evelyn.”

A woman replied sarcastically, “Thanks, Phil. Okay Mister…”

“Ralph.”

“Okay, Ralph, you want condensed. Larry and Kenneth Bradford are the leaders of the Bradford Clan, only it’s not a clan of relatives, but a bunch of murderers and rapists. Right at the beginning of the plague, before any of us in the town was aware how bad things were getting, they came into village. There were eight of them to begin with and they brought a lot of supplies with them. They rented rooms at the Resort.