Ever Onward (26 page)

‘But if you hide the
crown,

Even in your
heart,

There will He rake for
it!’

Looking into those
wolf-grey eyes, Chad realized that Jocco would not be content to
use a rake. No way, Hozay! This cold-hearted mother-fucker would
use a chainsaw! And a Christly BIG one at
that!

“Are there any questions?”

Chad shook his head.

“Good. My squad and I will be leaving
now. But we’ll be back.” There was a pause, then: “See that my
orders are carried out, Sergeant.”

Chad nodded, and received a hard smack
on his still bleeding ear from Eva Madeau. “Salute,
Shit-head!”

Chad drew himself up and saluted
smartly. “Yes, Sir!”

Jocco smiled. “You learn fast,
Sergeant. See that your men do as well.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Jocco turned to Eva. “Bring the
brunette.”

The husky woman grinned and yanked the
frightened girl away from the others. She screamed and tried to
pull away, so Eva thrust the barrel of her M-16 into the open
mouth. The brunette ceased her struggling.

Still smiling, Jocco turned and walked
back to the parked vehicles. Pussbag and the others flowed after
him, drawn along like gulls following a shark. Before leaving,
George the Man leaned toward Chad, intent on imparting a bit of
sage advice.

“Don’t even think of running,
Limp-dick! Jocco wouldn’t like that. Just do as he says and things
will work out fine. And remember, we WILL be back.”

When they were alone again, the Lost
Boys crowded around Chad. Some were angry, some were scared. The
three remaining girls were crying. Crazy sat slumped on the floor,
the towel stained with his own blood still pressed to his missing
ear.

Four Wheels asked the question that
was foremost in all their minds. “What do we do now,
Chad?”

Chad’s answer was quick in coming.
“You heard the man, you’ll do exactly what you’re told to do. We
all will.” He glanced down at Crazy. “We’ll start with getting
Crazy fixed up. Girls, see to it. Smoke, Four Wheels, go get rid of
Gears’ body. Cowboy, cook us up some more steaks and don’t burn the
fuckers this time!” Chad fixed them all with what he hoped was a
‘cold stare’ of his own. And no more pills or booze! After we eat
we got a lot of work to do. Now move it!”

Slowly at first, but quicker as the
realization set in that they too once again had some purpose in
life, they began to carry out their appointed tasks. Watching them
go, a smile of his own slowly crept across Chad’s face. He had
never really liked being king. Too many fucking decisions. But he
sure as hell liked being the boss. A big fish in a small pond was
what he was meant to be. The smile grew into a grin, the grin into
a laugh. Life for Big Bad Sergeant Chad was once again
sweet.

Chapter 21
: ‘THE OLD MAN OF THE
SEA’

Acadia National Park

Maine July
20

Flame’s new Harley led the way over
the low bridge. Behind her came the two vans. The tow-truck brought
up the rear. A bullet hole on the passenger’s side showed that it
had been a rough couple of weeks in more ways than one.

On either side of them the sea
sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun. Ahead lay Acadia
National Park, a mountainous kidney shaped chunk of the Maine coast
that thrust a dozen miles out into the cold, blue
Atlantic.

They had just come down from Bangor,
where they had spent a few days with Maybelle Smith and her group.
Maybelle was the new Mayor of Bangor, elected unanimously by the
seventeen survivors of that fair city. Maybelle, in Josh’s words,
was a real pistol!

Grey haired and portly, she had almost
singlehandedly gathered all the remnants of humanity she could find
and was well on her way to forging a new community. A month after
the old world had died, Maybelle Smith was already building a new
one.

Josh and his group had been
well received. With the lights and power and now all the phones
being off, news of any kind was welcome. A week or so earlier
another group had passed through. A man and a woman from Halifax,
Canada. They had a four year old with them and were heading for
Florida. Like Josh’s party, they had stayed for a few days, wished
Mayor Maybelle well, and left.

Twice on the way from Mt. Washington
to Bar Harbor they had met other communities. Unlike the good folks
at Bangor however, these other groups had not rolled out the
welcome mat. In Augusta the I-95 off ramp had been guarded by armed
men. They wanted no trouble, but they also wanted no outsiders.
South of Bangor, in a little village called Green Lake, they had
been shot at. People it seemed, were very leery of
strangers.

Just over the heavy wooden bridge they
stopped at the Acadia National Park Information Station for a
detailed map of the park. The main reason they had come here was
that Billy had an uncle in a little fishing village called Bass
Harbour that he used to visit during the summers. Though he hadn’t
been back for five years, he still had fond memories of working on
his Uncle Jim’s lobster boat.

So far they had looked up several
relatives of the group at various locations. None had been found.
No-one, not even Billy, expected to find Uncle Jim alive and well
and still lobster fishing, but they had to at least go through the
motions.

Passing through the quaint little
village of Somersville, they saw two men coming out of a hardware
store. Both dropped their bundles and ran down a back alley.
Shouting for them to stop only made them run all the
faster.

Flame sat on her Harley in the middle
of the street, a look of disgust on her tanned face. “Not large in
the balls department, were they?”

“At least they didn’t shoot at us,”
Eddy remarked.

Bass Harbor turned out to be deserted.
Uncle Jim’s house, tired and worn by the winter gales, looked like
it hadn’t been lived in for years.

“Uncle Jim never was too tidy,” Billy
said. “I guess when Aunt Elie died a few years back he sort of let
things go.”

Brad nodded and they left the little
village and continued along the coast. West Tremont was equally
empty. Five miles further they came to Seal Cove. Driving over the
little bridge that led to the fishing village, both boys were
amazed to see what looked like water running up hill. The tide was
high and working its way up river, causing ripples and waves in the
fresh water stream.

As they drove through their third
deserted village of the day, Ken suddenly pointed at some smoke. It
came from an outdoor chimney, the kind set up to cook lobsters and
clams for the tourists. Josh stopped opposite the weathered
building. A faded sign hung over the door. Lobster Bar & Grill.
Flame, fearless as usual, had driven into the sandy yard used for a
parking lot. Eddy pulled his van up behind Josh’s and reached for
his rifle.

Brad turned to the boys. “You know the
drill. Stay with the van and hold on to Og. Tina will stay by
Eddy’s van. Don’t move unless we call.”

Ken nodded, clearly unhappy to be
treated like a kid. Jessie shut the pup in the van and grabbed his
bow. Og’s mother, Princess, would go with Josh. She was getting
very good at sniffing out strangers, and would freeze like a
Pointer when she picked up a new sent. The pup, Og, had yet to
learn his mother’s tricks.

The four men cautiously approached the
building. Flame was already poking around the outdoor fireplace. A
large pot of lobsters boiled merrily away. All had their weapons
ready.

“Hello inside!”, Josh
yelled.

No answer.

Josh called again, getting the same
response. Billy moved around one side while Eddy took the other.
Flame watched Josh for the nod. When it came, she kicked in the
door and flattened against the outside wall. Princess

froze, her neck hair up, a deep growl
rumbling in her throat.

“We mean no harm,” Josh yelled, “but
come out NOW!”

An old man appeared at the door, one
hand held a wooden mallet, the other held up his pants. A look of
startled indignation worked on his weathered features. The fact
that he was toothless made him look even more comical.

“Jesuth H. Chritht! Who ta hell ‘er
you lot?! Can’t a man take a dump wi’out bein’ scared
shitless?!”

The guns were lowered and Josh offered
his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, old fella. We
didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The ancient mariner shuffled forward.
Flame stepped up behind him. Turning, he saw the tall beauty, then
the large gun in her hand. Startled for the second time in as many
minutes, the old fisherman instinctively raised his hands. His
baggy trousers fell about his skinny knees. Flame smiled and patted
his bald head.

“You don’t waist any time, do you,
Curly?”

Yanking up his pants, the old man’s
reply was as fast as her own. “At my age, Red, I aint got a whole
lot left ta waist!” He winked at the tall woman, then turned to
Josh. “You ta skipper o’ this here crew?”

Josh introduced himself and the
others, then called Tina and the boys over. The old man’s eyes lit
up when he saw Jessie and Ken.

“I’m Gus Kenner.” He walked over to
the cauldron and stirred it with a broken oar, then turned to the
boys. “You boys fancy Sheddas?”

Ken peeked inside. “Looks like
lobsters to me.”

“That’s ‘cause they are lobsters, lad.
Best damned soft shelled lobsters in Maine! Why, ta President
himself stood right there were you stand now! Ate three o’ my
Sheddas he did, n’ took a case back with him!”

“How long ago was that, Mr. Kenner?”
Tina had moved up and was looking in the pot.

“Oh, long ‘for my Suzie died, n’ she’s
been gone over twenty year now.” He peered at Tina for a moment.
“You look a lot like my Suzie, way back when.”

Tina smiled and Gus favored her with a
toothless grin, then turned to Josh. “You boys come from the
mainland. It bad over there?”

Josh shrugged. “Bad
enough.”

Gus scratched his scruffy beard.
“Figured as much. Everyone in Seal Cove just up ‘n blew away. ‘Cept
for Mat ‘n Heather. Nothing left but dried kelp, ‘ceptin’ it
weren’t kelp.”

Josh looked at Brad. Both had caught
the mention of the other names. Josh asked about them.

“Matthew Bridger n’ his daughter
Heather,” Gus answered. “Mat’s a retired banker or such from down
Portland way. Has a big place just up ta coast. Loads o’ money.
Loves boats. Has a 40 footer. Not a bad seaman for a
mainlander.”

“Where is this Mat now?”

Gus waved his hand towards the ocean.
“Sailed off ta Portsmouth a day or two after things changed. Said
he’d be back, but I aint so sure.” A distant look moved swiftly
across the old man’s face. For a fleeting moment Josh thought he
saw sadness; then it was gone and Gus turned his toothless grin on
them all. “Enough talkin’. Ta Sheddas ‘re ready.”

They were sitting on Gus’ raised
veranda overlooking the bay, the stilts supporting the rickety
structure as old as their owner. The dark waves of the Atlantic
rolled beneath them as the sun turned the western sky the color of
molten lava.

It turned out that Gus knew Billy’s
uncle; not well, but enough to know he had been a good lobsterman.
It also turned out that Gus knew about the two men they had seen
back in Somersville.

“They came through here over a week
ago. Two men and a woman.” Gus had put his false teeth in, making
his Maine accent easier to follow. “Said they were looking for
other survivors, but I didn’t like their looks. Both men had rifles
‘n one had a pistol stuck in his belt. They didn’t stay long ‘n
that was just fine by me.” He reached down and began scratching the
pup’s ears. “I aint seem them since.”

Josh lit his pipe as fresh coffee
brewed on a small wood stove. The rest were gathered around. Billy
was quietly playing his guitar. Og was basking in the attention his
new friend was giving him.

“Always liked dogs,” Gus said. “My
last one died a few years back. You wouldn’t be interested in
selling this one?”

Jessie smiled and shook his
head.

“Thought not,” Gus said. “A boy needs
a dog. Besides, money aint worth shit now, is it? Pardon my
French.”

“Did those men say where they were
from?”, Josh asked.

“Aye-ya,” Gus replied, lighting his
own pipe. “Over Bar Harbour way. Where all the city-folk gather.
Too much noise ‘n bustling about for me.”

Josh leaned forward. “What bothered
you about those men, besides the fact that they were
armed?”

Gus looked at Josh for a long moment,
then put his pipe aside. “You don’t miss a hell of a lot, do you
son? No, it were more than the guns. For one thing they said they
worked for Chisolm Cannery, and that means John Chisolm. Me and
Chisolm never did exactly see eye to eye.”

“And why is that?, if you don’t mind
me asking.”

“I don’t mind at all, Josh. I’ve been
telling anyone who’ll listen for the last dozen years that John
Chisolm is a shark! A no-good, back-stabbing, net-cutting bastard
that would use his own mamma for bait! He cornered the market here
abouts n’ bought our catch for a third of what it was worth. When
someone tried to sell someplace else, an ‘accident’
happened!”