Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (32 page)

“Yes,” said John. “Think we can do more to hide ourselves in here?”

“Something natural or man-made?” asked Paul.

“Man-made,” replied John. “Definitely man-made.”

“More FEMA trouble?” asked Paul.

“Probably, but does it matter? We need to hide either way. Think we can open a few of these square bales and cover our vehicles?”

“Sure,” said Pete. “You think it’ll be an air threat?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m thinking. And I think we should cover the vehicles as quickly as possible,” added John, with wide eyes of expression.

Marissa caught the conversation from the truck window and asked, “Can I let the kids out?”

John nodded and said, “Sure, they can help spread the hay around the ground. Just make sure they keep it away from the exhaust pipes.”

Twenty minutes later, the company paused to admire their vehicle camouflaging efforts. At least a foot of loose hay covered a trap that was angled and anchored to the support poles near the vehicles. Several heavy bales were tumbled onto the ground in front of and behind the three vehicles, adding to the look that the hay tumbled from the piles along the walls. Pete used several boards to shape the tarp in a way to break up its uniformed appearance, but it really wasn’t necessary. When they were done, the hay offered a superb cover and allowed everyone to burn off a bit of built up energy.

After hanging a string of battery-powered LED lights, the shelter under the hay was pleasant and comfortable. With the work done, John was finally able to relax. He took a few minutes to watch Pete position the boys in two separate look-outs along the hay barn’s high rafters, and once again admired his tactical sense. He wanted to climb up on the hay and join him, but the bales were stacked more than three stories high, so he changed his mind. He wasn’t, after all, a little boy anymore.

Pete found a way to make a safe access for the boys, and to keep them hidden from view. The only trouble now was the stench of close-penned cows and their waste. The smell lingered in the air, but fortunately the north wind sent most of it away.

Curious and interested about the other buildings, thinking they might even find some fuel stored in one of them, John decided to have a look around. Michael, Paul’s middle boy of eight years, saw him leave and asked to tag along. John wanted a quiet moment alone, but Michael was a quiet boy, and asked very few questions, so John agreed. Like John, he seemed to be introspective and quietly inquisitive. Also like John, he was restless and needed to stretch his legs a little more.

When they reached the warehouse a hundred yards beyond the hay barn, John heard the very distinct sound of approaching helicopter blades. It was a military helicopter by the sound of it, but it was still very faint and several miles away. He keyed his radio and said, “Incoming.” And then added “I’ve got Papa-eight with me,” which was the tactical code for Michael. Pete had decided not to confuse the issue by giving individual code-names for everyone, so Paul’s youngest kids, and Abby, were simply tagged with the first letter of their dad’s first name, and their age. John ended the communication by saying, “Radio silence in effect. Blue-six, out.”

“What’s going on, Uncle John?”

“Listen. You hear that sound?” asked John. The boy nodded eagerly. “That’s the sound of a helicopter coming this way.”

“Cool! Can I see it?”

“Not this one, buddy. We don’t want them to see us either. Come on, let’s get into that warehouse.” John approached and tried the door, but it was locked, and too solidly built to be kicked in. Shooting it open also wasn’t an option, it would only worry everyone, and frighten the boy. Instead, he grabbed Michael’s hand and prepared to run back to the hay barn.

“What about over there?” said Michael, as he pointed to a tarp lying over what looked like a mound of dirt. It was on the far side of the warehouse, in its shadow, and close enough to reach without worrying about being seen by the approaching helicopter.

“Good thinking,” said John, and he ran to the tarp, pulled up the corner, and dove under with Michael. The sound of the approaching helicopter grew steadily stronger. The blades slapped the air sharply, and John knew it was a Blackhawk, and that it was also moving at near maximum speed.

The smell under the tarp choked them, and both wretched to the fumes of fermenting cow manure. Michael tensed and flexed his muscles as if preparing to run, but John held him tight and said, “We have to stay, Michael. Our lives might depend on it.”

The boy buried his face in his hands and waited with hope for fresh air. John, ever so slowly, lifted the edge of the tarp and allowed clean air to flow in. Michael breathed deeply, and rubbed his eyes while the helicopter flew almost directly overhead, passing a mere three hundred feet above them. John knew there was only two reasons a crew would fly that low and fast: one was to avoid detection and enemy fire, and the other was to look for someone and take them by surprise.

Nap-of-the-earth flights were good for surprising the enemy, but in this case, a higher elevation flight offered much better option for visibility. John wasn’t sure what the crew was up to, but he knew they were looking for his company. He didn’t know how he knew, only that he did.

As soon as the aircraft passed by overhead, John flipped the trap back and tried to read its markings. It was already too far away, but he didn’t miss the twin door guns sticking out on both sides of the aircraft. The fact that it was a single aircraft also meant something to him. If they were willing to send out a single bird sortie, then they were very interested in finding them.

“Can I get up now, Uncle John?”

“You sure can, Michael,” said John, as he stood and helped the boy up. “You know what?” added John.

“What?” said the boy, and as soon as he was up he began brushing dried manure off his clothes.

“You just earned yourself a medal?”

“I did? Awesome. What kind of medal,” he asked.

“For valor under enemy contact,” said John.

“When do I get it?” he asked, eagerly.

“Soon. And I won’t forget either. Okay?” The boy threw out his hand, and with a chuckle, John grabbed it and gave the boy a firm handshake. “Now go tell your mom I’m sorry for getting you all dirty.” The boy ran off and John followed behind, eager to discuss the fly-by with Pete. He was curious to learn what Pete thought of it, and was certain he would agree that they were being actively pursued. The question then was, how to break contact permanently?

CHAPTER 13

WASTER

M
ark woke to the sound of his watch alarm, a quiet beep that was barely audible to anyone standing more than a few feet away, but enough to wake him from a deep sleep. Lauren lay wrapped in his poncho liner with Sage next to her, sharing his body warmth with her in a way that humored him until the dog raised his head and growled.
“Seriously?”
thought Mark. In a whisper he said, “Don’t make me shoot you.” Sage whined and dropped his head on his paws, but watched Mark with one eye open.

After lacing his boots, Mark grabbed his rifle and left the barn to find Charlie. The wind had died down significantly, but there was a heaviness to the air that seemed strangely odd to him, as if an unseen enemy was about to launch a surprise attack. Since the eruption, there had been little opportunity to see the stars, or the moon for that matter. He scanned the sky for his old friend, the moon, and turned to look west. Thick bands of orange, red, and purple light stretched across the horizon, resisting the enveloping darkness called night. But Mark knew they would lose. The daylight always gave way to night, and night to day. No one ever won.

Mark actually liked working by moonlight, it made moving around easier, especially when it was shining anywhere from half to full. Sadly, the moon seemed lost behind a thick blanket of gray tonight, and Mark didn’t know if the gray was potential rain, fallout, or ash. “What a way to ruin the sky,” he said, and turned to complete his walk to the house.

As quietly as possible, he opened the front screen door and knocked lightly. A return knock sounded, followed by Mark’s reply. The door
opened, and Mark closed it before stepping around a heavy blanket to greet Charlie. Three candles were burning on the coffee table near the couch, and Cass sat working on a cross-word puzzle. “Evening, Cass,” offered Mark.

Without looking up she said, “Evening, Steve.”

“You know that’s not my name, don’t you?” he said.

“Yeah. You’ve got the name Mark written on some of your gear, so I figure you either killed some guy named Mark and assumed his identity, or you’re really named Mark,” replied Cass.

Mark snorted and said, “I used an assumed to protect you guys.”

“Someone chasing you?” she asked plainly.

“Not that I know of,” he answered, “But we live in dangerous times.”

“Hmmm,” replied Cass. “What’s a three-letter word for a graceful tree?”

“Elm?” answered Mark.

“You’re right. Nice one. So, are you guys planning on stopping the cow waster tonight?”

“That’s the plan, Cass. Now quit hassling Steve . . . I mean, Mark. It’s Mark, right?” asked Charlie.

Mark nodded and said, “It’s Mark. And Lauren’s in the barn,” he added.

“Lauren. That’s a pretty name. I like that better than Julie,” said Cass. “Six-letter word for main course?”

“Entrée,” replied Mark.

“You’re smart,” said Cass.

“I’m rarely accused of being smart,” replied Mark. “But I have been known to be dangerous.”

“Should we be worried?” asked Cass.

“Not for one minute, young lady,” replied Mark. “I’d die trying to protect you and Charlie, which is why I offered to help. Do you want to hear my profile of the cow waster?”

“Of course. I think it’s some fool from the neighborhood. I told mom we should have sold this place and moved when they put in highway-130.
And when they built that neighborhood east of us, and then added the school . . . well, I knew we had lost.”

“I agree, it’s probably someone from the neighborhood. A man. Probably an adult. Strong enough to carry a hundred pounds of meat. Kills with a silenced twenty-two, and has some hunting experience. The cuts are rushed, but not necessarily sloppy.”

“A silenced twenty-two?” asked Charlie.

“That would explain why we don’t hear anything. I thought silencers were illegal,” said Cass.

“That depends. But it’s not hard to make a silencer for a twenty-two. In fact, it’s pretty easy. An oil filter will work just fine,” said Mark. Charlie stiffened at Mark’s last statement, but Mark acted like he didn’t notice.

Charlie cleared his throat and said, “Why would that man take just a leg?”

“Food, of course. He’s probably selling it to the neighbors, or maybe trading it for something he wants, like smokes or something hard to find now.”

“Like gasoline?” asked Charlie.

“Yeah, gasoline is hard to find right now, and probably will be for a long time,” replied Mark.

“Anyone want a drink of water?” asked Charlie. “I’m thirsty.”

“Sure,” said Mark. “I’ll take one . . . with ice if you have any.” When Charlie stepped out, Mark asked Cass, “Do you run the generator long enough to keep the food in your refrigerator cold?”

Cass sighed and said, “Charlie’s in charge of the generator, but he keeps it running when we need it. He doesn’t always run it, like now, and usually only during the day because it makes too much noise.”

“Does it run on gas or propane?”

“Gas, I think,” said Cass. “Why?”

“No reason,” said Mark.

Charlie returned from the kitchen and handed Mark, and his sister, a glass of ice water. Mark drank it down with pleasure and said,
“Charlie, let’s take a look around and see if we can pick a good place to observe the pasture.”

“Sure,” replied Charlie, as he finished his glass and began chewing on a piece of ice.

Mark set his glass on the coffee table and said, “We’ll be back in about an hour.”

“You boys have fun now,” chirped Cass. Completely content with her crossword puzzle, she didn’t bother looking up when Mark and Charlie stepped around the blanket and out the front door.

Mark led Charlie to a bench on the east side of the house and took a seat next to him. Charlie opened the conversation by saying, “Mom had dad put this bench in so she could watch the sunrise every morning. The sunrises in this area are usually really nice, and mom was a morning person. She’d come sit out here . . . even in the winter.”

“How much gas have you been getting for a leg of beef?” asked Mark.

Charlie flinched, and then seemed to deflate. He dropped his head and asked, “Please don’t tell Cass.”

“I won’t. It’s none of my business, really. I’m just glad you guys are safe. It’s a scary prospect facing someone desperate enough to kill and steal a cow leg under your nose,” said Mark.

“How’d you figure out it was me?”

Mark snorted and said, “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, Charlie. But a couple of things about the
waster
bothered me. The first was getting close enough to the cows to kill them without them making a fuss. Cows don’t see very well at night, and when someone tries to sneak up on them they tend to make a ruckus. The second was the twenty-two. I saw scratches on your barrel. I wasn’t sure why until I thought about a silencer. Do you use an oil filer, or a soda bottle?”