Tread Fearless: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 4) (7 page)

“Then what are we waiting for,” added Paul with exaggerated gusto. “Let’s eat and hit the road again.”

“Meeting over, then,” said John, and everyone separated and went about their specific tasks.

The boys pulled security under Pete’s direction, and the wives began to set out lunch. John was worried the women would take offense to being assigned food handling. He offered to rotate the men through the detail, but the ladies would have nothing to do with it. They were not interested in pulling security, setting up the camp, doing maintenance on the vehicles, or digging a latrine. For them, planning, preparing and handling the food was a breeze compared to what the men and boys had to do. Besides, the women didn’t want the men messing up their organization.

Abby and the little kids were fed first, more to get them out of the way than anything. The security detail was fed on a rotational basis. And everyone else sat in the shade under the eave of the abandoned farmhouse. The meal was quick and easy, namely sandwiches, chips and other leftovers from the fridge they left behind. But it was good food, and filling.

The work of the past few days, preparing for the departure and all, made for some very hungry people. John didn’t know if the increased hunger was attributed to a greater calorie burn, or to the notion that food was harder to find. He knew, from experience, that even worrying about the next meal could make someone fixate on food, and eat more than they really needed.

When he was in Ranger School, being hungry made John think about food more than he dared to admit. But it was nothing compared to a friend of his. His friend obsessed with food so much during Ranger school that, during the length of the course, he filled every available white space of his Ranger handbook with words of food. Chocolate cake, spaghetti, pizza, grapes, Reese’s, and a thousand other foods were written throughout his handbook like some sort of bizarre wish list.

When his friend completed the course, after having lost more than forty pounds on the Ranger School’s, “one MRE a day diet plan,” he went straight to a buffet and ate till he puked. And after he puked, he returned
to the buffet and ate some more. John didn’t judge his friend’s weakness. Everyone struggles through Ranger School. Shutting off the body from aches and pains was hard, but shutting off the thoughts in his mind was much harder. You had to control your mind if you wanted to complete the course. John faced mental and physical challenges in Ranger School that were tougher than anything he ever faced in combat, but that didn’t make him feel special, only tired. Yet he could relate to how thoughts of hunger could override rational thought, and lead people to do desperate things.

Pete went to relieve Marcus for lunch and John watched him walk away. He knew everything would have been different without his good friend present. John wondered about Mark, why their other friend didn’t call him after he sent the email warning message. He figured Mark was doing his own thing, like Mark did. Still, he worried about his friend and wondered if he could check up on him. John decided to try reaching for Mark when they stopped for the night.

Marcus walked to the farmhouse carrying a weapon, one of Pete’s shotguns, at port-arms. Like Jenna and Bonnie noticed and commented on earlier, Pete did manage to turn the three young teenagers into soldiers. Pete had managed to build himself a youth army.

It was agreed by everyone in the company that a minimum of three guards would pull watch during each stop, be it day or night. But even those not on active guard duty agreed to keep their weapons ready, and within arm’s reach at a moment’s notice. Every member of the company was armed except for Abby, Marissa, and her two youngest boys, eight-year-old Michael, and five-year-old Antony. Even Jenna and Bonnie carried weapons, pistols in holsters at their side, and hidden under their light winter coats.

Jenna and Bonnie could shoot a rifle. In fact, Pete made it a point of preparation that everyone in the company know how to use everyone else’s weapons. He commented that it would have been nice to equip everyone with the same type of rifles and pistols, but he was glad they were all armed and comfortable with their weapons.

All but the women were battle tested now, but everyone saw the effects of it, the blood and horror. The boys played an active role in defending the house with Pete and Paul; a defense that included gunfire. The battle was relatively quick, and the outcome a decisive victory, but John knew it was only the beginning of their challenges to come.

Everyone was quietly eating their lunch and John said, “Jenna, Bonnie, Marissa, I need you to consider the possibility that all the men will be disarmed.”

They stopped eating and looked at John as if he had a branch growing out of his forehead. “Let me explain. If we’re surprised by armed men they’ll focus on us, the armed men in our company.”

“We’re armed too,” said Bonnie.

“Yes. And I’m glad you are. But I need you guys to act like you’re not armed. I need you to act helpless and afraid,” said John.

“That shouldn’t be too hard to do,” added Marissa, after she drank from a water bottle and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

“In such a situation, I need you to remain calm but act scared, lower their defenses. I’ll need you to play along with the charade until you have an opportunity to react favorably,” finished John.

“What do you mean by . . . react favorably?” asked Bonnie.

“You’re right . . . I meant to say . . . kill the bad guys. But we need a signal to act, to start a countdown of sorts. If I can talk, I’ll say something like . . . umm . . . I’ll use a sentence with the word ‘flavor’ in it. I’ll say, ‘what’s your flavor, gentlemen?’ or something like that, but in a way that won’t be suspicious to them, OK?”

“That’s all very spy-like, but do you think that will be necessary?” asked Jenna.

“I hope not,” replied john. “But I’d rather be prepared than not. If we’re prepared for trouble and it comes, then we’ve got a plan to respond. Have you guys heard of Kipling, the nineteenth century poet and author?” There were left to right shakes of the heads all around him, so he continued, “Well, he wrote ‘The Jungle Book,’ among other things.”

“Oh,” said Marissa. “I know that story. But what does it have to do with armed guys taking over the company?”

“Well, let’s just say, if you see someone leading me, or anyone else toward the company with their hands in the air, like this,” said John, and he quickly held his hands to demonstrate, “then shoot the person who’s walking by us, the one that doesn’t have their arms in the air.”

“Why would we do that?” asked Marissa.

“Because that means they’re holding one of us hostage,” replied Jenna. “Still, we don’t have the means or ability to take such a shot.”

“Not yet you don’t, but we do have the tools. I just want you guys to think about security from your perspective. Keep your pistols hidden if you can, and know where my shotgun is at all times. I also stashed a spare pistol under the Suburban . . . as an emergency backup. It’s in a plastic bag, zip-tied to the undercarriage near the passenger door. You’ll need a knife to free it, but once you do it’s loaded and ready to fire, so be careful.”

“John, why are you telling us all this?” asked Bonnie.

“I don’t know. I just need you guys to be smart . . . to keep your heads in the game, and be alert for possible danger. Even a single person, like a woman with a baby even, can be very dangerous for our company,” said John.

“Seriously? A woman with a baby?” asked Bonnie, clearly doubtful.

John looked at her and said, “Yes, a woman carrying a bundle to look like a baby is very dangerous. A woman carrying a real and hungry baby can be just as dangerous. I saw it in Iraq. The point is, never take anyone or any situation at its face value. Never underestimate the resolve or dedication of a committed threat. Just be alert and on your toes at all times. We can’t relax until we reach our destination.”

The women nodded and looked at each other. And though they appeared to understand John’s concerns, he could tell they were uncomfortable with the possibility that the survival of the entire company could come down to their having to shoot someone. He
was about to say more on the subject, but the women beat him to the punch and moved on to lighter topics, like having to wash clothes out of a bucket.

John took that as his cue to leave and went to perform the necessary maintenance checks on their three vehicles. Everything looked good, as it should. The fuel tanks were above half. Oil levels were also good, as were the tires and windshields. John’s last order of business before their lunch departure was to tape up the headlights and taillights, and turn them into black-out drives.

Paul saw John working on the Suburban and came over to ask, “You covering all the lights . . . want me to help?”

“Sure,” replied John, as he ran another strip of black duct tape over all but a very small slit on the front headlight cover. “But don’t cover them completely. Leave a small half-inch by three inch slit over the center. And do the same on the taillights, but leave a smaller slit there, say a half-inch by a one-and-a-half-inch gap in the tape.”

“Want me to do the lights on the truck or the van?” asked Paul, as he reached into the Suburban to grab a roll of tape.

“Do the truck. I have a feeling Pete will want to tape the van up in his own way.”

John finished taping the Suburban’s lights and went over to inspect Paul’s work. “Good work,” he said when he approached Paul who was still working on the truck’s taillights.

“I take it this is more about seeing the vehicle ahead and behind us than it is about driving at night,” said Paul, as he covered the remaining portion of taillight with tape. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to pull the fuses . . . or just take the bulbs out?” he asked.

“Well, it’s like you said, we may need to maintain visual contact with the other vehicles, and the lights will help. Oh, and when you’re done, go ahead and remove the plates and stick them in the cab. And be sure to cover the plate bulbs as well. We don’t want to advertise who we are, or where we’re coming from,” answered John. He began to walk way and
added, “I’m gonna go help Pete finish the van, but we should plan to leave in about twenty minutes.”

“Got it, boss,” replied Paul, as he tore off another strip of duct tape and pressed it against the taillight. “We’ll be ready.”

CHAPTER 3

AUSTIN

M
ark smelled them before he saw them. Since ash fall, the wind often carried the smell of death in the air, mostly from cattle, but also from unwashed bodies, or those hiding in wait. Without hesitation, he stopped and dismounted his bike to explore the threat, but two men emerged from the cedar bushes ahead of him and saved him the trouble. They walked out onto the rough, unmarked, back-country road, no more than ten feet wide between the thick vegetation on both sides, and stood next to each other.

Mark’s hand dropped to his holster even though the guy on the left, a grungy looking white guy was pointing an old-looking revolver at him. The man twitched and yelled in a frantic voice, “Keep your hands where we can see them and you won’t get hurt!”

“I’ve heard that before,” whispered Mark, as he raised his hands, palms outward, and began assessing the situation from a series of different perspectives. He didn’t know why he didn’t draw and shoot them when they emerged from the brush. Maybe he was a little curious, or maybe he was just looking for a fight, something that didn’t involve gun play. Either way, the situation, though it looked favorable for the bushwhackers, was still very much under Mark’s control.

He wanted the two men to move closer, and they were obliging nicely, though cautiously. Despite the risk of traveling the isolated rural roads by himself, Mark knew the risk was acceptable when compared to traveling the bigger highways. He stole a peek at I-35 a little over an hour ago, and saw that it was a mess of abandoned cars and activity. Traveling at night would be better, but he didn’t feel it was necessary just
yet. Passing through Austin, yes, but not on the outskirts. Still, traveling at night might have saved him the trouble of running into random idiots.

After successfully traveling more than seventy miles without incident, he was almost glad for the present interruption. Without so much as a single dog to bark at him on his journey thus far, Mark was beginning to think the entire thing, the disaster and all its chaotic trouble, was just an illusion, a temporary setback. Maybe only the people in his neighborhood lost their mind. Maybe up here, in Austin, things would be normal. Sure, the freeway looked messed up, but that was common for I-35 through this area.

Mark watched the men inch forward. He ignored the white guy’s verbal threats and warnings and wondered what they thought they were doing. Clearly the disaster brought death, destruction, and a hearty dose of desperation, but desperation didn’t translate into skill, ability, or even intelligence. Still, even a crappy gun could kill a man, and Mark wasn’t ready to test fate, at least not at a distance. He knew, from experience, that guns gave people, especially untrained people, a false sense of security. Once, during an operation, he willingly surrendered his weapons to get close enough to dispatch a threat with his hands. The risk paid off, and he silently dispatched the man without giving away his position. Still, that was one man, and this was two. Fortunately, only one was armed with a handgun. The other, the big Latino, carried only a baseball bat.