Holding Their Own: The Salt War Part 9

They found a huge crowd of people gathered both inside and outside the wall, most of the onlookers surrounding a pickup truck sitting directly in the middle of the two-lane highway leading into town. Half a dozen deputies were trying to maintain order and keep everyone back. One of the bergs EMTs was helping two other men remove a body from the trucks hood.

The chief immediately sensed an air of apprehension circulating through the muttering onlookers, and the lawman didnt blame them. Greyson and his ilk were known as the best hunters and outdoorsmen in the area. They were tough, successful, and extremely well versed in taking prey. Now those men, well known for having taken dangerous game on every continent, were dead or bloodied. They had been deliberately left in front of the south gate, no doubt as a warning or message of ill intent.

By the time Mr. Gospel and the chief arrived, old man Greyson was sitting on the pavement, pressing a towel against his head while leaning against the front tire. Men were still cutting away his youngest boy, the kid pale with shock, like hed seen a monster.

"We found them like this at dawn," remarked a senior deputy. "Somebody parked the truck right here, all four of them tied across the hood like trophy deer. Two of them were dead gunshot wounds to the chest and gut. Doc says these two will make it, but the youngest is going to be eating broth for a while."

The chief digested his mans report, nodding an acknowledgement and then taking a knee beside a clearly hurting Greyson. "Sorry about your boys," he stated softly. "Was it the man we hired you to hunt down?"

Rage flashed behind the fathers eyes, but he didnt say a word. Instead, Greyson threw down the blood saturated rag and struggled to his feet. "Man? Didnt you say he was just a f.u.c.king man, Chief?" he shouted, the anger in his voice causing a hush to fall over the crowd.

The lawman rested a hand on Greysons shoulder, "Calm down... just calm down. Youve had a rough night, and I...."

"f.u.c.k you!" shouted an irate Greyson, poking his finger in the chiefs chest. "That wasnt any gawdd.a.m.n man! That was some sort of monster you hired us to kill, and you and Stan both knew it. How could you have sent anyone into those woods after a demon like that?"

A wave of astonishment rippled through the surrounding throng, hushed whispers and low murmurs exchanged among the onlookers. Some people were shocked by Greysons description, others voicing surprise that anyone would dare speak to the chief in such way.

"Now just a d.a.m.n minute, Greyson," Mr. Gospel said, stepping in. "We warned you he was dangerous, and you accepted the contract fair and square. You knew it was a risk up front. So Id watch my mouth if I were you."

Something came over Greyson, a placid expression of realization filling his face. His eyes changed their focus from Stan and the chief to the surrounding crowd. Nodding his head as if to indicate he agreed with Gospels a.s.sessment, he held up his hands to show his temper was in check.

He casually stepped away, picking up the towel and returning it to his swollen head. He waited a few moments, pretending to watch two deputies cut his oldest son from the trucks hood. When he was sure Gospel and the chief werent looking, he strolled to the bed of the truck and stepped up to tower above the crowd.

"Listen to me!" Greyson shouted. "Every mothers son, please listen to me! That man... that devil in the woods... he gave me a message... let me live so I could deliver it to all of you. He said he wont leave until the people of Cartersville are free to come and go as they please. Hes staying in the forest, fighting for each and every one of you. And I believe hi...."

A single shot rang out, the onlookers startled back on their heels at the loud roar. Greyson clutched his chest in pain, staring down at the pistol in Gospels hand.

Dropping to his knees, the old man managed a smile as he met Gospels gaze head on. "Hes going to skin you alive, Stan, and my only regret is I wont be here to listen to you scream."

Greyson fell over, his head making a sickening thud as it struck the tailgate. Gasps of astonishment rose from the ma.s.ses, but Gospel didnt wait for any reaction to build. "Get these people back inside that gate," he screamed at the nearby deputies. "Somebody get these bodies out of here before they stink up my town."

Grim surveyed the security patrol, the obvious decline in their numbers causing the ex-contractor to smirk. Nick got it right, he thought. As usual.

He and the rest of the SAINT team had been observing the ma.s.sive lots on the outskirts of Cartersville for the last two days. Each of the multi-acre sites was full of semi-trailers and patrolled by roving bands of armed sentries.

When Nick had first ordered them to circ.u.mvent the town and approach the oversized parking lots, Grim had been skeptical. "They must have used up all of the supplies in those semis by now," hed commented. "What makes you think anything is left?"

"There must be goodies still in those trailers," Nick had countered. "They wouldnt be wasting all of that manpower to guard empty boxes."

The plan had been simple enough. Nick would draw off resources from Cartersville, rampage around the huge forest that bordered the south side of town. He would do his best to give a merry chase and pull away as many of Gospels men as possible. Once the heavily guarded yards were exposed, Grim and the boys were to execute the next phase of the plan.

And it appeared to be working, just as the big man had predicted.

Grim watched the two-man patrol trudge along the chain-link fence, their rifles appearing more of an annoying burden than a tool of the trade. Just a few days ago, there would have been six men working the same area, the additional manpower able to cover more of the perimeter.

Not only were the patrols smaller, they were far less frequent. Checking his watch, Grim noted the time of this latest pa.s.sing, entering the data into a small notepad that held his log.

After the two sentries had pa.s.sed the corner, he rose from his hide and trotted back to their main bivouac. A quick bark let Kevin and Cory know he was coming in.

"Your dad was right," Grim repeated to the other two. "Their perimeter is virtually unprotected now. Lets go ahead and execute phase two tonight."

It was good news for both men. This mission had seen them idling by throughout most of its duration, Nick handling the heavy lifting first in the town and now out in the woods. It would be good to finally take some action and see some progress.

"Well eat at dusk so the smoke from the fire wont draw any attention. Cory, you enter the town. Remember what gear Nick said youd need, and what is prohibited inside their wall. Youll have to leave all firearms and radio here with us. Dont forget ammo to barter with. Kevin and I will visit the trailers tonight, and uncover what the benevolent leaders of Cartersville are h.o.a.rding in their well-protected coffers."

After shooting Greyson, Gospel and the chief had returned through the south gate and continued about their business of the morning.

For lunch, the two men sent Gospels a.s.sistant to the Exchange with money and food orders.

"I want to find that b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Chief," Stan began. "I want his purple body hanging by a rope, right on the courthouse square."

"Let him go, Stan," the elder lawman replied. "Weve lost enough men. Besides, I think youre playing right into his hand."

"Huh? What makes you say that?"

"He could have eluded our people and been 100 miles away by now. Why is he taunting us? Why is he playing this stupid game of cat and mouse? I dont know the answer, but I can surely guess its not going to be anything positive for us."

"Hes trying to sow the seeds of dissent. He thinks by making us look weak, our citizens will give his Alliance a chance. I think his plan is pretty unsophisticated, actually."

The chief scratched his chin, contemplating his bosss statement. "Could be. Your instincts have been right most of the time, but some of his actions the last few days dont make any sense. He could have killed dozens of our guys by now. He could have easily killed all four of the Greysons. Why let them live?"

Gospel shook his head, looking at the chief as if he were a child that couldnt grasp the simplest of concepts. "I think youre overrating this guy - giving him too much credit. Hes just some ex-soldier that was sent as an errand boy. Yeah, he fights pretty well, and he has been lucky. But Im convinced that we can nip this thing in the bud by showing his dead carca.s.s to the people. Besides, it will make anyone else think twice about challenging our authority."

"You are the boss," the chief nodded between bites of homemade bread and string cheese. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want to fill those d.a.m.n woods with every rifle we can find. Thats what I want you to do."

Shaking his head, the chief replied, "Volunteers are getting hard to come by, and the situation will get worse after word gets around that Greysons clan was chopped to pieces. Our once proud and boisterous, southern men are now thinking twice about entering those woods."

Gospel grunted, nodding his understanding. "Offer a reward and pull more of our loyal men from the yards."

"Thats dangerous, Stan. Were already stretched too d.a.m.n thin out there. If a wandering gang of nomads finds those trailers, I dont have enough people up there to fight them off."

Waving his hand through the air, Mr. Gospel dismissed the concern. "Whens the last time we had a sizable, hostile group wander into our little slice of heaven?"

Peering down at the floor, the chiefs response was barely audible. "Six months... maybe seven since weve seen any kind of organized gangs."

"See? Ive been thinking were wasting too much manpower out there anyway. Rea.s.sign as many guards as you can and task them with eradicating this a.s.shole. He is a real threat. It would be stupid to worry about something that might happen versus something we know is happening right now."

The chief nodded. "Yes, sir. Ill see to it right away."

Grim and the guys set about preparing the last hot meal they would have for a few days. A snared rabbit sizzled over the fire, the makes.h.i.+ft spit allowing the occasional drop of grease to crackle in the blaze. There was a helmet full of blueberries and three ears of corn theyd found growing in a legacy garden on the way to Cartersville. The lima beans, courtesy of the same plot, had been consumed at the previous evenings meal.

Cory was readying his pack, nervous about approaching the town without his weapon. Nick had warned them not to bring radios either. The teams least experienced member was to play the role of a random transient; poor, hungry, and bartering his way across the land. There would be no lifeline if things turned sour.

Kevin, as usual, was cleaning his sniper rifle. Nicks son had blossomed into a naturally talented marksman, his fathers expert tutelage raising the young mans skill level to equal any shooter in the world. Every member of the team was glad that long range capability was in their inventory.

Grim took a moment, wondering if Bishop was enjoying his time off. After the events of Brighton and Galveston, he had understood the need for a break. The rest of the team had been offered downtime, but all had declined. Keeping the Alliance territories and its amba.s.sadors safe was a full-time proposition. Still, the mental, emotional and physical demands of the fledgling republic had been a drain on Bishop and Terri... and they all knew their leaders needed to get away to refresh their spirits.

Nick was more than a suitable replacement. The ex-contractor pondered the differences between the two team leaders. Bishop was far more laid back, slow to invoke force or violence. But when he did... Lord have mercy.

Nick, on the other hand, seemed more comfortable applying a constant pressure. The big mans style was to keep the foe off balance... guessing... unsure. In contrast, Bishop would play nice, give the other guy every chance in the world, and then unleash absolute fury when nothing else seemed to work.

Taking his knife to the now browned hare, Grim decided both men were equally worthy of his loyalty and respect. Hed been lucky, serving with high-speed, low-drag individuals over the past few years. For a moment, his thoughts turned back to Deke, the face of his former superior and friend still clear in his memory. In all the years, all the campaigns, all the missions, Dekes death had touched Grim in a way unlike any of the hundreds of good men hed watched fall. Deke had been the ultimate warrior, an elite among professional operators. But in the end, it hadnt mattered.

Grim could see the light fade from his friends eyes as if it were yesterday. Shuddering, he quickly pushed the images aside that night in Memphis still haunted him.

"Haunted," he whispered with a grunt, taking another slice of meat. "Im using the word haunted while thinking about a fight to the death in a graveyard. That d.a.m.n Bishop and his cornball way of looking at things are rubbing off on me."

"What did you say?" Cory asked, wandering up to the flame.

"Oh, nothing," he said, picking up a stick and poking at the campfire. "I was just thinking about Bishop and that sick sense of comedy. Sometimes I just want to slap him."

Cory grinned, nodding his head. "Yeah, but when I first joined the team, his stupid jokes and innuendo made me relax. I would be scared s.h.i.+tless, and hed pop off one of those little jewels. It helped me chill."

Grims focus drifted off, his vision fixing on an empty point in s.p.a.ce just inside the flickering campfire. Images of that night... the night Deke was killed by the grave robbers... of the bloodl.u.s.t hed seen in Bishops eyes. "Cornball or not," he said in a low, serious voice, "Im awful glad hes on our side."

It was soon Corys turn to stand watch, allowing Kevin to come in and eat. While the remote location of their encampment made discovery unlikely, it was standard procedure for one of them to always remain separate and alert. Grim was pleased to see his teammates perform the switch without thought or discussion. It showed cohesion and professionalism.

"Im off," Cory announced after wolfing down his meal. "If they kill me, please bury my bones in West Texas. I dont like all of these trees and their gnarly roots."

Grim smirked at the comment, "I think Bishops rubbing off on both of us."

Cory threw on his ragtag pack, spinning once like a runway model so Grim could sanction his disguise. Nodding, the senior man said, "You look like a vagrant to me. Well see you tomorrow - if everything goes to plan. Good luck."

And with that, Cory was gone, wandering into the darkness with his newly acquired, rambling gait.

Grim lowered the night vision monocle and peered at Kevin. "Theyve reduced the number of sentries even more. My bet is your dad must be kicking some serious a.s.s."

The kid merely nodded, as if to say, "What else would you expect?"

Using a combination of hushed whispers, curt hand gestures, and a small map drawn in the dirt via Grims finger, the two raiders quickly outlined their plan.

Patting the younger man on the shoulder to rea.s.sure him, Grim pushed off. Kevin watched the skilled warrior zigzag toward the high, chain-link fence surrounding what was essentially a ma.s.sive parking lot filled with semi-trailers.

Grim managed the outside of the barrier without incident, quickly scanning up and down the fence line to make sure a patrol wasnt in sight. Kevin was scanning as well, ready to warn his teammate if anything went astray.

The fence was cake. Designed more as a psychological barrier than a serious security tool, Grim easily climbed over and dropped down on the other side of its eight-foot height. There was no barbwire.

Kevins turn to mount the metal enclosure was next, the young shooter unloading the round from his rifle and racing toward the fence. He tossed his long gun over to Grim and then began climbing. In less than 30 seconds, the two men were inside the compound and moving off.

It was easy to tell which trailers were empty they werent locked. The two men progressed inward, covering each other as they pa.s.sed through the open s.p.a.ces separating the seemingly endless rows of cargo haulers.

They had just pa.s.sed into the fourth row when Grim motioned Kevin to stop. Eyeing the padlocked rear door of a nearby container, Grim removed a short crowbar from his a.s.sault pack and moved closer with an obvious look of ill intent on his face. "Time to become a felon," he whispered to the nodding boy.

The doors hinges actually gave way before the lock, but the ex-contractor didnt care. A few seconds later, he was s.h.i.+ning a flashlight into the interior.

Furniture. Bedsprings, mattresses, and cardboard containers all labeled from some manufacturer in Georgia.

It then dawned on Grim that he should be paying attention to the lettering on the outside of each unit. One row later, Kevin recognized the logo of a nationally known drugstore chain boldly painted on a nearby example. Its padlock was no match for a little elbow grease and the iron lever. Again, Grims torch illuminated the interior with bright light. This time they hit pay dirt.

The cargo hold was stocked full of medical supplies and household goods. There were boxes and crates labeled with everything from "feminine hygiene products" to "pain relief."

Two large footlocker-type containers were secured with secondary locks, each stenciled with the letters, "Narcotics Pharmacist Only."

"Painkillers," Grim supposed. "Antibiotics, heart medications, insulin... who knows what all else."

"Why wouldnt they have pa.s.sed this stuff out to the people?" Kevin asked.

Grim shot the lad a look, his expression clearly indicating that the boy still had a lot to learn. "Power," he whispered back. "The guys running that town have a clenched fist on the jugular of the community... loosening its grip only as much as necessary to maintain control."

"Didnt dad say that Cartersville had lost a lot of people to sickness after the collapse?"

"Yes, he did," replied Grim, hopping down from the rear of the trailer.

"So their leaders... just let people die? Wow... those are some cold dudes."

Grim shook his head, marveling at the naivety. There had been so much conflict, death, and horror pa.s.s in front of his eyes. He couldnt even remember what it was like to believe the world was a benevolent place. "Were going to show everyone in that town the truth, and then those a.s.sholes really will be cold dudes... dead and cold."

They found several more egregious examples, one bay stuffed to the brim with canned soup, another packing at least 20 generators. Grim pocketed a few samples as evidence of the heinous activity.

"Its still an hour before we are supposed to be at the rally point. Lets chill out inside one of these empty trailers until its time to raise a ruckus," Grim said.

"You said that almost like youre looking forward to it," Kevin smirked.

Grim smiled brightly, a rare reaction from the normally serious contractor. "Putting down the bad guy is one of lifes more refined pleasures. The only problem with this line of work is deciphering who is good and who is evil."

Of all the rugged men Kevin had worked with, Grim was by far the most intimidating. Hed found the best way to get along with this moody co-worker was to remain as quiet as possible, listen intently, and keep his thoughts private.

On the other hand, he couldnt ignore this rare philosophical opening. It addressed a question that he knew often troubled Bishop... and sometimes his father. "How do you tell, sir? How do you separate such complex creatures as human beings, especially in a world like we live in now?"

There was a pause before Grim answered, the question seeming to take him by surprise. "I cant," he finally responded. "I gave up years ago. I found the only way to reconcile the whole ball of wax was to believe in my leaders and follow orders. Thats why I offer my rifle to the likes of Bishop... and your dad... and the council. Sometimes things are clear, like in black and white. But thats rare. The rest of the time, I put my faith in the leaders.h.i.+p and trust their judgment. Thats why the collapse occurred, Kevin. The world lost confidence in the management, and everything went to h.e.l.l."

Just as Nick had said, Cory had been instructed to set up camp in what had been the city park. After being questioned and frisked for weapons, he had finally been allowed to enter Cartersville via the south gate with directions to the park.

His next step had been to barter ammo for Gospel dollars, a relatively straightforward exchange executed by surly looking men manning what had been the First Community Bank.

With his wad of currency in hand, the Alliance man had wandered the few booths that still remained open in the Exchange. Given the darkness and late hour, he was surprised to find anyone still doing business. He procured two apples and a fist-sized hunk of bread.

Trashcan fires illumined the grounds, the strategically placed blazes emitting enough light for the heavily armed patrols to keep an eye on the towns visitors. Restroom facilities were available in a building that had formerly housed the city pools locker rooms.

Cory had packed an ultralight tent, courtesy of a looted sporting goods store in Alpha. It was easy to set up and would provide him shelter against all but the foulest of weather.

Despite the hike into town, touring the sights, bartering for food, and pitching camp, he knew sleep wasnt going to come. He was too keyed up about the next phase of their mission. It would be the most dangerous part. He was also uncomfortable being disarmed, having grown accustomed to having a weapon as a constant companion. "Its like walking around naked," he whispered to the tents roof.

The chirping of his watch alarm startled him, feeling confused over having actually drifted off. The sun wasnt up yet, another hour of earthly rotation necessary before the light would signal the people of Cartersville to begin their day. Cory knew it was going to be a morning unlike any other.

Parting his tent flap, Cory scanned for patrols. The fact that he didnt see any of the local sentries did little to sooth his nerves. Visibility was poor given the trash barrel fires had burned down, and it was difficult to be absolutely sure he wasnt being watched.