Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (47 page)

“Sorry bro, but you’re already crazy, or hasn’t anyone told you?” replied Pete.

“At times I think you’re right, but I’m long past worrying about it now. Oh, and by the way, you’re about to join the ranks of crazy,” retorted John.

“I was born crazy, so no worries there,” said Pete, as he stood aside to let John lock up the shop. “When you think about it,” he added, “What is crazy? I mean, crazy is anything that goes against mainstream thought. So if that’s the case, then I’d rather be crazy than not. I was very sick of hearing how the government and liberal media wanted me to think. I never considered myself one of the sheep.”

“You and me, both, brother. You and me, both,” replied John.

CHAPTER 13

J
ohn took Pete through the remainder of his gates, but his friend offered little in terms of feedback when they were finished. Not wanting to impose on him, because John remembered how overwhelmed he felt when he finished his gates, he decided not to press Pete for results. He was excited for him, but knew he needed time to digest everything that just happened. Passing through the gates was a very personal and potentially deep spiritual experience for a traveler, which made it almost impossible for them to communicate every nuance and subtlety of their journey to the gatekeeper, so John took a breath and sat back to wait for Pete to gather himself.

Pete revealed a lot about himself during the last two gates, more so than with all the other gates combined, and he appeared to be deep in thought about the experience. “Are you OK?” asked John, as he handed Pete a water bottle.

Pete sat up, nodded slowly, and then said, “Yeah, I just need a little time to think.”

“I understand. I’d say you should record your experience, but we don’t have the time. We’ve got to get ready for the meeting. I was going to ask Paul to drive the van over. I was also thinking about taking Corbin,” said John.

Pete stood up and twisted to the left, and then to the right before bending to touch his toes. His back cracked once, very loudly, and he moaned and said, “There, that’s better. Why Corbin?”

“Because he can corroborate what happened at his home,” said John.

“I thought you weren’t worried about that outcome?” asked Pete.

“Good point. It’s just that I thought he could dispel some of the myth behind what they think happened in his house,” said John.

“Since when do you care what idiots think? You know as well as I that people will think whatever they want even if the truth is sitting on their head,” said Pete.

“Your second good point of the day,” said John. “Are you done stretching . . . we need to get ready to go.”

“Who else did you say is going?” asked Pete.

“Just Paul, and you of course. You’re right about Corbin. I don’t need to expose him to danger . . . or heartache. Do you still want to take up an overwatch position with your rifle?” asked John.

“I do. I think it would be very wise. Besides, there’s no better way to disperse a crowd than to drop a troublemaker with a single sniper shot,” said Pete.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said John. “Do you have your roof picked out?”

“I do, and I found a dark sheet to help me blend in with the asphalt shingles. It’s not the corner home though, it’s one two houses down . . . on the inside part of the loop. It’s got the best observation and fields of fire of any rooftop for the meeting as long as you stay in the front,” said Pete.

John nodded and said, “Excellent. Do you need a head start?”

“Not much, maybe five minutes or so,” replied Pete.

The men moved downstairs and began to gather their equipment for the meeting. After a quick radio check, Pete said goodbye to Bonnie and prepared to step out. Corbin also said goodbye, but he looked visibly upset that Pete was going alone. Pete told him that everything would be fine, and included a pep talk to all the boys. He reminded them to be alert, and that he was counting on them to, “Hold the fort,” as he called it.

By the time Pete left, everyone had gathered in the entryway to say good luck and goodbye to John and Paul. There were no tears or
sadness, but there was plenty of concern and apprehension. Despite their new found confidence in their abilities as a company, everyone knew that life had a way of throwing them an occasional curveball. Following Pete’s example, John offered a few encouraging words, but he really didn’t want to make a big production out of the mission, so he kept his comments brief and to the point. He reminded everyone that they weren’t going to war, that the mission was necessary, and that they would return shortly to finish their preparations to leave.

After a few assorted hugs and kisses, the men stepped out and walked to the van. For John, the sound of the door locking behind him served as a reminder that the neighborhood was still a dangerous place. Though he wasn’t concerned about walking into another ambush, he was much more leery and cautious than ever before. Tony was a slippery snake, and the threat of Joel was front in his mind.

Before climbing into the van, John opened the van’s rear doors to check on Tony while Paul went to retrieve the bikers head and arm from behind the bushes. John removed the tape from Tony’s mouth and asked, “Do you need to pee again?”

“I’m fine,” Tony rasped, as he licked his dry lips. “Can you take the rag off my eyes too?”

John untied the rag and dropped it to the van floor, then he held a bottle of water up for Tony to see. “Do you need water?” he asked.

“Yes,” croaked Tony.

John held a water bottle up to Tony’s lips and the man drank greedily. Some of the water spilled onto Tony’s lap, but he continued to drink eagerly from the upturned bottle. John pulled the bottle away to allow Tony to catch his breath, but Tony begged, “More, please,” so John let him finish the bottle. When Tony finished, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and asked, “Where are you taking me?”

Before John could answer, Paul walked up and asked, “Do you mind if I set this bag in the back with the other trash?” John stepped aside to allow Paul to place the bag next to Tony.

“What’s in the bag?” asked Tony, as he eyed it suspiciously.

“Something for the meeting,” said Paul, as he walked away to climb into the driver’s seat.

A sickly sweet rotten smell leaked from the bag. John recognized it, was familiar with it even, but for Tony it was obviously new and disturbing. Before he could bother John with another question, John said, “It holds the remains of the biker gang leader you sent after me.”

Tony replied with, “I didn’t . . .” but John slammed the van doors before he could finish. He didn’t want to hear anything more from Tony.

John heard Paul yell, “Shut-it!” but by the time he climbed into the passenger seat the van was quiet. When Paul cleared the driveway, John turned to Tony and said, “To answer your earlier question, we’re going to a neighborhood meeting.”

“A neighborhood meeting, huh?” snapped Tony.

“Yes,” John answered calmly, ignoring the man’s arrogance.

Tony was silent for a moment and asked, “Like to some kind of trial?”

“You’ll see soon enough. And I’m tired of answering your questions. Do you want me to put the tape back over your mouth?” Tony turned and said nothing more, and managed to stay quiet for the duration of their slow, short drive to the other end of the neighborhood.

A sizeable crowd was already gathered around George Freeman’s corner lot, which was dubbed the “water tower house,” when they arrived, and more people were walking toward it. Paul inched his way up the driveway, occasionally tapping the horn to clear people out of the way. From John’s perspective, this was the biggest neighborhood gathering he had ever seen. Within the larger scope of the crowd there stood several smaller groups of ten to twenty people.

All the groups eyed each other suspiciously, which told John that the neighborhood was beginning to fracture. They didn’t look violent,
but there was definite tension in the air. Two of the groups were armed even, but with nothing more than hunting rifles, shotguns and a few open-carry pistols. The largest of the armed groups was standing along the southern edge of the property. John spotted Jeff standing in that group and sighed. He knew, with Pete’s help, that he could handle the smaller armed group if the meeting turned hostile, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

John saw Joel standing in the middle of the smaller group on the opposite side of the driveway. His men were also armed with a variety of hunting rifles, shotguns and pistols, but they looked more nervous than intimidating. John knew that being nervous didn’t mean they were harmless. Nervous people could be far more dangerous with firearms than confident ones, but he relaxed a little knowing that Jeff’s group outnumbered Joel’s two-to-one.

When Joel saw the van pull up, he nodded and said something to his group. The men standing around him turned to stare at the van as it slowly made its way up the driveway. Paul beeped the horn again to disperse the crowd on the driveway, and people stepped aside to stare. All eyes were on the white van, which is exactly what John wanted.

John didn’t see Randy in either group and he wondered what that meant, but he quickly moved on to more pressing matters when Paul brought the van to a stop and set the parking brake. “Show time,” said Paul as he turned to look at John.

John nodded and said, “Remember, don’t come out until I signal . . . and keep Tony quiet. Tape him again if you have to.”

“You got it, boss,” said Paul.

John checked his pistol, rifle, and knife, before mentally checking himself. He was tired, but ready, and briefly closed his eyes to see if Sarrif had anything to say before he began. John heard nothing from his guardian, and considered leaving his body to check on the crowd before he thought better of it. This wasn’t the place to do such things, not now, not while he was sitting in a van with a prisoner, surrounded by sixty people who wanted straight answers.

Electricity filled the air, or at least that’s how it felt to John when he stepped out of the van. He could literally feel the tension, most of which seemed centered on survival rather than Tony. Concerns about the future, about finding food and water, was palpable. John also felt the tension over the presence of so many firearms. At the first meeting, John and his companions were the only one’s visibly armed, but now at least half the people present had a weapon of some sort in their hands.

John made a career out of being around weapons, but he knew most people didn’t have that experience, and viewed weapons as dangerous and mystical things, something to be feared or worshiped. To John, weapons were little more than tools. It was insane and irresponsible people who posed the biggest threat to public safety. A man could kill with a screwdriver, a kitchen knife, or his bare hands if the urge filled him. Gun weren’t even an effective way to eliminate large groups of passive people, as the Nazi’s learned during WWII when they tried to eliminate the Jews. But guns were effective instruments of control, and they did manage to instill fear in people that extended far beyond their capability to destroy. When people feared guns, guns would always control them.

With a clear and open mind, John identified the last layer of tension in the air, it was him and the prisoner he held in the back of the van. He felt how his calling the meeting had added a layer of tension that generated and bolstered the others, but he also knew it couldn’t have been avoided. This meeting had to happen, it was necessary. The people had to decide how to handle Tony, and if they wanted to govern themselves by committee.

For the most part the crowd grew quiet when Paul stopped the van, but it grew absolutely silent when John climbed out. He could have heard a pin drop as he walked around the van to face the crowd. Speaking from his diaphragm, a useful technique he mastered for talking to large formations without the help of a microphone, John projected his voice out and across the assembly, “Ladies and gentlemen,
for those of you who don’t know me, I’m John Anderson. I live at number 223, here on the loop. I’ve lived here for most of eight years now. I’m married, with two teenage kids.

Since this disaster, I’ve provided food and shelter for three displaced families. One of the family you might know . . . the Hernandez’s. They lived at 275,” said John, as he pointed in the general direction of Paul’s house. “It’s their house that was burnt to the ground the other day . . . by a biker gang who called themselves the Desperados.”