Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (56 page)

“Is this your train?” asked the older of the two men. He stopped ten feet from John and eyed him suspiciously. He appeared to be in his mid to late thirties, wearing jeans with a civilian camo hunting jacket with matching hat. The large leaf pattern on the man’s jacket should have been wrong for the area, and the season, but it was perfect since the ash just about ruined everything green except for the oaks and cedars. The grays and browns of the design was better suited for the area than John’s solid green, Gortex windbreaker. He had yet to wear any of his ACUs, but that would change for their trip. He was mostly looking forward to having the many utility pockets they provided.

There was nothing overly threatening about the two men, at least in terms of how they felt to John. Not even the older man’s unpleasant
demeanor seemed threatening. John thought he was only being cautious. However, he was carrying an impressive rifle, a second generation Styer AUG. He hadn’t seen one since his first deployment to Iraqi in 2003.

The younger man was in his late twenties, dressed in a matching jacket, but wearing a dark blue, Texas Ranger’s ball cap. The cap was tilted back on his head, and revealed a much calmer and far less confrontational demeanor. John reasoned the two were brother because they looked very much alike. John had been wrong about the younger man’s weapon, though, it wasn’t a hunting rifle, but rather a camouflaged shotgun with a reflex sight; another nice shooting rig.
Someone had money to burn
, thought John. The younger man also had a bowie knife, which was sheathed in a brown leather scabbard and hanging from a wide leather belt. John wondered where the conversation would go, and if the two men would live to see it through. The ball was certainly in their court, for John had no desire to hurt them unless they threatened him, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He was tired of killing, and he knew Pete felt the same.

John looked over his shoulder at the train and said, “You can say that.” He reached up and flipped the safety of his rifle to the ‘fire’ position while chopping his boot heal in the gravel to mask the metallic click of the lever. He didn’t want to upset his guests, but he wanted to be ready for any and all trouble. The two men didn’t even notice John’s movement, and they continued to survey the big engine without looking at him. They were obviously unfamiliar with self-preservation and combat tactics.

John knew he could handle the men if needed. Having served in combat, and later perfecting his shooting skills in pistol and three-gun competitions when retired, he knew it wouldn’t come to that. John could feel their interest and resolve, and knew they weren’t a threat. He figured they must have been alerted to the location of the train when the lone engine departed.

“Are you with the railroad?” asked the older man as he looked down at John who was still sitting on the track.

John’s reply was as casual as it was simple, “Nope,” he said. He could literally see the wheels spinning in the man’s brain.

The older man turned to the younger and said, “See, Josh, I told you we wouldn’t find this train unaccounted for. I hope pa won’t be too disappointed.” He then turned to John and said, “We saw the engine move past the ranch and decided to take a look. It looks like we’re too late.”

“I’ve been here for a couple hours. I met with the train’s engineer and conductor. They left their freight under my care,” said John.

“Is that so?” said the older man. “Well, that would be fine and dandy except you are on our property.”

“Really?” asked John with surprise. “You own this rail line?”

“What? No, not the rail line, the property on both sides,” said the man. “That means you’re trespassing.”

“I know where your fence line is, and I’m not on your property. Maybe it’s time for you to leave . . . before someone gets hurt,” replied John, as he stood up.

The man turned his rifle ever so slightly, and in a flash John drew his pistol and pointed it at the man’s head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said John. “Now just lay your weapons on the ground. Do it now!” commanded John.

At that same moment, Pete, Jeff and Adam stepped out from behind the concealment of trees and bushes, their weapons drawn and at the ready. With the arrival of three more armed men, the two strangers laid their weapons to the ground and held their hands in the air. “Put down your hands,” said John. “You . . . what’s your name?” he asked the older man.

“Picket,” said the man. “And this is my brother, Josh.”

“Yeah, I got that. So what do we do now, Picket?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I can go get my pa, I guess?” said the thirty-something man who looked surprisingly calm given his dire circumstances.

“That’s a good idea. How far is your pa from here?” asked John, still holding his pistol on the two men, but lower.

“I can get there and back in about ten minutes . . . if I run,” replied Picket.

“Then start running. Josh will stay and keep us company . . . in case you try something foolish. Are you OK with that, Josh?” asked John.

“Yes, sir,” said Josh, with a shrug. John liked the younger man already.

John motioned for Josh to sit on the rail, and the man quickly parked his butt on the rail. He then turned his attention to Picket and said, “Your brother will be fine.”

“Do as he says, Picket. Go get pa. I’ll be fine with these guys,” added Josh.

Picket nodded and took off at a jog. John recovered the dropped weapons and handed them to Adam. He then turned his attention back on Picket, who was now about a hundred yards down the tracks. The man turned once to look back, and then shot into the woods to the left, toward the river. “You guys live on the high ground on the other side of the river?” asked John.

“We do,” said Josh.

“There’s a road up that side?”

“Yeah, well sort’a. There’s lots of good trails around here.”

“You know the area well?” asked John, in an effort to make conversation and collect intelligence.

“We grew up here, but we don’t live here anymore. My brother lives in Decatur with his family. My wife and I lived near Azel. We came here to help pa with the cattle when the ash started to fall. What about you folks? Where ya’ll from?”

“We live a few miles from here,” said Jeff, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about us until we reach some kind of accord with your father.”

The conversation continued, with John asking a few pointed questions about the area and Josh’s family, but it quickly flowed
into a general conversation about the disaster. John was surprised that Josh was generally unaware of the overall effects of the disaster. The man honestly thought the ash fall was no big deal, and that things would be back to normal in no time. He said Picket was the conspiracy guy of the family, and that it was his idea to check out the train.

“He’s been eyeing if for a few days, and when he saw that engine move past he wanted to take a closer look, even though our pa said he was overreacting,” finished Josh. John informed Josh that his brother wasn’t overreacting, that the poop really did hit the fan, and that things weren’t likely to return to normal for many, many years.

The sound of a small engine reached their ears, and everyone stood up to look. Moving quickly down the trail, along the right side of the tracks, was a four-passenger ATV. “That’s my pa coming now,” said Josh.

“Nice rig,” said Pete.

“If you say so,” replied Josh. “I preferred the horses, but pa got rid of them last year, said they were too much work.”

John asked, “What’s your pa’s name, Josh?”

“Dillon,” replied Josh. He waved to his dad, and Picket waved back from the passenger seat of the rapidly approaching ATV. Picket was obviously happy to see his little brother safe and unharmed.

The ATV skidded to a stop on the dirt trail near the group, and a man of about seventy climbed out and asked, “Who’s in charge here?”

“Well,” said John. “If we go by age and respect . . . I’d say you are.” The man smiled and said, “You’re a military man . . . aren’t you?”

“Was,” replied John. “Retired Army. Same with Pete here. My name’s John. You’re Dillon, right?”

“That I am,” said the man. “Dillon Olson, rancher, though I did do a stint in the Marine Corps in the sixties . . . Vietnam. Got this bum leg to prove it. And the rest of your team?”

“This is my brother, Pete . . . Jeff, a friend and neighbor, and my son, Adam,” said John.

Adam reached out and shook Dillon’s hand, “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Nice to meet you too, son,” said Dillon. “Is this all of you?” he asked, looking at John.

“Nope,” said John. “We’ve got more at the fence line . . . over that way a bit, and still more on the high ground overlooking the valley. We’re twelve men all together,” replied John.

“That’s a good sized assault team. Were you expecting trouble here?” asked Dillon.

“That we were,” said Jeff, shaking Dillon’s hand in turn.

“We’re always expecting trouble these days. We’ve seen our share of it anyway,” said Pete as he too shook Dillon’s hand.

“Well, it looks like we have a lot to talk about, but it will be dark soon. Can you give me some idea about your plans here? Picket said you jumped him, but he tends to exaggerate a bit. Looks to me like he tried to jump you,” said Dillon.

“All is well,” replied John. “Adam, give them back their weapons, please.” Adam did as he was told, and John continued to speak, “We’ve all got reason to be jumpy these days, but here’s what I can tell you . . .”

John quickly summarized his, and parts of Pete’s story with Dillon. The man didn’t interrupt once, and carefully listened to everything John said. He apparently took copious mental notes, for as soon as John finished he asked several pointed questions. Dillon was surprised to hear about the raging violence, and John was equally surprised to hear that Dillon’s family managed to remain unaware and unmolested since the disaster started. He figured his ranch must be secluded and very self-sufficient.

“I admit, I was worried about the ash until the boys showed up with their families,” said Dillon. “My wife died two years ago, but I can’t bear to part with the property. It’s my home. I grew up here, and I plan to die here.” Picket and Josh both rolled their eyes behind their dad. Apparently they had heard his, “live and die,” speech many times before. “So, where do we go from here?” asked Dillon.

“My plan is to protect this train . . . at least until we can salvage everything useful. We’re prepared to leave men here tonight,” said Pete.

“Are you willing to share what you find?” asked Dillon. “There looks to be plenty enough here for everyone.”

John turned to Jeff, “What say you, Jeff? Can this prize be shared with the Olson’s?”

“I don’t see why not,” replied Jeff. “I have a feeling we’ll be able to help each other out. What’s mine is yours,” finished Jeff.

“And what’s mine is yours,” echoed Dillon. “Why don’t you guys come back to the ranch house to dine with us? We’ve got dinner cooking, and we’d really enjoy the company.”

Jeff nodded and said, “I’d like that very much, but I can’t speak for John and his family. He’s on a different schedule than I am.”

Dillon looked to John for comment. “Jeff’s right,” said John, “we’ve got to get back. But can you give me a minute or two to talk with Jeff before you leave?”

“By all means,” replied Dillon.

Pete, wanting to distract everyone from the awkwardly silent moment that followed John’s request, prompted Adam to show them the control cabin of the locomotive. Adam jumped at the opportunity, and when John and Jeff walked a short distance away to speak, Adam shared what he learned from Terry.

When John and Jeff reached the campsite, they settled on a log near the now smoldering campfire. Smoke no longer rose into the sky, but the bed of coals was still hot and comforting. John stirred the coals with a stick and waited for Jeff to speak. “So . . . I guess this is goodbye, then,” he said. “Only for a few hours,” said John, as he glanced over at the engine. The men were climbing over it like ants on a piece of candy. It made John smile and wonder what it was about trains that turned grown men into little boys. “We’ll be back for some diesel later tonight,” added John. “But you know, a friendship with Dillon will make all the difference . . . especially with the
salvage operation. And who knows, you might even decide to move out here,” said John.

“On the train?” asked Jeff, surprised.

“No, but close to it . . . maybe even near the ranch house. If not you, then certainly a few people from the neighborhood. This train has the makings for the center of a strong survival community, one built on your and Dillon’s cooperative relationship,” said John.

Jeff lifted his hat to scratch his head. “I hear what you’re saying, but it sure would be nice if you decided to stick around. As I’ve said, I’m really not the leading type,” said Jeff.

“Sometimes the best leaders are those who didn’t want to lead. I’d actually be more worried if you wanted to lead,” said John. “You’re not Tony, Jeff. You’ve proven yourself very capable, competent, and caring. I think you’ll find the neighborhood will follow you. You’ll have a little resistance at first . . . there’s always resistance, but you’ve got a strong core of followers. But I didn’t pull you aside to preach, only to say thanks.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for,” replied Jeff.

“You’re wrong there. I really wouldn’t be comfortable leaving if it wasn’t for you stepping up,” said John.

“And why are you really leaving, John? That confuses me, especially now, with the train and all?”

“I’ve got work to do. I’m going to meet someone . . . someone who can tell me what’s going on,” said John, as he looked Jeff straight in the eyes.

Jeff looked away, apparently uncomfortable with the depth of John’s gaze, and asked, “Does it have something to do with your magic?”

John chuckled and said, “I guess it does seem like magic, but it’s not. It’s spiritual.”

“Spiritual like in Buda, or . . . oh, I get it, you’re going on a hajj, a pilgrimage. I had a Muslim friend who . . .”

“It’s not a hajj, Jeff,” interrupted John. “It’s . . . it’s different, but I see what you mean.” John considered many possible responses and finally
settled on the most comfortable, “If I had to label our trip I think I’d call it . . . an adventure, or maybe a quest.”