Holding Their Own: The Salt War (17 page)

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 town’s visitors. Restroom facilities were available in a building that had formerly housed the city pool’s 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 wasn’t 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. “It’s like walking around naked,” he whispered to the tent’s roof.

The chirping of his watch alarm startled him, feeling confused over having actually drifted off. The sun wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t being watched.

Keeping in mind an excuse of having to use the men’s facilities, Cory quietly left his tent and kept to the shadows. When he finally reached the repurposed pool locker area, he again scanned for any observing eyes. The campground was completely still.

It was another half mile to the town’s northern-most edge. Adhering to the dark areas, Cory stalked soundlessly toward his goal, always watching for the random patrol or stationary sentry.

The town’s makeshift fortification finally came into view, two school buses blocking what could have been a residential street in any American neighborhood. There didn’t appear to be any guards assigned to security.

Cory smiled at Nick’s apparent success. The team leader had made it clear that he intended to divert resources away from the town and keep the patrols busy chasing him through the forest.

“Security is so prevalent in Cartersville,” Nick explained. “We could prove the local honcho is Satan himself, and there would be little the locals could do about it. Now, if we thin out their sentries, then the community might decide to revolt… or at least start asking some hard questions.”

From the look of the unguarded street, Nick had succeeded.

Cory crept closer, now able to spot the barbwire strung underneath each bus – an obvious move to keep unwelcome visitors from simply crawling into town.

The razor-like wire continued past the two yellow roadblocks, filling the space between a warehouse type building on one side of the road, and what had been the local pizzeria on the other. Cory wondered how Grim and Kevin would get inside.

Glancing at his watch, he realized his teammates were late. That wasn’t overly concerning, given the unknown territory and estimated distances Nick had noted on the map.

Scanning right and left along the block, Cory decided to approach a little closer. It was possible Grim and Kevin were waiting on him, hiding just on the other side of the barrier, and looking for a sign from him.

He scrambled over the last cross street, making for Mac’s Pizza Palace. There was a roadside sign sitting in the small parking lot, the now dark promotion touting that a large, two-topping special was only $8.99.

He ducked down behind the hefty advertisement, again trying to peer beyond the school buses and into the wilderness. The crunch of a boot on gravel caused him to turn.

The three men behind him didn’t wear uniforms or have badges. Two of them carried AK47 battle rifles, the third pointing an automatic shotgun. It was clear from their demeanor that they belonged there, and Cory did not.

“What are you doing out after curfew?” the leader barked. “And what are you doing here at the fence?”

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to stretch my legs,” Cory lied. “I thought I heard something down here, so I decided to come take a look.”

“Bullshit,” growled another of the men. “You know it’s against Gospel’s rules to be out after midnight. So let’s have the truth. What are you doing out here?”

Corry stuttered, not having to pretend he was scared. “I… I… I am telling the truth. I heard something.”

“Search him,” commanded the leader. “I bet he stole something and is trying to sneak out with it.”

“Let’s just pop his ass and be done with it,” another countered. “My shift is about over, and I’m tired as hell.”

“I ain’t no thief,” Cory responded, trying to sound indignant. “And no one told me about any curfew. I only came through the gate a few hours ago.”

The man who wanted to end his shift with a murder raised his weapon, pointing the rifle directly at Cory’s head.

Grim’s voice rang out, stopping the execution. “He’s here to meet me.”

All heads turned to see the new arrival, casually strolling out of a dark pool of shadows by the warehouse.

“And who the fuck are you?” challenged one of the guards.

Grim didn’t answer right away, using an acceptable amount of time to close the gap. “It’s Jones, asshole… from the south gate.”

The closest sentry tilted his head, squinting to see through the darkness. “Who? I don’t know anyone named.…”

A brief, sharp hissing interrupted the question, the insect-like sound followed by a loud thud. Cory watched as the man challenging Grim jerked and then stared down at his chest.

The fellow’s face filled with wonder, his hand moving to cover the small, dark dot that appeared on his shirt. He never finished the gesture, falling to the street, dead with one of Kevin’s .308 bullets having wreaked havoc with his internal organs.

Before the stricken man had even hit the ground, Grim charged. The two remaining guards, still trying to process what had just happened to their friend, didn’t recover in time.

By the time they did, Grim was among them.

Cory, though not the target of the assault, couldn’t discern any details of the carnage. He detected a blink of movement… followed by a grunt… and then a sickening crunch. There was the flash of a steel knife edge, a fleeting, animal-like howl of pain, and then silence.

Grim stood in front of his teammate, bending to wipe the blood from his blade on the closest sentry’s shirt. “Come on,” he calmly directed. “Help me get these bodies out of sight before another patrol happens along.”

Cory did as he was instructed, dragging one of the dead men by the leg.

After they disposed of the patrol, Grim waved his thanks to the darkness beyond the buses. Cory knew he was letting Kevin know he’d done an excellent job, perhaps saving their asses.

Pulling a small pack from his back, Grim handed Cory the strap and said, “Here are the samples we found at the trailers. We can hide out in the yard for a day, maybe two. If you decide to bring anyone out to see the stash, make sure you exit via the north gate. We’ll be watching for you there.”

Nodding, Cory started to ask a question as he looked inside the pouch. When he looked up, Grim was gone. That seemed like a pretty good idea, so he spun around, scampering off into the pre-dawn darkness.

Nick had a pretty good idea where the town’s hunters would gather to organize before starting their sweep through the woods. There was the main highway, leading out of the south gate, another two gravel roads slightly to the west and north. It was the prefect jump-off point.

In the center of the three approaches were a series of fields, fence lines, and open ground before the pine forest grew dense. He had spotted a large barn in the area, the roofline visible during one of his elevated scouting ascents to the low branches of a sturdy pine. He was almost certain that the structure served as his opponent’s headquarters, that hunch bolstered by the number of footprints leading in that general direction from the previous day’s search. 

He was tired, irritated, and growing weary of the constant diligence required to stay one step ahead of the men hunting his carcass. Most times, he was confident he could continue the game indefinitely. So far, the guys with the infrared had been the only close call.

But pragmatism wasn’t part of Nick’s extensive training. He was well aware that anything could happen, especially when there were hundreds of men streaming through the woods with weapons in their hands, and killing in their minds. It only took one lucky patrol, one guy with a keener eye than all the rest.  

Besides
, he thought.
Grim and the guys should be executing their part today.
Regardless if they fail or succeed, my job in these woods is about over.
  

For the first time in days, he left the cover of the pines, venturing out into an open field. While he knew the sun would be rising soon, he was also well aware that it was the best opportunity to make a dangerous approach.

Humans, he knew, were the least alert in the wee hours of the morning. While opinions varied over the exact range of hours, Nick had always believed the time between 3 and 5 a.m. were when most men’s sensory input and logic skills were the dullest.

He proceeded along a fence line, the waist-high weeds providing excellent concealment. Every 50 meters, he stopped and scanned with his night vision, always planning his next hiding spot before exiting his current position.

The first sentry was 120 meters from the barn, the man’s presence indicating Nick had made a good guess regarding the location that the local leadership would sensibly coordinate its efforts.

While it was well within Nick’s capability to take the sentry out, that wasn’t his purpose. Smoothly, quietly, he maneuvered around the man, moving ever closer to the building.

There were only a handful of pickup trucks and one church bus parked near the structure. As Nick had discovered, the men of Cartersville seemed uncomfortable with hunting him in the darkness. That thought caused the big man to grin.

Another scan with the night vision confirmed the sleepy state of affairs at the barn-HQ. There was one fellow asleep in the cab of his truck, another seated in a lawn chair near the main entrance.

With each footfall carefully plotted, Nick continued his trek around the back of the massive structure, spying a few small, glassless windows cut into the fading red planks. Most of them had recently been boarded shut, but one opening remained clear, no doubt providing circulation as the day’s temperature began to rise.

Shaking his head at the sloppy sentry placement and lack of security in general, Nick approached the unencumbered window in the rear of the building. A quick glance inside showed rows of card tables erected in the barn’s center – maps, pencils, and empty cups adorning their surfaces.

Folding chairs of all varieties were strewn about the room. Someone had even brought in a blackboard and chalk, the schoolroom device well used, displaying a hand-drawn diagram covered by an assortment of lines and arrows.

With the NVD pressed against his eye, Nick looked up, pleased to locate the anticipated loft, complete with bales of hay neatly stacked here and there. The stall on the other side of his peeping window was open, allowing an unhindered view. He didn’t even detect any dung on the floor.

With a grace so rare in such a large man, Nick hoisted himself through the opening, only moments later landing in a combat crouch before re-scouting the interior. No one had detected his invasion.

As he made for the ladder leading to the hayloft, Nick noticed a large table of food nearby. Glancing to make sure he was still alone, he took a moment to see what sort of fare the locals were enjoying during their hunts. He was surprised at the menu.

The feast included cans of everything from salted almonds to pretzels and dried fruits. Several rows of canned soups, vegetables, and even mandarin oranges were available. A few of the items had obviously been grown on the local farms, but those foodstuffs were only a small percentage of the total booty. Mr. Gospel clearly had access to a secret stash – just as Nick had suspected.

Deciding he’d eaten enough pack food, Nick helped himself, stuffing two cans of fruit into his pocket. A few moments later, he was scaling the ladder.

He chose a spot secluded in the hay, quietly maneuvering a few bales to provide cover if he were discovered. There wasn’t any retreat. If they found him, he would be “Alamo-ed” with no possible avenue of escape. But he would take a lot of them with him.

After minimally rearranging his space, Nick opened the pop-top fruit, using his knife as a utensil and savoring every morsel. “If for no other reason than hoarding this, you should be shot, Mr. Gospel. Damn, this is good,” he whispered to the empty loft.

His bedding was quickly laid out, along with three magazines lined up on a nearby bale. If shooting started, he’d have reloads at hand.

Next, he found the partial roll of duct tape, an always-present item in his pack. Careful to peel off a 1.5-inch section without making a sound, he pressed the sticky strip across his nose, pulling it tight via the skin of his cheeks.

“It wouldn’t be good if I gave myself away by snoring,” he chuckled under his breath, remembering the old Special Forces trick.

A few moments later, pleased with hiding right under the enemy’s nose, Nick drifted off.

Cory made it back to his tent undetected. After allowing his nerves to settle, he began to inventory the small package of goods Grim had delivered.

The first and largest item he pulled from the pack was a bottle of bleach. Frowning with a question over the choice of a cleaner, he moved on.

A bottle of antibiotics was next. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he whispered.

A can of pears, small tin of coffee, bottle of bourbon, and the instruction manual for a gasoline generator rounded out Grim’s grocery acquisitions.

He almost missed the scrawled note on the bottom of the list, recognizing Grim’s handwriting instantly. The list read:  “Bleach for water purification, pills – tons of them, still within their expiration, bourbon – lots of booze here, coffee – ‘nuff said. We found one truck full of brand new generators.”

Cory nodded, now understanding Grim’s shopping trip. Nick had said much of the town had been wiped out by disease from contaminated water. A small amount of the chlorine could have gone a long way to purify the city’s water system.

Some of the items were targeted for personal comfort, such as the coffee and booze, while others would and could ease the population’s suffering. The antibiotics were worth more than anything else on the planet.

Returning the incredibly valuable items back to the bag, Cory hid the goodies as best he could under his sleeping bag. He just never knew when the authorities might decide to check inside his tent.

A deep yawn made him realize he hadn’t slept much, a glance at his watch indicating it was still a few hours before the Exchange would open.

“Nap time,” he whispered, resetting his watch alarm. “Now we can get this show on the road.”

The sound of several engines interrupted Nick’s slumber. If that disturbance wasn’t enough, someone had started brewing coffee, the aroma easily overwhelming the smell of the straw that surrounded him.

Before the collapse, the arrival of internal combustion engines would have been expected. Much the same could have been said of the coffee, an everyday occurrence when large groups of men were gathering to work in the early hours of the day.

Now, Nick found himself analyzing such things, always trying to figure out the source or supplier of such amenities. Did Gospel have some sort of refining capability, or did they just figure out how to preserve the content of dozens of tanker trailers?

How did they keep the vehicles running? Even when the Alliance secured a fuel supply, spares required scavenging auto parts stores and dealerships. “Just in time” inventory practices had made the effort frustrating at times, especially for the military with its high portfolio of machines and tools.

The coffee was another valuable commodity, the source bean not indigenous to Texas, or even North America.
Hell
, Nick thought, inhaling the aroma.
The java is probably more valuable than the gasoline
.

As he lay in his fortress of hay, Nick could hear the distant hum of voices. As he had anticipated, there were hundreds of men gathering outside.

It wasn’t long before the activity increased inside the barn as well. Twenty minutes after the trucks, buses, and other transports started arriving from Cartersville, the people in charge began gathering inside the organization’s leadership hub.

Nick, raising up on one elbow, prepared to enjoy the show.

“Today we’re going to perform a pincher movement,” a voice bellowed over the others, demanding the attention of the crowd. “I want every man in group A to disembark from this line. Group B will proceed from the lake, and group C will act as a blocking force. Any questions?”

The ex-Green Beret had attended hundreds of such briefings in his day. While he couldn’t risk exposing himself to spy on the management meeting below, it was easy to envision the gathered leaders checking their maps, making notes and asking for clarification on one point or another.

Less than ten minutes later, he could tell the session had ended.

Shouted commands and orders began to fill the air outside the barn, men being commanded to head here or there while the drivers revved engines and piloted the ragtag assortment of transports.

What a waste
, Nick thought, lying back onto his bed of soft straw.
My biggest problem is going to be where to use the bathroom here in a few hours. Have fun, guys…. Elvis has left the building.