Toward the Brink (Book 3) (5 page)

“And with just the motor home and the Hummer, Elliot, I don’t see how we could fit everyone. Where is this island, anyway?”

“I’m not sure, Allan, but I have a fair idea it might be in the ocean.” Elliot looked over at his younger friend and raised a single eyebrow.

“Smart ass!” Allan retorted before all three fell into laughter. Just like old times back in high school. They’d laughed a lot back then. Back when they thought the world was a mess and needed to be changed. How they missed that world now.

“So, what’s the count?” The Tall Man had come outside to check on them.

“Err, we haven’t started, Chuck, we—”

“What? What the fuck have you been doing out here?”

“Just who in the—” Cindy stopped, Elliot’s hand on her shoulder calming her.

“You have no right to speak to any of us like that,
Mr. Black!
” Elliot had never addressed him as such before, and it had the desired effect.

The Tall Man took a step back. “You’re right, of course. Forgive me.” The Tall Man took a deep breath.

“We do, Chuck, and we understand,” Elliot responded. “Now that you’re out here, you can help us with the count.”

W
hile they checked
on the weapons, back inside the house maps were brought out to determine the distance and travel time to Graham Island.

“It’s almost six hundred miles to Sandspit from here,” Ewan told those around the table. “That’s if we could fly there.”

“Do you think we could use the Express?”

“We could probably find enough fuel, but what if the airstrip is damaged or blocked? If we came across any of these problems, we’d be in the deep end then.”

“Yes, our best bet is to go by road—as dangerous as that is—but we’ll still have the problem of getting from the mainland to the island.” The Tall Man was concerned over yet more road travel, but it would be preferable to being stuck in the air with no place to land.

“Our only worry will be finding a boat then, as I see it. There may not be any left lying around, y’know? I can pilot an average-sized fishing boat, but that’s about it, I’m afraid.” Mulhaven knew his limitations and didn’t try to hide them.

“I can help out there, don’t worry. I did some antiterrorist cross-training with the SEALs, and we learned how to pilot some pretty big vessels. As long as I can get some help with it, we might be able to manage.” Chess added some positive information.

While he sat at the table, Chess not only offered his assistance, he also weighed each individual. Like the Tall Man, with whom he shared more than a few commonalities, he understood his chances of survival improved if he knew who he was dealing with, whether friend or foe. The sooner you discovered which they were, the better your chances were. This group could be what he and his small band needed to get by. No longer was he concerned with Holmes or Etheridge; their fates had been sealed. He’d never believed in the bullshit about underground bases with more than a year’s supply of food. But they’d had a plane, and at the time, that had been their ticket out. Like the soldiers with him, he was motivated by survival—in the short and long term. Now he had found people who displayed real common sense with solid plans for a future, and that was a goal he found to be of more interest now than wealth. Money no longer had any power or meaning. It had become as useful as tits on a boar—just like Etheridge.

“We have a few things to discuss,” the Tall Man announced as he entered the house. “As it always is with plans, they’re subject to last-minute changes. And we have a few.”

He grabbed the same chair as before and sat down at the table. His evacuation plans had started last night when he’d heard the plane circle overhead. The first plane. Like Elliot, he was also impressed with Kath’s setup and her knowledge of the necessities for survival. The main concern—outside of foamers and gun crazies—was food. A lot of preppers—or those who called themselves preppers—stocked up on guns, guns, and more guns, a truckload of beer, a few cases of jerky, and a jar of water purification tablets, and they thought they had it made. Not so. And the Tall Man knew this for a fact. Of course firearms would be needed, to defend your food, your shelter, and your loved ones. But if you had no food or shelter, you’d die anyway. A futile exercise in stupidity. The Tall Man considered this strange behavior when he’d occasionally run into a bona fide prepper at a gun store as he bought ammo for his Desert Eagle. He would see them stock up with six packets of 5.56mm ammo, a few packs of 12-gauge shotgun shells, or packs of gun store jerky. He didn’t have to look; he knew the back seats of their pickups would contain cases of beer.

“For the collapse. It’s comin’, mister, it’s a comin’,” they would tell him as they scooped their ammunition and jerky from the counter. The Tall Man would nod and give a polite smile. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but these backward preppers would turn out to be right. They didn’t reckon on foamers as the cause for the collapse, however. Did anyone?

K
ath Goodwin was the opposite
. She prepared for food and power. The wind turbine generator on her land provided energy, as did the solar panels. She had top quality canning and drying equipment, too. Her downfall, as the Tall Man saw it, was that she was all alone without anyone to help her defend it—or her. She no longer had to worry on that account. He had thought, just like Elliot, to make Kath’s home their base.

Until he heard the plane, and saw all those foamers.

A switch was thrown inside his head that told him it was time to leave. When he and the others had reached the airport and saw the thousands of foamers, he understood that the nagging feeling he’d had was a premonition to get the hell out of Dodge while they still could. The Tall Man held the group together, along with Mulhaven and, of course, Elliot, but it took its toll. Since the outbreak, the longest uninterrupted sleep he’d had was about two hours. The hot shower he’d taken when they’d first reached Kath’s had relaxed every muscle in his body, and he looked forward to a good eight hours. The shock of not one but two planes landing, the rescue of the passengers, another escape from foamers, and the cautions from the pilots about runway blockages had combined to make the Tall Man weary; he was human, after all. The proposal of a plane flight to this island sanctuary was—thankfully—suspended, but it still appealed to him.

“As Elliot pointed out to me” the Tall Man made sure to include his younger friend in his discourse—“we’ll need more transportation if we are to get to this island, or at least to the coast. Does anyone have any ideas for how we get from the coast to the island? I assume tickets for the ferry have been withdrawn from sale.”

Kath smirked and reached for his hand. Whatever Elliot and
her Chuck
had said outside had an effect. He displayed his cheery character once more.

“Well, we discussed that when you checked on those kids.” Chess referred to Elliot, Cindy, and Allan in a way that didn’t go down all that well.

“‘Those kids’ happen to be a very important part of this group, as is everyone here,
pal
. As a matter of fact, Elliot is the one responsible for getting this group out of Twin Falls alive. Cindy blew the head off a cop with a 12-gauge because he rubbed her the wrong way. So you’ll do well to remember this before you address them as ‘those kids’ again.” The Tall Man stood and defended his family, as he had come to think of them. He made everyone at the table proud.

Bob noticed that the Tall Man and the one thought to be in charge of the group of soldiers weren’t getting off on the right foot. The former president wanted to speak to the Tall Man alone. He didn’t trust this Chess fellow either. Anyone who was supposed to be a soldier in the U.S. Army but who’d sold his allegiance to Holmes and Etheridge for a price wouldn’t balk at it a second time. The stakes were higher now. It wasn’t about money but survival.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Chess found the strength to apologize, which no one had expected. “It’s just my manner. Forgive me, Elliot.”

Elliot nodded and smiled briefly before Chess continued. “Anyway, I was about to say that Riley and I can operate a boat, so as long as we find one, we’ll be good.”

“Okay, then another van or motor home or—”

“Bus! How about a bus?” Elliot slapped his hand down on the table. If he’d wanted attention, he got it.

“With the motor home and the Hummer, a bus would work. We’ll only be on the road nine hours at best,” Mulhaven agreed. “Now, what about weapons and ammo?”

“Well, we counted three pumps, two AR-15s, the .22s and about six extra handguns, plus the Weatherby rifle. We lost a few in the truck at the airport.”

Allan wrote it down on his hand.

“I rescued one shotgun and an AR,” Elliot added.

“So add those to what we carry personally, and that’s it.” The Tall Man expressed concern at the low number.

“Ammunition?”

“About twelve hundred in total, Riley. We’d planned to gather more supplies in Missoula, but I’m sure you remember why we didn’t.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me, Chuck,” Mulhaven said, then turned to Chess. “What about you and your men?”

“We each have an M4 carbine and an M9 Beretta with three magazines for each, plus one in the well.”

The Tall Man added the figures. About another two thousand rounds of ammo. Altogether it wasn’t a bad supply, but if they faced another onslaught like the previous night, they would run out in no time.

“What about the crossbows? Don’t we still have them?” Cindy chimed in.

“We do, we do at that. Thanks for the reminder, Cindy!” The Tall Man seemed to be getting a second wind. His excitement at the prospect of a long-term shelter lifted his spirits. The very reason they had taken the crossbows was to conserve ammunition. There wasn’t a better time than now to include them.

“Okay, we need to do a full head count,” the Tall Man said. “Organize a party to get the bus and some gas for the trip. Those of us not involved in getting the bus can dismantle the wind turbine and generator; we’ll need them. Let’s get all this done as fast as we can so we can get some sleep. We have to make tomorrow our last day here.”

It wasn’t what the Tall Man wanted, but their prospects looked bright. One more night couldn’t hurt, could it? He kept the thought to himself. The other thought he entertained was that of Etheridge and Holmes. He was quite comfortable to leave them here as foamer bait or allow Chess to execute both.

“Sounds like a plan, but first we all need another good strong coffee to get us headed in the right direction, right?”

“You got that right, Kath. Let me help you.” Cindy gathered mugs and cups and followed Kath to the kitchen.

“A moment, Charles?” Bob leaned and whispered into the Tall Man’s ear.

The Tall Man nodded and rose from his chair. Bob’s tone suggested that whatever he wanted to discuss, it was of paramount importance.

And in their situation, that usually meant life or death.

“Let me show you the motor home, Bob.” The Tall Man rose and tapped the former commander in chief on the shoulder, and headed out the door. He hoped his ploy about inspecting the vehicle would appear legit. He gave Elliot a wink on the way out. He’d fill him in later.

As much as Bob wanted to look behind him, he didn’t dare. That would give the game away.

“Hey, Chess, can you explain the difference between the M4 and these old AR-15s we have?” Elliot understood that the Tall Man and the president—it was hard to think of him as Bob—had something important to discuss, and they didn’t need too many spectators.

As Bob closed the door behind him, he gave Elliot a short nod of approval.

“
Y
ou’ve done
some hard miles, by the look of it.” Bob noted the scrapes and dents on the outside of the motor home.

“You can say that again.” The Tall Man opened the door but took one more peek back at the house before he entered. No one else came behind.

“Elliot understands much more than his youth would suggest,” the Tall Man said.

“I can see that, as I can see he looks to your lead. He learns from you,” Bob said.

“But that’s not why you wanted to speak to me, is it?” The Tall Man got to the point.

“No. This Chess fellow, I’m not sure I can trust him or his men. I might be wrong, but given their previous loyalty to Holmes and Etheridge, they could present trouble down the road.”

The Tall Man motioned for Bob to take a seat at the table. There was no coffee brewing out here in the motor home, but the Tall Man went to the fridge and pulled out two cans of beer.

“Bet you haven’t had one of these for a few days, eh?”

“No, and I’d damn well love one!” Bob took the cold can from the Tall Man. In the last few days very little had transpired to make him smile. But a can of cold beer—now, that made him smile.

“Cheers!” the two said, pulled the tops, and drank.

“I share your concern about Chess and the men who accompanied him, I can assure you, but it’ll be a long drive to the coast, and the more trained personnel we have, the better we’ll be. There are many rogue military and police out there who, like us, are fighting to survive. They rely on their training, and that means no questions—they
shoot
first.”

“What do you propose?”

“Sun Tzu.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

“Did he say that?”

“Not sure, but it sounds like something he would have said. In any case, it applies here. I would like to think they’ll work out, because we need the extra firepower,” the Tall Man said.

They agreed to keep Chess and his team in the loop and give them just enough rope to play with. If they could gain the confidence of some, they might create a division among Chess’s men. Divide and conquer. Another stratagem the Tall Man was fond of.

W
ithin half an hour
of leaving Kath’s farmhouse, Chess, three of his men, Mulhaven, and David Grigsby drove the Hummer into Prince George. The Tall Man and Bob Charles had decided to give Chess a chance to prove himself early on. Whatever subterfuge was on his mind, it wouldn’t be to his advantage to act now. His men might follow him, but they might not. While he seemed to be the natural spokesman for the group, each appeared to be his own man. The Tall Man knew when faced with a life or death situation, followers would leach onto whatever offered the most promise, while decision makers would weigh the options and stick with the most logical. Now that Etheridge’s money and plans of a secret base were no longer so attractive, Chess might turn out to be a schemer, and he might not, but the Tall Man knew it would be a mistake not to pay particular attention to this man. Chess might go along with whatever was presented to him with the eagerness of Elliot or Allan, just waiting for the time to strike, or he might do his part to help achieve the goals of the group. The Tall Man hoped it would be the latter.

After his discussion with Bob, the Tall Man had put their plans into action and had picked out the team to venture into Prince George for a bus and to gather supplies. A team that included Chess. The Tall Man had approached him to see if he was interested, so he could judge Chess’s reaction. Then the Tall Man had watched Chess select men from the original ten who flew in with him. This would tell the Tall Man who he was closest with and who he trusted the most. Chess had picked two men about his own age. Probably served together—that’s how it worked in the U.S. military. The Tall Man had never served in the U.S. military, but the militaries of all countries acted pretty much the same. Look after the ones you served with. That left seven behind. Good. He would start to work on their loyalty.

“So, any idea where to find a bus?” Chess had been specifically assigned the task of driving the Hummer by the Tall Man. Mulhaven was surprised by this, but hadn’t questioned it.

“Yeah, once we get into town, I’ll tell you. Kath wrote down some directions for us.” Mulhaven wasn’t sure of Chess either, but liked the extra firepower the man brought with him.

“What other supplies do we need, Riley?” David called from the back seat. He wasn’t comfortable sitting with the camouflaged soldiers. To an outsider, he looked very much like a part of the team, save for the length of his hair and the fact he carried a civilian version of a military-issue weapon.

“Food for the journey, and of course, enough gas for the vehicles. Chuck said not to worry if we’re not able to get much—we’ll stock up when we make it to the coast.”

“So Chuck is your leader, then?”

“We don’t
have
a leader.” Mulhaven stared at Chess. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem to place a lot of faith in his judgment, that’s all.”

“Since Chuck joined us, he’s managed to help us out a few times. His knowledge and skill has been beneficial to us,” David informed him.

“You mean he’s only been with you a short—”

“What’s with all the questions about Chuck? Is there something you specifically want to know?” Mulhaven’s cop instincts came to the fore.

“Just curious.” Chess tried to shrug it off. “When you listen to one person, you want to make sure that person knows their stuff, y’know?”

Mulhaven began to piece things together. Chess’s attitude, the president whispering into Chuck’s ear, the two of them going outside for a private talk. Then Chess not only comes on the bus search, he is made the designated driver.

Chuck wanted him out of the way for a while
.

Mulhaven pulled the note Kath had given him from his jacket pocket. It was as good a way as any to keep Chess’s questions at bay.

“Okay, take a right at the next intersection.”

“Roger that.” Chess stopped with the questions. He wasn’t getting the results he wanted anyway.

He was finding out, minute by minute, that this was a close knit group. If he wanted to lead this group, as some assumed, then he would have more than just the Tall Man to contend with.

W
hile Mulhaven
and his team went in search of a bus, the Tall Man and Bob enacted their plan of appealing to the hearts and minds of the remainder of Chess’s group, plus the two machine-gunners from Marine One. It wouldn’t be hard. Bob, Tom, and James Goodwin took three of Chess’s group, while the Tall Man, Elliot, Kath, Cindy, and Allan took the other three. Each group took one of the machine-gunners. Bob’s group took the wind turbine blades apart while the Tall Man’s group disconnected the windmill from the generator and took that apart.

“Y’know, I wish those damn two-ways still worked.”

“Well, the quality wasn’t all that good, Chuck. You know that. Was there anyone you wanted to talk to?” Elliot couldn’t think of a reason for the walkie-talkies.

“I just want to tell Mulhaven to grab another truck, maybe a dually. All this equipment will take quite a bit of room.”

He looked over at Bob’s group. The windmill blades wouldn’t take that much room, and with all the manpower they had, they should be able to secure the metal tower and shaft to the top of the bus. But the generator and its accessories would have to travel inside one of the vehicles, and that wouldn’t leave much room.

“I’ve got a pickup in the garage behind the house,” Kath announced. “I don’t know if it’s a dually or not, not sure I know—”

“A dually is a pickup with two wheels on either side at the back, Aunt Kath.”

“Oh, then I have a dually. A Dodge Ram 3500!” She laughed to herself that she had one and didn’t know.

The Tall Man asked her to get the keys. This was where he would start to win over the soldiers from the transport plane.

“And what do they call you, soldier?” he asked one man as Kath came back from the house.

“Tristan. Tristan Landers, sir.” He looked to be the youngest of the group of soldiers that came in with the C-17—which was why he was singled out.

“Chuck. Just call me Chuck,” the Tall Man reminded him. “I assume you can drive a pickup?”

“Yes, s—” He pulled himself up. “Yes, Chuck, I certainly can.”

“Great. Kath, give Tristan the keys. He’ll bring the truck over for us.”

Kath just looked at the Tall Man for a moment. She wasn’t sure about his directions. After all, this man, this soldier, was practically a stranger. The Tall Man gave her a nod of reassurance, and she handed the keys to Tristan reluctantly.

If I can’t trust Chuck by now, who can I?

“What do you think is the best way to load all of this?” The Tall Man asked one of the other soldiers. He already knew the answer, but that wasn’t the point.

“Well, with a Ram 3500 we could almost lay the generator in sideways, as long as we secure it down firmly.”

“Good. You know what you’re doing there, so I’ll leave you in charge of that. I’ll go check on the food supplies.” The Tall Man turned, and before any questions were asked, he took Kath by the hand and walked over to Bob.

“We’re going inside to check on the food preparations. Care to join us?”

Bob saw the Tall Man wink and understood. “Sure, sure thing. Let me just get a hold of Tom. I have a few things to go over with him.”

The Tall Man and Kath watched as Bob tapped Tom on the shoulder. Tom wasn’t fully aware of their subterfuge, but he’d had more than enough of this outdoor labor. As much as he believed in egalitarianism, physical work was for a certain breed of men … and he wasn’t one of them. The Tall Man looked on as Bob spoke in a pleasant tone to one of the camouflaged men. Like the Tall Man, Bob had just chosen his site foreman.

“Okay, we’re good,” Bob said as he and Tom joined the Tall Man and Kath.

Together, they went only a few feet before the Tall Man whispered into Kath’s ear. She stopped, turned, and called Elliot, who came over right away.

“Yes, Aunt Kath? What is it?”

“Elliot, let the soldiers from the transport run the show, okay?” the Tall Man told him when he got close enough.

“But why? I don’t—”

“Just smile and nod your head, Elliot …
please
.”

Elliot did as he was asked, but it was clear he had no idea why.

“We’ll explain to you later, but for now, just go along with it.” It was Bob who offered these words of comfort.

“
H
ow long have
you known Chuck?” one of the soldiers asked Elliot when he returned to the group.

“Met him when this outbreak happened.”

“So you were there on the ground when it occurred, eh? Amazing,” another said.

“You better believe we were there, and it wasn’t amazing—it was fucking frightening!” Allan, who was helping with the equipment, let the soldier know in no uncertain terms. He had grown a good deal in the days since he’d fled Twin Falls; living on the edge of death has a way of doing that to a young man. He never would have spoken like that to anyone more than ten years his senior, and definitely not to a soldier, until he’d met the Tall Man, who showed trust and belief in him. Allan was very much a part of the team, and he was proud to show it.

Tristan parked the Ram as close as he could get to the generator, then called Allan and the others over, ending their conversation.

“Why don’t you guys give us a hand with the generator, then we’ll give you a hand with the windmill tower,” Tristan suggested.

“Sounds like a plan!” Allan led the group forward.

T
hrough the blinds
of a side window, two pairs of eyes watched with more than a passing interest.

“Worked like a charm, my friend,” Bob commented on the sight before him.

“Yeah. I didn’t think it would take effect so soon, but the proof is right before our eyes. Teamwork.”

“Do you care to explain what it is you two are talking about?” Kath suspiciously eyed the Tall Man and Bob; she knew they’d been up to something.

The Tall Man turned to Kath, gave Bob a nod, then led her to the sofa and explained what they were doing.

“Mr. President, Tom, Chuck … shit! Everyone get over here quick!” It was the voice of a Secret Service agent.

The Tall Man ran to the kitchen, where the agent’s voice had come from. He felt a knot grow in the pit of his stomach and a lump form in his throat. Ahead of him, the agent stood by the door that led from the kitchen to the cellar.

“He’s escaped. He fuckin’ escaped!”

C
hess drove
the Hummer from location to location, according to Kath’s notes. There were buses at each location, but each had slashed tires, had been burned, or had otherwise been rendered inoperable.

“Okay, let’s try the next one. Greyhound Bus services.” Mulhaven was a bit testy. The atmosphere inside the Hummer was far from pleasant.

“That’s who I used to drive for—back in the states, of course.” David spoke up. He’d been brought along because he had once driven the interstate coaches. Margaret wasn’t too pleased that her husband of nearly thirty years was about to put himself in harm’s way. He was a good man and she knew it, but he was no Charles Black—and she’d told him that before she had hugged and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. Deep down, Margaret—like the other women—understood that this might very well be the case.

Mulhaven picked out a bus at the rear of the parking lot. The ones closer to the entrance had suffered damage from vandalism or foamer attacks, and a few had even been rolled. Mulhaven didn’t like the looks of these buses with the dark tinted windows; he thought about the foamers and their dislike for daylight. They had to hole up somewhere to wait it out—maybe the inside of a bus.

Mulhaven had this thought on his mind as Chess stopped next to the Greyhound—too close.

“Stay in the truck, Dave, just stay in the truck. Back it up a little, Chess.”

“What? What’s wrong for—”

“We’re too damn close, and if we have to make a fast turn, we can’t.”

Chess didn’t like to be told what to do by anyone, but after the slaughter at the airport less than twelve hours ago, he appreciated Mulhaven’s position. He didn’t want to become foamer takeout, either.

He spun the wheels in a haze of blue smoke. Whether he was trying to impress someone or just didn’t think foamers would use the inside of the Greyhound bus for shelter, it didn’t matter. Mulhaven lifted his head and rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word—there was no point.

“All right, Chess, you and your men come with me. David, turn this thing around and keep the engine running, okay?”

Mulhaven and Chess slipped out the front and the others eased out the back while David scooted behind the wheel.

“The rear’s yours, Johnny,” Chess said in a low, subdued tone to one of the soldiers who accompanied them. Mulhaven was pleased, and he also noted how the other men scanned their flanks. Good. They knew their job.

“Keep a watch on those buses over there.” Mulhaven indicated to his left while they crept up to the bus door.

“How do we open this?” Chess referred to the pneumatic doors of the bus.

Mulhaven stood erect and relaxed visibly.

The doors, the damn doors, of course! Foamers can’t—

A hiss of compressed air interrupted Mulhaven’s thoughts. The Greyhound’s door sprang open and a pair of heavy feet clomped down the metal steps.

Chess raised his M4, flicked the selector to burst, and eased his finger onto the trigger.

“Where the hell did you people—”

“Hold your fire!” Mulhaven forced the muzzle of Chess’s carbine away, but he wasn’t able to prevent him from firing.

“Holy shit! Are you fuckin’ crazy?” the occupant of the Greyhound called.

Chess swiveled his head toward Mulhaven. If looks could kill, Mulhaven would have been a dead man.

“Easy soldier, easy!” Mulhaven yelled. “Foamers don’t talk—he’s alive. Look!”

Chess glared at Mulhaven a moment before he shifted his gaze to the man in the doorway of the bus. Three bullet holes in the roof above him showed how close he’d come to meeting his maker.

“Sorry, mister, please forgive my friend here. We had a close call with the foamers last night, and we’re all a bit jumpy,” Mulhaven said. The truth was, Chess was trigger happy. The other men were edgy, but until they were sure of the target, they didn’t fire. Mulhaven thought this was how Chess had gotten to be the one in charge of the group—or at least their mouthpiece. Shoot first and ask questions later was his axiom. The other soldiers followed or avoided argument, lest they catch one of his bullets in the back.