There was a long stretch of straightaway ahead paralleling the left shore of the reservoir—the same place where he had been ambushed—and in the distance, John could see his people deploying out.
“The negotiated agreement was twenty on each side as escorts, salt to be left in the road. But I suspect your people got a lot more hidden to the flanks.”
“Same with yours,” John said, looking back at the assortment of vehicles.
He could sense the tension. Though confined in the squalid cabin during his stay with the reivers, he could easily hear the conversations and arguments, George indeed arguing it would bring prestige to them if they strung John up and then sent his body back as a warning.
“So why didn’t you kill me?” John asked.
“I have a hankering for salt,” Burnett replied, “and this is the easiest way to get it.”
“It’s more than that,” John replied, and he actually forced a smile. “The real reason.”
Burnett sat back, asking the two escorts who were sitting up front—one of them George—to get out and go up the other road and signal when everything was clear. They were not happy with the assignment but followed his orders.
“Let’s talk,” Burnett announced, and then he did something remarkable for John. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes—merciful God, they were actually Dunhills—opened the pack, lit one up, and offered it to John, who was nearly trembling at the sight of them. He finally shook his head.
“I heard you were quite the smoker,” Burnett said.
“You seem to know a lot about me.”
“I had a few people in with you for a while.”
John gazed longingly at the cigarettes but then remembered the day he quit. Once an addict, always an addict, he thought. And if I have one now, I’ll be begging for more, giving this man the advantage.
He shook his head in refusal, though he did breathe in deeply as the smoke curled around him.
Burnett shrugged at his refusal and stuffed the pack into his battle jacket tunic.
“This is about more than me being traded for salt,” John said.
“Yup. Ball is in your court, Matherson. So start talking. I can still change my mind and blow your brains out here in front of those people of yours, toss your body out, and boogie back over the mountain.”
“You want a war? Because that will trigger it.”
“My camp is mobile; you saw that. I can be twenty miles away before nightfall. You and yours are stuck in one place, and we’ll just keep pecking away at you. I have all the advantages of mobile offense over static defense, and you know it. And you don’t have the manpower to send an army up over my mountains; we know far better than your people. We’ll run you ragged, wear you down, and just keep picking you off.”
“So you are telling me you hold all the cards.”
Burnett smiled. “Most of them. If you throw in with this new government in Asheville, you just might have more, but word is half your strength is getting drafted off, making you even more vulnerable.”
“So back to the original question,” John said. “Why the trade? It’s about more than salt.”
Burnett shrugged. “You tell me.”
“You want a truce?” John replied.
“A trade in our favor, I’d prefer to call it.”
“I don’t give away favors without a quid pro quo,” John snapped. “And besides, I said it the first day and will say it again now just so everything is perfectly clear. If I find out my friend Maury was killed by your people—especially that psycho of yours, George—it becomes personal for me, mayor of the town or not. You’ll have a personal vendetta on your hands.”
“Ballsy talk for someone I could still shoot now,” Burnett said, and he actually smiled and then nodded. “Your friend is okay. My negotiator checked on that.”
“Wish you had told me earlier, spared me some anxiety.”
“Psychological advantage, Matherson.”
“Yeah, thanks.” There was an inward sigh of relief with that news.
“You are beginning to sound like a professor, John, with this quid pro quo stuff, but I know what you mean… what’s in it for you and yours?”
“Exactly.”
“Other than your life, of course.”
John nodded.
“I want a secure southern flank,” Burnett said, nodding back to the high range of Mount Mitchell.
“You already have that. My folks don’t venture over it. The area is pretty well hunted over for food, anyhow. So you have no worries, if that is your big concern.”
“Not from you, Matherson. From the feds setting up in Asheville. We kept clear of them when the army was there, though they did send a few expeditions up Interstate 26 to Johnson City and back. That was a joke; we could have shredded them but didn’t want to pick the fight, and they really didn’t want to go off chasing us. But this new group moving in… there’s been news reports, even on the shortwave, of this million-man army they’re forming up. I figure those poor bastards will be off to Texas and California, but they are also talking about taking out groups like us. We get jumped out in the open by one Apache helicopter while on the move and a couple hundred of my people get killed.”
“Apache helicopter?”
Burnett took a deep drag on his cigarette, tossed the still smoldering butt, fished another one out, and lit it with an old Zippo bearing the insignia of the 101st Airborne—a deft act for a man with one arm.
“Yeah, you’ve been out of the loop for a few days. My spotters saw four choppers—two of them Apaches—come in and land at the old shopping mall parking lot. They’ve got a defensive perimeter up there—a regular base, it seems. Did you know about this?”
“News for me too,” John replied, honestly surprised by the information. “When I met with Fredericks, he said they were getting some assets in. I had no idea it’d be Apaches.”
“Still in desert paint,” Burnett said. “They must have shipped them back from the Middle East. Anyhow, I got enough worries without dealing with that, as well. You put in a word to just leave us alone, and I’ll count that as part of this quid pro quo thing of yours.”
John shook his head. “I doubt if I’ll have any influence, but I’ll see what I can find out. But I’m making no promises, Forrest.”
“You weren’t in Afghanistan. I was, and I’m paranoid about someone having air superiority over us, since it was the only real advantage we had against the Taliban. I let you go, you negotiate on my behalf with that person down in Asheville to leave us alone, and other than some pig and chicken raiding, we’ll leave them alone.” He paused. “And you too.”
“I won’t be your proxy,” John said. “You have one helluva murderous record.”
“Pot calling the kettle black, Matherson. How many did you kill in the Old Fort pass? How many did you personally execute, starting with those two drug-addled punks?”
“Different situation,” John said softly.
“They’re still dead, and my ex and my son may be two of them. And over the last three days, I thought more than once I should just even the score and be done with you.”
John took a deep breath. “So again, why didn’t you?”
“Because I’m stuck in the same boat you are at times. You officer types maybe read Machiavelli; you’d be surprised how many of us waiting it out in barracks read some of the same shit. Machiavelli said a prince had to transcend traditional morality for the greater good of those he led.”
John looked at him, unable to contain his surprise.
Burnett cleared his throat. “I might be a good ole boy, John, but that doesn’t mean I don’t read. You know the old line about soldiering being long months of boredom interspersed with occasional moments of pure terror. A lot of time to read. I even thought about making the army a career until this happened.” He pointed to his empty sleeve and torn face.