“Any wannabe can wear the gear,” the commander said, “but there’s a special look a man gets when he’s seen his friends shot and killed around him. Iraqi Freedom?”
John nodded. “For starters.”
Marshall clapped him on the shoulder. “Desert Storm for me. The precision war. That’s where I cut my teeth. Came back from that hot mess and became a plumber. Now look at me. Forced out of retirement.” That beaming smile again and a set of crooked teeth too small for his mouth.
“What is all this?” John asked. He was referring to the camp and what looked to be a few hundred fighters.
“They’re Patriots, John. Defenders of the Constitution. I told you before you’d be hard pressed to find anyone here who doesn’t have a story.”
“We’ve all suffered since it happened.”
“Do you mean the EMP?” Marshall asked, leading them over to a large tent in the middle of the camp. This was presumably his command headquarters. “’Cause I ain’t talking about the burst. I’m talking about the Chairman, the tyrant who’s taken control of Oneida.”
“Moss mentioned something about that.”
“He should know. Our mohawked friend used to live there, that was until the Chairman rolled in with his Secret Service goons and took over. Truth is, no one knows a thing about the Chairman. Only that the trouble started when he showed up. He’s been slowly solidifying his power. In part by disarming anyone in what he’s calling his district. Claims it’s to preserve law and order the way sheriffs in the old days made cowboys turn in their guns on the way into town. If you refuse his men use deadly force. Then when they have your guns they return for your supplies and eventually your women and children.”
“He returns for the children?” John wondered out loud, his jaw clenching. “What for?”
“Use your imagination. He’s like one of them medieval lords, taking whatever he wants from those in his domain.”
John nodded. “I’ve seen his type before back in Knoxville right after the collapse. Drug dealers and gangbangers used their gang members as muscle to fill the power vacuum.”
“Oh, the Chairman’s no gangbanger,” Marshall said. “I can promise you that. This guy’s well spoken and intelligent. Along with his Secret Service men, he also showed up with a presidential decree designating him the temporary mayor of Oneida. And he ain’t the only one around. Seems nearly every city in the country with more than a few thousand residents is under new management.”
“But a presidential decree?” John repeated the words as though saying them over might help make more sense of them. “What about elections?”
“Suspended apparently. As was the Constitution and the Second Amendment, from the looks of things. Hey, we already knew the Feds were heading in that direction. I guess it took a major attack for them to finally come jumping out of the closet.”
Even as Marshall was telling him about the Chairman and the unlikely edict which put him in charge of Oneida, John was beginning to formulate a new plan for infiltrating and extracting his family, the Applebys and maybe even Gary’s son if he could find him.
Marshall must have sensed John’s attention shift. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I’ve got a group of men who should be returning with some deer anytime now.”
“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” Brandon blurted out before John could give him the eye to stay quiet. Lethargic as he was, Gary was in agreement.
“Firing guns in the forest is a sure way to draw attention,” John said. “There are easier, quieter ways to get food. Trapping, fishing, planting a few crops. There are also a number of edible plants in the forest.”
That smile was back on Marshall’s bearded face. He turned to Moss who’d been standing quietly by his commander’s side. “Our new friend is a real jack of all trades.”
Moss nodded. “We could use someone with your skills, John.”
John had been worried this would happen. Not that he didn’t want to lend a hand. Marshall’s men and resources could help him free his family, but it also created a danger that his immediate objectives might get put on the backburner. Time wasn’t on his side. Every minute, every hour wasted only increased the chances of losing his family forever.
But what was also becoming clear was that in this new world, where groups of like-minded people were banding together, it would become increasingly difficult to go it alone.
“You don’t need to answer yet, John,” Marshall told him. “The truth is, you saved two of my best men. Tonight you and your friends are my guests. Tomorrow we can discuss how to get your family back.”
Chapter 14
As Marshall had promised, a group of men eventually returned with three Virginia white-tailed deer. Each man brought his own metal plate and water cup and cooked the piece of meat he was given over a small fire. John understood perfectly well this sort of hunter-gatherer lifestyle wasn’t ideal. So long as Marshall could keep the location of his camp a secret, it made far more sense for them to find more self-sustaining ways of gathering nourishment.
Instead of building a spit, John instead laid metal tent pegs across stones and used those as a makeshift grill. Brandon couldn’t hide his anticipation as he watched the meat sizzle over the fire. John served the boy first, then Gary and himself last. Deer was a lean meat with very little fat. It had a gamey taste that John quite enjoyed. Judging by the expression on Brandon’s face, he wasn’t alone.
After dinner, John went and fed George. He was hesitant to take the goose out just in case the thought of cooking the bird proved too great a temptation for some of the men in camp. Keeping the windows open would also help, but it wouldn’t be long before they had to decide what to do with him. Already the thing had pooped once in his cage and no doubt plenty more was on the way. Of course, the ideal scenario would have been to build an enclosure where they could keep him. Seemed a shame to release food back into the wild when you were never sure where the next meal might be.
As they had done last night, John and Brandon would sleep in the Blazer. Moss had found an extra spot for Gary in one of the shacks.
John was closing up Betsy’s rear hatch when Brandon got up from his seat around the fire and walked to the edge of the woods. The sun had set an hour ago and already the moon was bright in the evening sky. John went over to see if the boy was all right.
“How you holding up?” John asked, feeling a stabbing pain in his gut from missing Gregory and Emma.
Brandon looked over briefly, but didn’t say anything.
“It hurts, I know. Trust me, it’ll only get worse.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Marshall said this afternoon,” Brandon said, his face bathed in white light from the moon.
“What about it?”
“They’re probably all dead.”
“Don’t say that,” John chided him. The very suggestion that his family was gone made his gut tighten painfully.
“I’m not trying to be negative, but after what Marshall and some of the others in camp have said…”
“Like who?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A guy, think his name was Gus or something. He said he heard from people living in Oneida that his wife and daughter were charged with aiding and abetting terrorists and that they were executed. Those folks are putting on mock trials.”
John swallowed hard. Since when had ‘patriot’ become a four-letter word? It was beginning to look as though whoever was running the tattered remains of the government was quick to label any armed American who sought to protect his family and his country a terrorist.
“Thinking that way never leads to a good place, Brandon. I promise you we’re gonna find them.”
“You can’t make that promise.”