Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 2 | Panic Ensues Page 3

  Highway 54 still remained one of the main arteries out of Camdenton for transporting prisoners north to the railway line and with Stark Caverns only a hop, skip and a jump from there, it made sense to use that as their main base. Of course, in order to make all of this work it relied on rules, new rules, and not everyone took a liking to those.

  Lucius was one of them.

  He’d been smart enough to prove himself a valuable asset to the group so Arianna had requested he join them at the Stark outpost. No one disagreed until he arrived. That’s when he flipped the script and took it upon himself to try and call the shots.

  That’s what had led to him wearing the Hunter’s outfit.

  Looking back, Miles should have seen the writing on the wall.

  “No, I think with the recent attacks on Miles, it only makes sense that I should wear the Hunter’s outfit. You know, just in case.”

  “You want to take a bullet for me?”

  “It would be my honor,” he’d replied.

  Miles didn’t like it but Lucius had a way with words and a sway with Arianna. So, for the past week he’d taken to wearing what Miles usually wore. Miles should have seen it then. It was an ego thing. He must have figured he’d get to bask in the glory as they encountered locals grateful for his help.

  That wasn’t why Miles was doing it. It never was. It was so much more than what he wore, it was the person beneath the clothes, Gunnar had said. That’s who had inspired the locals. Lucius could strut around all he liked and pretend he’d been the one to lead a valiant group of Americans against the PLA but deep down he knew the truth.

  After covering the truck and Humvee with camouflage netting, the group had trekked into the dense woodland for another two miles before they were greeted by the familiar sight of tree people, the first line of defense that kept watch over them.

  “You okay?” Gunnar asked.

  Miles cut him a glance. “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s just you’ve been quiet. It’s not like you.”

  “Yeah, well…” he trailed off lost in thought. In truth, his thoughts were elsewhere, on his friend August. August hadn’t been seen in over a month. Although Scarlett had told him about the last conversation she’d had with him before he headed into town, no one barring two old women had seen him since and they weren’t a reliable source.

  As if Gunnar could read his mind, he said, “I’m sure he’s safe.”

  “I doubt it,” Miles replied.

  Truth was he was probably gone. It was the most likely outcome but that hadn’t stopped Miles from searching or getting a message to locals.

  Upon their arrival at the camp, they were greeted by the usual sight of young children running up to meet them. It was strange to see kids as young as twelve carrying rifles but this was a very different time, arming the young could mean the difference between escape or capture, and they had come very close to being captured multiple times. Throughout his short time with the group, he’d learned that everyone played an important role in the day-to-day tasks. From hunting to surveillance, tending to crops, water collection, and teaching the kids. Although they were in the middle of a war, they tried to maintain some semblance of normality, if any of this could be considered normal.

  When Miles learned that children were being used as messengers he’d questioned Arianna’s decision, something she didn’t like in light of the fact that few had questioned her until Gunnar had arrived. “They’re safe. The PLA has no use for them,” she’d said.

  “Oh, I’m sure they can find ways,” he retorted, thinking back to the airport and the teenagers they’d found beheaded. Children were used as bait, a means of extracting information from adults, and it worked.

  If it wasn’t for Grady chiming in and reassuring him they were okay, he might have pushed the issue further.

  As they entered the camp, Scarlett and Arianna emerged from a curtain of camouflage netting. “So? How did it go?” Arianna asked.

  “Ask your pal.” Miles eyed Lucius who strolled in behind them.

  Gunnar was quick to clarify before another fight broke out. “It seems the identity of the Hunter is out of the bag. A soldier said he knew more but—”

  “This jackass killed him,” Miles interrupted, tossing his backpack down and giving a nod to Lucius.

  Lucius was quick to defend himself, “He wanted a pet,” he replied. Miles scowled at him as he continued. “I reminded him this is war. We don’t take prisoners and we sure as hell don’t leave anyone alive.”

  “You know, Lucius, the reason you are alive is because of us. Because instead of bombing the airport, we chose to raid it and free you. Remember that next time when you want to mouth off.”

  This time it was Lucius that took a few steps toward him.

  Miles noted his hand clenching.

  “You have something to say?” Miles asked.

  Arianna eyed them both. “Look, I don’t know what happened out there but he’s right, Miles. We can’t afford to leave any of them alive.”

  “I think you’ve missed the point. I wasn’t advocating keeping him alive but if we are to stay ahead of General Yong, we might have to rely on intel that comes from those looking to defect.”

  That got a laugh out of Lucius. “Defect. Are you sure you’re the Hunter? Because I’m sure he was smarter than this.”

  Miles flew at him, losing his cool in an instant.

  Fortunately this time Gunnar wasn’t close enough to stop him. The right hook connected with Lucius’ jaw with such precision and speed that it was over before he could react. Several militia soldiers swarmed in, dragging Miles back even as he told them he was fine. Lucius looked up from the ground and wiped his lip with a smile. If Miles wasn’t mistaken, he almost thought he wanted to be clocked so he could play the victim and turn others against him.

  It worked.

  Arianna stepped forward and stabbed a finger in his direction. “If you wish to remain here, striking others will not be tolerated. No matter what. You hear me?”

  “Oh I hear you,” he replied, shrugging off multiple hands holding him back. “Don’t worry, I was thinking of leaving anyway.” He scooped up his backpack and headed toward his horse.

  Gunnar’s gaze bounced between them.

  An awkward beat followed.

  “Well done,” he said to Arianna before taking off after him. “Miles. Miles!”

  He sidled up beside him. “Hey. Hold up.”

  “What?”

  “Look, don’t let him get to you. He’s an asshole.”

  Miles chuckled. “You think he gets to me?”

  “I think the right hook was proof of that.”

  “Oh no, that was just for fun.”

  Gunnar chuckled as Miles reached his horse and climbed up into the saddle, a smile forming.

  “Miles, c’mon, you’re not leaving, are you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Gunnar thumbed over his shoulder. “Because of that?”

  “Hell, no. It would take more than a few words by an idiot to push me out. No, I’m going to do some reconnaissance.”

  “But we just got back.”

  “Feels like an appropriate time.” His eyes drifted toward the group.

  There was a beat.

  “Oh, right. You mean to look for August?”

  “Yeah, if he’s out there, I have to find him.”

  Gunnar patted his horse. “Then I’m coming with you.”

  He lifted a dismissive hand. “Gunnar. I appreciate it but I’m good.”

  “If I hadn’t been with you last week, you’d be good, all right. Good as dead. Now hold up, while I get my bag and some trail cams.”

  It was pointless arguing with him once he’d made a decision but he figured he knew how to change his mind. “What about Arianna? I thought you couldn’t let her out of your sight?”

  That stopped him in his tracks. Gunnar looked back at Miles then over to Arianna who was observing. He could tell he was torn. It was as if he ex
pected her to screw up and when she did, he wanted to be there. On one hand, it was clear Gunnar’s relationship with Arianna was contentious; on the other, he had to wonder if he didn’t still have feelings for her.

  Gunnar looked up to the brooding clouds that were moving in. “I’m coming with you.” He watched him head off toward a lean-to shelter. The horse snorted as he waited, its hooves clopping on the dry soil.

  Scarlett approached. “Can always rely on you to go against the grain.”

  “Is that what Arianna said?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Now you sound like August. So where are you heading?”

  “See if I can find him. A few days ago, I spoke with an old-timer south of here who gave a description that matched him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It slipped my mind among the millions of other things I’m juggling.”

  “Well… then, I’ll go with you.”

  He lifted a dismissive hand. “No, Gunnar is.”

  She bristled, looking confused. “Leaving Arianna behind?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  She lifted a hand to block a ray of sunshine that filtered through the trees directly into her eyes. Since he’d joined their group, the conversation between the two of them had flowed almost like the way it was back when they were dating. The good times at least. Although he could tell she was showing an interest again, he was cautious, not only for August’s sake if he was still out there, but for his own. The last time he’d been with her it hadn’t ended well and he’d promised he wouldn’t go through that again. It was distracting and he couldn’t afford that.

  Gunnar jogged into view. “Okay, we’re good. Tell Arianna we’ll be back before nightfall.” He untied his horse, climbed into the saddle, gave the horse a nudge with his heel and they took off disappearing into a sea of green.

  3

  Morgan Jefferies

  The waterfront resort was considered one of the best among the many lodges dotted throughout the Lake of the Ozarks. Found in the village of the Four Seasons, it loomed at the edge of the shimmering waters of the Missouri Dragon known for its serpentine shape. The lodging, which offered luxury suites, elegant dining, spa facilities, and a golf course, had at one time lured in deep pockets, businessmen, and families in the higher tiers of life. Now derelict, it joined the other withering establishments — nothing more than evidence of a fallen nation.

  Mayor Morgan Jefferies sniffed the crisp air.

  He felt like a god among men as the door of the Humvee opened and he stepped out.

  The masked mercenary glanced at him as he held the door for but a second before looking away. Morgan pursed his lips as he soaked in the view of an overgrown empty golf course. He shook his head as he removed his aviator glasses and took out a handkerchief from his suit to clean them.

  Such a shame. He would have enjoyed a quick round before attending to business.

  Business of course was what had brought him north of Camdenton.

  Until now he hadn’t stepped out of the city limits.

  A month had passed since the raid on the airport but more importantly the return of General Yong to the county of Camden. Before his arrival, before the attack, before August turned coat and proved himself a worthy asset, he’d been worried, worried about his future, his empire, his life. Who wouldn’t? Yong had held him responsible for each and every death, and there had been many with the Hunter on the loose, and even more since the resistance had grown.

  That’s why Morgan had taken it upon himself to fight fire with fire. Collaborators were of no use without firearms and Yong had no intention of changing that. The PLA, well, they already had their hands full and were strained in their duties as it was. So, he’d torn a page out of the Hunter’s handbook and sought out his own group of killers, those who could do his bidding without them having to jeopardize any more troops.

  Fortunately, that’s where August’s father had once again proven valuable to the cause. Demar had at one time mentioned serving with a man referred to as Santiago Cruz, a psychotic individual with a taste for blood. After leaving the military he’d retreated into life as a private military contractor running with a bunch of hard-nosed mercenaries. The last he’d heard he was stateside when the country was invaded. Back then, Morgan didn’t feel extreme measures were required. Now, however, it was of the utmost importance.

  Finding the group may have proved to be a challenge if they weren’t already on the PLA’s payroll. Of course, he didn’t know that back then. Morgan gradually heard rumors through the grapevine, rumors that were stirred by a broadcast called Liberty Radio. It was meant to be a secret broadcast run by fighting Americans but like most secrets, it didn’t remain that way for long.

  They kept harping about a group known as the Death Dealers.

  A savage, highly skilled rabble of mercenaries whose only loyalty was to the highest bidder. Like him, they had seen an opportunity in the demise of the country and were milking it for all it was worth.

  Unlike the hunter, Santiago wasn’t worried about his identity. He’d almost seemed to flaunt it and revel in the knowledge that people knew his name.

  In many ways he was a man after his own heart. The anticipation of having them at his beck and call was too irresistible to pass up, so he’d sent out those closest to him to find them.

  Santiago’s focus at that time was taking out militia, and take them out he had in considerable numbers, using every method available.

  The timing couldn’t have been better.

  After the recent bombings and execution of some of the top militia heads, Morgan had been quick to scoop them up before anyone else did. Of course, they didn’t come without a hefty price tag. Highly skilled individuals like that were a rarity and they knew it. Payment of course was requested in multiple ways.

  They had a short and a long term game.

  Short term, it was to be ensured safe passage and unhindered right to inflict devastation as they so sought. Long term, gold bullion. Not many would have considered it valuable now, but Santiago did. He believed like Morgan that once the smoke cleared and the PLA had mopped up the last of the resistance, a new government would step into power and when it did, Santiago wanted to make sure he and his men were set for life.

  It was an odd request and would require a few strings to be pulled but after what they had managed to pull off in Springfield, he figured General Yong would make it happen.

  And he had.

  Morgan stepped away from the Humvee, glancing off to his right. He couldn’t tell which one was August beneath those damn hockey masks. He wouldn’t have minded had they been the typical kind seen in sports but they were designed to look like skulls.

  His mind drifted.

  August had been there at his home on the night he’d arranged to meet them. The night he’d made an agreement, shook on it, and signed off on paperwork that meant nothing to Morgan but was a guarantee of payment in their mind.

  Truth be told, he believed he could have gotten them for a lot less because to say they were intrigued by the story of the Hunter would have been an understatement. Santiago had leaned forward in his seat with great interest. In some ways, they saw capturing the Hunter like a safari — a golden opportunity to hunt down a prize, a killer that had reached mythological status in a short time in the minds of the PLA.

  “A ghost?” He’d chuckled from behind that skull mask. All of them wore one. They looked like they were on their way to a damn Halloween party but he wasn’t going to say that. As long as they did their job he didn’t care if they dressed like the Village People.

  The owner of the resort came out to meet them. He was a short pudgy man with flyaway white hair. He peered over a pair of rectangle spectacles and despite the show of force, looked neither impressed nor scared. Beside him, his wife stood with three teenagers. With his hands clasped behind his back, Morgan addressed them without even glancing their way. He roamed the front entrance while Santiago
and the others fanned out, rifles at the ready. Even though the owner was holding a shotgun he knew enough to realize it would have been madness to squeeze the trigger. “You know, I’ve lived in these parts for most of my life and yet I never came here. Strange, isn’t it? All this beauty in our backyard and we travel to the other side of the country or offshore for a vacation.”

  “If you’re here to order us to move into Camdenton, we’re not going!”

  Morgan turned on a dime. “Oh, I’m not here for that, Mr. ...”

  He fished for a name.

  “Bernard. Bernard Davenport.”

  “Mr. Davenport. That’s a strong name.” He smiled as his gaze washed over his family. “No, I’m not here to force you into moving. Hell, Camdenton is already full. I wouldn’t know where to put you.” He leaned forward and laughed. “And anyway, the PLA is in charge of moving residents. No, the reason I’m here, Mr. Davenport is because rumor has it you had some guests here a month ago. Is that right?”

  Bernard snorted. “We haven’t had anyone here in five years.”

  “Really? That long. Hmmm. My source must be confused,” he said, turning to Santiago’s men and chuckling. “You see, what I heard is that after the raid on the airport, some of the prisoners were brought here for a time. And, that you were seen speaking with the Hunter.”

  Bernard said nothing.

  “But, again, like you said. You haven’t been open in five years, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Must be hard. With a growing family and all. Good looking family by the way,” he said getting closer to them.

  Bernard stepped forward. “Get away from them.”

  Morgan looked at him without fear. If he raised that gun at him he would be dead before his fat finger could touch the trigger. “Oh come now, Mr. Davenport. I’m simply paying you a compliment. You have some strong looking boys. I imagine they would be very useful on the farms.” He paused, toying with him. “They do work on the farms, right?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Just answers. A few names. Locations. You know, the usual.”